As I wake up, I look down at him, and realize we dozed off after he ranted about his story for an hour. It was an interesting story about a kid being open about his autism, only to be looked down on and lose everything. I don't exactly agree with the lesson of it but it was well written.

When he started talking however, I noticed something odd. The way he changed suddenly from seemingly bitter to suddenly energetic and jolly, actually starting to tremble from excitement as he came to the climax of the story, and asking at at least five different points if I was bored or uncomfortable with the sudden shift.

If anything I thought it was cute. Endearing. A bit like a puppy almost. Seeing its owner after a long time. It is strange though, as soon as the tale was done, he seemed exhausted. Much like a dog, getting all excited tuckered him out. Although comparing him to a dog overall seems wrong. He's still a person. Just some traits I noticed aside from whatever this intense hatred he feels for the world is.

I open his file, which sits on a glass table over the brown carpet and read over it once more. The file contains only what he was willing to share and is... minimal at best. It contains a photo, allergies, he is allergic to feathers from most birds, and triggers. There are two triggers listed. Holidays and red beverages. Both of those are quite odd. For me, on holidays are when the hallucinations are at their minimum. My family and friends all in once place. I love holidays. Also, red beverages? What the fuck does that mean? That's so vauge. I mean fruit punch is my favorite thing to drink. Why would he hate that specifically? This raises more questions than it answers.

It does contain a few notes, such as him jumping, but no more than I mentioned in conversation with him. It does include some info on how he was before the incident. How he changed so dramatically after. He was apparently very laid back and social. He was always one find the positive. Trusting. Then after he became closed off, paranoid, and bitter.

What happened to him?

I decide to let him sleep in the couch, returning to my own room, taking the file with me. Can't let any other students see it. It's private, even though it contains very little. I set the file on my white desk, next to two notebooks for my main classes, psychology and English. I do have that test Friday. What time is it?

I look at a black cat clock, above my bed with white sheets. 2am? Shit. I best sleep instead.

I walk across the brown carpet and lay down, trying to wrap my head around this new kid. What's his deal? Maybe I should leave well enough alone. Then again, when he was acting like he was supposedly before shit hit the fan, he seemed really nice and jolly. I just don't get it...

I begin to worry about Wilson, it is cold, and I can't just leave him in the lobby without any blankets, poor kid will freeze. As class president I should probably do something.

No. As his... friend I guess, I should bring him a blanket. Taking a spare blanket from my bed, I return to to the lobby only to find Wilson gone. I find him pacing in his sleep, muttering as he bumps into a wall only to turn, muttering still.

"Guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt," he mutters.

"Wilson wake up," I tap his shoulder.

"Get away from-" he snaps awake and turns to look at me. Embrassed, shocked, and confused.

"Bad dream?" I ask.

"It's fine," he turns away clearly lying.

"We could be friends you know," I explain, "you seemed so happy when you talked about tales. Why not just be like that?"

"I hate being like that," he sighs, "I hate people seeing me like am excited puppy to look down on and take care of. I am Wilson Oakwood. I protect. I don't need protection. I don't need your help. I certainly don't deserve it."

He opens his locket and sighs.

"You OK?" I ask.

"Get some sleep," he demands, "I would hate for you to get sick. This is when the flu starts to spread. If you need to talk about your problems, my door is open. If anyone does, my door is open, but if try to help me? I'll spam my door in your goddamn cute face."

"Cute?" I ask.

He blushes silently before shaking his head.

"I'm going to bed and you ain't gonna pry no more bout' my past," he replies annoyed, "pleasant dreams."

He turns and walks down the hall, into his room where he locks the door. He then opens it and places a piece of paper with some writing before closing it again.

I go to read it and find it says, "Wilson Oakwood. Here to help. Confidential. Note I will help you, not the other way around. Door always open. However my problems are my business. Pry and you will be blacklisted."

He is... direct. Why would he place this knowing he's gonna have to actually talk to people if he doesn't wanna make friends? It doesn't make sense!

I sigh and brush it off, before returning to my room and going to sleep...