#random writer problems

That writing a fic with all 7 boys is pure chaos and mad props to anyone out there who is able to balance all of those personalities at once rofl~

He blew out a puff of smoke as he took this all in, took her all in. "You're quite the weird one you know." Her shoulders shrugged up and then dropped, her finger never leaving her mouth. "Most everyone here say its the music that speaks to them, and yet here you are raving about silence. Are you sure you're in the right place? Maybe you're meant to be at one of those poetry clubs where they snap their fingers and dress in all black."

She raised an eyebrow at him, making a point to look at his black boots, black jeans, and black leather jacket. He rolled his eyes and took another drag, "You know what I mean." Her finger slid from her mouth and she inspected it before wiping the spit on her faded blue gingham dress. "How very stereotypical of you to well... stereotype me. Just because I find reason in the silence doesn't mean I do not find it in music. I have just as much right to be here as you do, even more so because I'm not here to further a certain image of myself. I am no allusion that I fit in here, but I won't allow that to keep me from enjoying the music I choose to like."

He felt a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Well then."

"Well then indeed." She glanced over the others in the alleyway, all had a cigarette adorning their mouth, save her. 

He noticed a small scar above her right collarbone. "What happened there?"

"I got into a knife fight with a guy who stereotyped me." She raised an eyebrow at him. He rolled his eyes, "Oh hardy-har-har. What's your name anyway."

"My friends call me Via." He blew out another puff of smoke, this time in her face. "That's not a name. It's a preposition." She snatched the cigarette from his mouth and took a long drag. Slowly she leaned forward and blew the smoke square in his face. "I didn't say it was my name. I said it was what I am called."

He scowled at her, "Well then, Via, I wish I could say it was nice but..."

"Oh no. I find you very annoying and snobbish for a greaser. Don't suppose this was me hitting on you. This was boredom." He scowled again, this time much deeper. "I'm sorry to have not been better company then."

She smirked and looked away, as if distracted. "You should be."

The alarm was suddenly blaring and Via shot up in her bed. Frantically she rummaged through her nightstand, almost sighing with relief as her fingers closed around the prescription bottle. Popping two in her mouth, she swallowed them dry before sinking back into the bed.

"I dreamed of you again," she spoke aloud to no one in her empty room, "the night we met actually."