Savior (Scomiche)

Walls

"Oh God, sorry I'm late. There was an accident and then it took forever because this is in a pretty residential area and... yeah," I apologized quickly.
Scott's sapphire eyes seemed to glow in the dim restaurant. "It's fine."
"Are you sure?"
He nodded wordlessly, causing me to sigh in relief.

"Two of you?" The hostess asked, already grabbing two menus. "Table or booth?"
"Booth," I answered, seeing Scott shrug.
She led us to a booth towards the back, eavesdropping on the low conversations that surrounded us. Everyone spoke with one another in a hushed tone, afraid to break the quiet atmosphere. Scott waited for me to slide into the booth before scooting in himself. I took in the surroundings, noting each table in sight. A group of four teenage girls giggling and glancing at us, most likely assuming we were on a date. The tired parents diagonal from us with the twins who were louder than the rest of the tables. The strict business worker on the phone instead of paying attention to his uneaten meal, playing with his tie as he gave orders. A husband and wife across the restaurant who I could just barely see, nodding and telling each other a story of some sort.
"Your server's name is Andrea and she'll be right with you," the hostess, dressed in a blouse and black pants, informed before walking away. Her heels clicked as her distance from us grew.
Silence came between us, but we were soon rescued by Andrea. A thirty-something year old woman greeted us with curly orange hair and freckles covering every inch of her skin. She had a perfect smile, and was obviously revived since the presumed earlier rush of customers.
She introduced herself and proceeded to take our drink orders which consisted of a Sprite for me and a water for Scott. This was followed by Scott ordering the cheapest dinner Lynn's had to offer. I decided not to comment on it, for I felt annoying as it was.
"So," I began, eager to find out something about the guy in front of me. "Tell me about yourself."
A blush clouded over his cheeks. Even though the restaurant was tenebrous, the blush was quite clear. "My name is, um, Scott Hoying and I'm twenty-four."
"I'm Mitch Grassi and I'm twenty-three." I smiled kindly, trying to let him know there was nothing to be nervous about, but it didn't help this shy man at all.
He nodded as he anxiously played with the napkin in front of him. His eyes were averted there as well. It was obvious I was in charge of keeping the conversation alive.
"What are your hobbies?"
The question seemed to surprise him, as if nobody had ever cared to know. His eyes met mine in what I sensed to be appreciation. "I... I like to, uh. I like to sing." It was like he was confessing this to me. Like it was a huge secret.
"No way! Me too." A grin appeared upon my face as the tiniest smile fell upon his. "Anything else?"
Considering different answers, he studied the salt and pepper shakers near my hand. "Sometimes I draw I guess. Wh..." he cleared his throat. "What about you?"
I shrugged, running my fingers underneath the edge of the table. "I sing, watch way too much TV, um... shop."
"Exciting," he sarcastically commented before turning to crimson. "I'm sorry."
A small chuckle escaped my lips. The real Scott was shining through. Not just a boarded up one. The one who doesn't have to be polite.
But as soon as the bricks were crumbling from his wall, he soon welded them back together.
"It's fine," I assured. "I lead a pretty boring life."
"That was rude of me to assume, I apologize."
I gazed at this man in front of me- blond, styled up hair, gleaming blue eyes filled with trepidation, defined jaw slightly open from parted lips, and an undeniable defensiveness. There was pain laying beneath the surface. He was used to being aloof, but deep inside he yearned for something more. He had to. He couldn't live his life with short answers and social anxiety... could he?
It proved that he could because from then on Scott only responded with one word or a formally-put sentence, and always waited for me to finish my sentence before speaking. He refused to interrupt.
"Hey, look, about Saturday, I really need to thank you."
It was killing him not to interject sooner. "It's not a problem."
"No, really, it's amazing what you did for me. No...nobody has ever done anything like that for me before."
Obviously embarrassed, he asserted, "Can we not talk about that? Please."
"Sure, but why?" I knew I shouldn't have asked, but I had an overwhelming urge to be nosy.
"I'm not a hero, okay?" There was a slight edge in his voice. Not enough to be a snap, but enough for me to know to back off.

Just as our food arrived, I asked him one of my final personal questions. "What do you do for a living?"
He took a moment to reply, tipping the mini cup of dressing to spill over his chicken salad. "Sales."
"What kind?" My question was curious, but not too intruding. I glanced from him to my steaming food and back.
"I handle the money portion for a large sales company that deals with just about everything," he formally told me. "What do you do?"
"I manage a florist shop." I twisted my noodles around my fork.
"Manage? Good for you." He stabbed some pieces of lettuce and brought them to his mouth.
I proceeded to explain how I had worked my way to the top for that particular location. Scott nodded along and was quite the listener, agreeing with each thing I said. A building frustration gathered within me. Why couldn't he be normal? He insisted on being reserved and nearly silent, even as the predicted, noisy rush of customers overtook the place. Just as I was about to snap and tell Scott I was sick of his detachment and disengaged answers, he smirked. It was like suddenly my scrambled, irritated thoughts were sewn back to one another and had an entirely new emotion. He had an expression.
"Yeah sometimes I think that politics aren't worth it, but then I see a debate on TV and I'm like 'Wow you are so wrong' and then I'm sucked into the system all over again. Happens every election."
That subtle smirk finally displayed on his face and suddenly everything I was feeling evaporated and came pouring down with admiration.
"What? What are you thinking about?" I laughed, pushing it.
"I'm the exact same way."
I smiled. This guy in front of me wasn't half bad. How could such a great person be so empty? Why was he so extremely courteous? It was obvious he was sheltered, but I had no idea why, and no evidence to ask.
It seemed like his walls were coming down once again as he offered to pay for the wonderful meal, but I insisted it was my thank you for the last Saturday. He sighed, but didn't argue, and we were on our way, box of leftover pasta in my hand.
"My car is right here, I'll drive you home."
Scott shook his head softly. "No, I'll walk."
"It's dark out."
"It's a beautiful night."
Each time I felt I was getting somewhere, he shut me down. I sighed, drumming my fingers against my car door. "May I at least walk you home?"