too fragile to forget || cass & naomi

There’s a painful distinction, you realise, between helping people out of your reach and guiding those within it.

The girl comes up to you and plants herself beside you without a second thought. There’s no hesitation in her movements, and you’re greeted with the smell of spring touched by the sun as her black hair falls around her shoulders. The book you were reading seems forgotten in the moment as your eyes rest on her face.

She’s sunlight, a smile stretching across her lips, it’s so bright that you’re almost scared that being near you will break it. You notice almost straight away that one side of her lip pulls a little higher than the other. There’s imperfection buried within us all, but to you, at this moment it does not seem wrong- a little more like perfect.

Caution is buried on your lips, ready to tell her to leave you alone. It’s not safe to stand by your side. Your gaze shifts around you, hoping that Cleo or Clara or one of the other dozen bullies within these walls does not see you. But it seems that she’s thought ahead, tugging the two of you out and away from the chaos of the halls.

You’re alone, wrapped in a brief moment of silence as she stumbles over her words. Her face is familiar. The name you’re searching for is balancing on the tip of your tongue, like a sweet dream lingering in your mind in the morning. It’s something pretty, a name that should stand out, and you’re almost ashamed that you can’t remember-

“Naomi,” spoken between her shining smile and cascade of words.

It means pleasantness, and at this moment the girl in front of you embodies its definition like the spring is for flowers. It’s easy to forget the fear that had stolen you as soon as she had spoken, washed away like the ocean stealing shells from a beach. The request itself is odd, and you tuck away the book in your hands, staring at her with a perplexed expression as she takes hold of your sleeve.

The tug is gentle but doesn’t stop the fear from rearing its ugly head within your heart. Someone as gentle as Naomi doesn’t deserve to have her name tarnished for being associated with you. It seems that there’s no time for you to refute her statement, she’s brandishing her words like a hammer and leaving no room for refusal. You’re worried, though, apprehension gnawing frantically at your stomach as you seamlessly fall in step beside her.

You’re confused, lost within the joy in her words and warmth of her smile. But still, part of you is torn, eyes tearing themselves away from her small figure to glance around you, fearful of who might see you with her. But no one is looking at you for the time being and you breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s okay. A gentle reminder that pushes against your worry.

“Okay,” you say, “I can help you.”

When had you ever helped anyone before?

“Th- there’s a shop,” you run a hand through your hair, fingers tightening on your book. “It’s not too far from the school, we can go there.”

You notice how she doesn’t pull away, fingers still entwined with the sleeve of your shirt as she directs you in a new direction. She’s gentle, like nudging a wounded animal in the hopes that she doesn’t scare it off. You suppose she has every right to be so careful. Had she not burst into the moment with such sunshine and life you’d have already run away.

But here you are, listening to the ludicrous things that fall from her pink lips as she lights up the space around you. It feels almost foolish to think it, but you’re a writer after all; the world seems a little bright, a little more colourful around her. You hope that maybe some of that delight can seep into the darkness that steals your heart. Another part of you is fearful, ready to snatch your arm away, afraid that your own darkness might infect the beauty before you.

Yet, you remain, rooted to the spot, and unwilling to disengage. So fully entangled and devoured by the moment that you nod your head in agreeance. Yes, you are a nice person. Yes, you are worthy of getting to know. What does she see? Her eyes pierce through your own burying themselves into every corner of your mind, it steals your breath. You’re right, you decide, mouth set in a firm line.

She’s sunshine. Not that harsh light that hurts your eyes in the middle of the day. No, Naomi is the warmth of the morning as it awakens the world. She’s the greeting that echoes with the song of birds. It’s when those gentle rays caress the earth and you sit before it, tea in hand, letting its gentle touch warm your entire being. She makes you feel warm inside, like a flower spreading its petals deep within your chest.

You feel exposed under the gaze and you eventually have to look away. Even then, you’re met with more warmth because it engulfs her entire being. There’s a flutter in your chest that shocks you, a twist to your belly that feels so foreign you almost mistake it for sickness.

It seems you’re completely correct, as you leave the school she greets the sun like an old friend. Her eyelids flutter and you’re lost, so completely enthralled by this sudden hurricane that has taken you off your feet. How had this happened? It scares you and you swallow, the lump hard in your throat. Letting these feelings bloom was dangerous, the mask so carefully placed on wet cheeks would break. You’d never practiced indifference in the face of light, only within the confines of darkness.

“I like it,” you say quickly, unable to stop yourself once her smile blossoms across rosy cheeks. You’re not sure if you’re replying to what she’s said or if you’re talking about her smile. There’s a tug in your heart, a feeling of safety and security that you thought had been long forgotten. But here it is, rearing its head within the silence of the afternoon light, within the embrace of a smile built by sunshine.

“Maybe I can get to know you as well.”

Maybe you can shine, just a little bit, by her side.

She responds oddly to your comment and you duck your head, uncertainty swirling its way through your mind. You were used to people reacting to what you said or did and it never fazed you. For some reason, the way she bites her lip catches you off guard, as though you’ve spoken the wrong thing, got the wrong idea. Ah, once again, you want to turn away and let this go before it hurts you too much.

You’re fragile at this moment.

At that same moment, the hold on your sleeve falls. The weight lightens your arm and you find yourself uncomfortable with the sensation. The familiarity of her hand attached to your shirt had already seeped in, already imbedded itself into your mind. There was something gentle about the way she had led you through the halls and how she hadn’t let go straight away.

You had felt touchable, a lingering sense of warmth spreading through your chest. There were too few times when touching wasn’t filled with aggression and pain. The last time someone had placed a hand on you, they had shoved you in a bin. Before that-

No, this was not the time to bring up that memory. You shake your head, taking the lead, the school to your back, the nightmares behind you. For these few hours, there can be peace, there is no need to think about who will shove you in the hall. You do not have to worry about your mask slipping in front of Cleo, or tears welling in your eyes as you pull your blanket over your head. It almost makes you smile as your gaze flickers back to Naomi.

"It'd be a shame to leave my new notebook empty after we buy it, don't you think?"

There’s so much energy in front of you, from the excitement bubbling in her words, to the way she bounces on the balls of her feet. You’re not wrong, when you think she’s sunshine, her smile is so bright that you turn your head away. Nodding in agreeance you rub that back of your neck, a tightness in your chest that’s unfamiliar.

She keeps going as though there is nothing in life that can cut off her energy. It’s infectious and the mask cracks, a small smile crossing your lips. The surprise at the movement shocks you, and it flickers, falling away as you cover your mouth with a hand. You don’t quite understand what’s happening right now, why she’s saying these things, and what she wants from you. There are so many scars, buried only millimeters away and you can feel your fear bubbling underneath your skin.

Naomi’s a rocket, pushing on even as your fear threatens to break through. She gives you no time to succumb to it, washing it away with more endearing questions and requests. There are cracks, the sunlight creeping in and shining down in that broken, malformed part of yourself. It scares you. She pushes and you find yourself responding, the words tripping over themselves before you can stop it.

“I can help you,” you say. It escapes before you can clamp your mouth shut, feet stopping in the dirt as you tug at the sleeve of your shirt. “I- I’ve written songs before, I can show you how.”

There’s a rosy red creeping along her cheeks, and it catches you off guard. A gentle redness to match hers falls across your own face. You stare at her, mouth gaping for a moment before you find your lips pulling themselves into a smile.

“I’d love to hear you sing.”