*Still working on a title for this chapter :P Please comment any suggestions!*

"'The paper was hot like fresh blood in his hands as he removed it from the press. He watched dead hands stack, cut, and tie the bundles of newspaper. Breathing became a conscious effort. These are my hands, he whispered, reminding himself that they were not dead, just stained.'" I mouthed the words in silence, savoring them as they moved across my lips. The classroom was alive with chatter. The late afternoon's amber light created dark music bars across smiling faces, their laughter creating a melody in the stale air. I wrote my suggestions and corrections. John's expecting face met mine. His mouth pulled to the side with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Handing his story back to him, I said, "It's good." John raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming."

I fiddled with the pen in my hand. "But where's the love story? It's been a couple of weeks and there's no girl anywhere."

John's eyes brightened, "Actually, I did write a scene. I just don't know where to put it." He rummaged through his backpack that's crammed with crumpled pieces of paper and spiral notebooks intertwined with each other. Finally, he found the paper he was looking for and handed it to me. As I began to read, my face heats up. The scene wasn't graphic but the implications of what his characters were doing were intense.

His lips and hands explored the mountains, the valleys, and the depths of her physical landscape.

I glanced at John. His eyes unwavering.

"You might want to check with the teacher about this. It might be too um..."

"Steamy?"

I nodded, avoiding eye contact. Doesn't he think it's weird that he's sharing this kind of scene with me? I know I would. I would have shown it to one of my female friends and ask for her opinion and then slip it into the final draft. There's something unnerving about his lack of hesitation or embarrassment. Something raw.

"So what do you think of my story?" I asked, diffusing the awkwardness.

John chuckled, "I have to admit, man. I didn't take you as a romantic."

I can't help but glare up at him. Yes, I dress in all black and tend to wear a leather jacket over my hoodies and have chains on my jeans, but it doesn't mean my personality matches my appearance. As my mother put it, I have the bad boy appearance with the heart and mind of a gentlemen.

John raised his hands in mock surrender. "Chill. Don't kill me."

"I'll think about it," I grumbled.

"But in all seriousness, your characters are good but they seem to lack...depth."

I raised a brow.

"Like, there's nothing about how they grew up, their hobbies, fears, et cetera."

"Noted."

The dismissal bell pierced the air and I gathered my things. I walked out of the classroom to see John walking alongside Olive Green. I think back to his new female character. Red hair. Fair skin. Hazel eyes. She must be his Gothic muse.

*Please vote if you enjoyed this chapter! Had writer's block for a bit. The struggle is real!