Heroes | ✓

· of love ·

Love. What is it exactly? 

Hypothetical (or real, if it's New Year's) fireworks going off during someone's first kiss, indicating that it's love at first (sight) kiss? Or the slight intentional brush of your fingers against the person's hand when you're sitting next to them, telling them you're there for them?

 Or is it the midnight or even the midday laughs, making you feel as if you're on cloud nine, even if the sky is clear? Or the shoulder they offer you to cry on, despite the fact that you might get snot on their clothing?

 Or is it the small smile they give you when you complete each other's sentences? Or their eyes, speaking to you, telling you that they love you? 

Love works in mysterious ways. Not one person who has been in love can describe what love exactly is, perfectly. But then again, love is not supposed to be perfect - 

The notebook Faith was reading from was snatched away from her. "That's mine."

It was Dylan Walters. Faith had AP Calculus and English with him. Blinking and realizing that she had probably just read something personal, she apologized, " Sorry, I found it in English Lit class and I was just checking whose it was."  

Her cheeks tinged red with embarrassment as she ducked her head , while he stuffed the notebook in his backpack. 

"How much did you read?" 

"Not much." She shrugged. 

They both lingered for a while, neither turning to leave so Faith broke the silence, "You like to write?" 

His eyes widened, "You just said you didn't read much." 

"I didn't. Only like, 5 sentences, I guess. I love it, though. I mean, that was a piece of art right there." Faith couldn't help but smile. She loved reading, however, it had been a while since she had read a good, magical  piece. She wouldn't be able to comment on Dylan's writing just yet, obviously. 5 sentences can never tell whether the rest of it is just as magical or not. But it definitely had the potential to be. That was what made Faith smile. 

He shrugged modestly, "Thanks. It's not much." 

"Do you write often?" 

"Sure. But I don't think I want to be a writer in a few years. Maybe an editor." 

"Because writing will just snap the life out of you and emotionally exhaust you?" Faith laughed slightly, teasing him. 

To her surprise, Dylan smiled a bit, just a smidge as he said, "Something like that." 

Silence descended upon them once again, and then she finally spoke again, "Well, why aren't you on the school editorial? They could definitely put your skills to use." 

Dylan just shrugged. Maybe he was just uncomfortable around strangers. They were practically strangers. Or maybe he just had the habit of giving incomplete, unsatisfactory answers and one word responses. 

"Will I ever be able to read that complete thing? The one about love?" She asked.

He smiled, almost as if to himself, as he looked at her, "Maybe."