I won't walk away.

It wasn’t his rice bowl.

He knew it wasn’t his rice bowl, but his phone had shut off and it had gotten a little wet and he had heard somewhere that sticking such a hampered device into some rice would bring about the solution.

And this rice bowl was unguarded for the time being. And it didn’t look like it belonged to anyone in particular. Totally free game, right? –In his phone was tossed, without a second thought.

And it was then that the passage he’d seen returned to him with a bit more clarity—the grains of rice weren’t usually cooked… were they?

He was just trying to get home. He was just trying to get home with his two bags of well selected groceries that absolutely, definitely covered all of the food pyramid’s nutritional groups—but, of course, fate had different plans for him on this day.

Bolin’s hands were full and the rain was getting in his eyes and obscuring his already questionable vision more so than usual and he had to jerk away really quickly to make sure he didn’t run into the lady that was about to pass him on the sidewalk and—

Whumph. He hit the wall, and tripped backwards—managing to land directly in the way of the woman he was attempting to evade. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t see—the wall…” And then he realized the contents of his bags had spilled around them.

Pudding cups. His two grocery bags full of pudding cups. EVERYWHERE.

That looked like a guy that was way too deep inside his own head. Or maybe that was just his face. Yeah, he kinda did have the looks of a thinker—what a trooper! Still, if that was the case, he was in even more trouble than Bolin had initially realized.

It was time to give him a good yank back to reality.

And, well, if Bolin sloppily dropping into a seat next to him didn’t work to start that, then Bolin-themed philosophies would most definitely do the trick. “You know… After marathoning every low budget horror film I could manage last night, I just don’t understand why anyone would try to further aggravate their, like, attacker, you know?! I mean, come on, Sally, that killer isn’t gonna like you any better after kicking him in the groin or trying to scratch at him with your claws! You gotta befriend them! Compliment their hair! Let them know how slick their shoes look! —I know, I’m totally prepared for this situation. I’VE GOT IT ALL DOWN PAT, MAN.”

With no prompting or prior greeting, Bolin walked up to the (kinda) familiar blonde and presented her with a very spiffy, marked up napkin. “I saw you looking at me from across the way and, uh, figured that you were just too nervous to say it, so—here it is! My neatest autograph yet, captured by this quilted beauty of parchment, to the shy fan who was rendered speechless at the sight of me!”

As firm a believer he was in finding the easy way out of things, after several moments of deep contemplation, Bolin had come to the conclusion that, in this case, there existed no such exit.

He wasn’t exactly sure how the lollipop had slid from his grip, but the ends of the girl’s hair were definitely within projectile distance—so at least most of how it ended up stuck there was debunked. Not that an explanation would really help him in this case either…

Maybe if he just tried to tug it out, it would come loose and he could walk away and pretend nothing had ever happened. Would washing it off to continue consumption be gross? She looked like she showered daily, but--

He reached over to attempt to pry the lollipop from her hair free—and unfortunately found that it did not budge. Had she noticed it?! –Probably. “Um… So, what I can do for you is… give you a really simple explanation…”

He was being targeted. After all, what were the chances of immediately after boasting his resolved avoidance of the library throughout his high school career that an assignment would be given that literally mandated every one of the class’s students base their research off a book found at Tancho Academy’s very own library? AND Bolin could recall his bragging taking place in this same teacher’s class—he was no fool!

--Not that he could very well bring the conspiracy to anyone’s attention and instill feelings of revolt in them. He knew. He’d tried…

With a heavy sigh, (and another glare from nearby students), Bolin stood from his seat, ditched an encyclopedia he’d been pretending to study over, and wandered over into another section, deeming his troubles with the assignment as enough struggle for the day.

It was then when he stumbled upon a very small section pertaining to… dragons. With a grin and a raised eyebrow, he plucked it out and opened it up, immediately enthralled with the images printed upon the pages—was that a diagram explaining how they could breathe fire?! SCIENCE. AMAZING. But, on that same page, he noticed a small inscription—of pen and not the book’s original ink. A phone number? …The area code was definitely within Tancho’s proximity. Huh. But there was nothing explaining what it was to…

...A PERFECT CASE FOR DETECTIVE BO. There was a reason he’d been sentenced to break his streak of years, and this was it! And with the prospect of dragons! The number was punched into his phone and he’d already typed out ‘DRAGONS’, but, in the end, he decided against sending the lone word and instead—

to: ????? ghost busters from: Bolin

| SO, WHO’S IN NEED OF SOME NEW THREADS? Not this guy, ‘cause his threads are BENDER CHIC AND HAPPENIN’.

Send 📱 To Find Out About My Muse’s Phone

What ringtone my muse has set for yours:

[x]: Just Keep Swimming Remix

What contact photo my muse has set for yours:

What my muse thinks of the way yours texts:

“I’m gonna set misleading shortcuts on his phone the next chance I get!”

How quickly my muse responds to your texts:

In terms of speed, 7/10– hurrying only if Rin seems PARTICULARLY annoyed.

How often our muses text:

Bolin spams him with obscure 3 AM thoughts and balloon emojis too often to tell.

How often our muses call:

Not too often– only for hangout plans, or maybe even emergencies.

Does my muse purposefully miss calls from yours:

NOT PURPOSEFULLY, HE SWEARS.

Last text sent from my muse to yours:

Send 📱 To Find Out About My Muse’s Phone

What ringtone my muse has set for yours:

[x]: Die, Potato– Asdf Movie Remix

What contact photo my muse has set for yours:

What my muse thinks of the way yours texts:

“–NOT ENOUGH ACRONYMS.”

How quickly my muse responds to your texts:

7/10 in terms of speed, 9/10 if it’s about Bolin Jr.!

How often our muses text:

Depends on the weather. For some reason, Bolin won’t respond to Chisaki if it’s windy out…?

How often our muses call:

It also depends on the weather. Gust out, line out.

Does my muse purposefully miss calls from yours:

Only if it’s windy.

Last text sent from my muse to yours:

Send 📱 To Find Out About My Muse’s Phone

What ringtone my muse has set for yours:

[x]– Mean Girls voice clip.

What contact photo my muse has set for yours:

What my muse thinks of the way yours texts:

“Miyuki could use some more emotion in his life.”

How quickly my muse responds to your texts:

Varying– 6/10 times it’s on the quicker side.

How often our muses text:

Here and there. Bolin likes to provoke at any given opportunity.

How often our muses call:

Probably only when necessary– i.e. trying to locate.

Does my muse purposefully miss calls from yours:

Not intentionally! But he does seem to miss calls a lot…

Last text sent from my muse to yours:

“…Snake charmer?” Alibaba never really thought about what kind of people he attracted, but just what kind of people did Bolin seem to think he hung out with? Well he tried to backtrack but what’d been said had been already said.

Either way, he accepted the tickets and gave Bolin a small smile. “Thanks. I really do appreciate it Bolin.”

Actually, now that he thought about it, there was someone else in mind. A bit of a blush formed on his face as he wondered if she actually would like to go…

“Just remember; you gotta tell me about it.” Bolin looked at the older guy seriously before breaking out into a grin again. Maybe this was pushing it, but—“Perhaps over Things on the Rocks at the Bar…?”

He didn’t really wanna give Alibaba a chance to decline, so he saluted him and started walking backwards without turning around. “IT’S ALL YOU ALIBA—“

Smack. Right into the wall. “—RTENDER… AUGH. OKAY. LATER.” And out he ran, cradling the back of his head.