Mavis.

Trust me.

Two words. Two words that would have me scoffing if they came from anyone else mouth. But strangely when he offered his hand for me to take, I did. And nothing feels more right than the feel of his warm hand enveloping my own. It shouldn't feel so right. But I can't help it, I let him drag me away to wherever he wants to show me. He wants my truth, the truth that I don't know how to give because I'm scared shitless. There it is, I said it. I don't want him to look at me differently, I don't want his pity.

I hold my breath and let him drive us away. He keeps glancing my way every few minutes, as if I was about to jump from the moving car and run away. Even if all my issues are telling me to run away, I stay and listen to his ragged breathing, heavy sounds that are keeping me sane from my doubting thoughts.

"We will have to walk a little," he parked the car and was already out of his seat and opening my door before I could even register his words. There he is again, looking at me with those eyes that had my knees weak and an outstretched hand that I could not refuse again. I'm so pathetic.

"Where are we?" I asked, surveying the empty area, no one in sight but us. Then I noticed the railings in the ground, old railings covered by grass and mud, and a bit far away is where I suppose we are headed looked like the train station.

"I realized I wasn't being fair to you," his voice brought my attention back to him, he was a few steps ahead, I couldn't see his face nor the expression he had. I kept quiet, only staring at the back of his head but then I squeezed his clutching hands, meaning I was listening to him. "I keep asking you personal questions without giving you any reason why you should open up to me,"

He is so selfless, that it makes me angry. The way he makes me feel, soft and vulnerable makes me angry. I don't want to feel these emotions for a reason, but he makes me question every reason. "What does that have to do with this place?"

"When I'm angry-"

"You get angry?" I cut him off and he send me a pointed look with a little smile dancing on his lips. "Yes, I do get angry Mavis. Anger is a human emotion that everybody feels. And even if I don't look like it, I get angry a lot, I just know how to control it."

That must be nice. Knowing how to control your emotions.

"When I'm mad at the world I come here," we were standing in the middle of a railing, and he looks around taking a deep sigh. "I sometimes just scream, kick rocks or just lay here and stare at the sky." He looks back at me his stare holding his words, "sounds dramatic, I know. But it helps,"

Well, it can't be more dramatic than me burning down a sorority house or hitting a person with a tray.  At least he doesn't hurt people when he is angry, he is a better person than I will ever be. "What makes you angry, June?"

Holding my gaze just like he is holding both my hands now, running his fingers over my knuckles. "Someone hurting a person I care about." selfless yet again even in his anger.

"What more?"

"That I can not help enough people,"

"Something else?"

"Sometimes-" he halted for a second, looking away from me. "Sometimes, I'm angry that I'm not good enough."

Him not being good enough? I don't think anyone is as good as him. "Why do you think that?"

He still doesn't look at me, his shoulders tense, "I don't know, I just do. I just feel like I have to do my best in everything,"

"Isn't that exhausting?"

His lips tightened, and after a long minute he slowly nodded. "Sometimes,"

Of course, it would be exhausting. Feeling like you owe everybody your best must be tiring, not feeling enough after all those efforts must be even worst. He and I, couldn't be more different. I don't give people any hope of me being a good person from the start, I don't want expectations that I will end up deceiving anyway. But I feel for him, I feel so much it's scary. I want to take away that burden, I want to ease it up on him, because there aren't two people like him who deserve more. He deserves the world, and for the first time I want to be a good person so I could give it to him.

Without thinking much, I hug him. I throw my arms over his shoulders and burry my face in his chest. It took him a second to react before he pulled me closer to him as he circled his arms around my waist. "You know Dash, I'm not a hugger."

His breathy chuckle tickles the skin of my neck, "yeah, I've guessed that much." I tilted my head just a little to look up at him and frowned, "are you telling me I suck?"

His grin appease my worried thoughts, he should never lose that smile. "I wouldn't dare," he leaned closer so that his forehead was against mine, "you're the best hug I've had in a long time,"

"I must be a natural," I said with a little smile of my own. I'm not much for physical touch but I like it here, I like how his body feels against mine, I like his hands on my skin. I feel strangely comfortable.

"June," his name leaves my lips and my hands subconsciously travel to his chest as if I was going to push him away, but I just rested them there and held into the earth of his eyes. "The red scratches you saw on my neck are self-indulged,"

He held me close and silent, waiting for me. "I did that to myself because sometimes I get very hypersensitive to feels, my skin gets itchy and I can't stand anything on me, and that leads to worst insomnia."

He frowns, then looks down at where his hands are touching me, considering if he needs to take them off. I put my own hands over his and squeeze in reassurance, "Trust me, if I wasn't over it I wouldn't stand five feet close to another human being."

"Did you seek help from a professional?" his question held good intentions, but I couldn't stop the frustrated sigh that left me. "Giving me pills that worsen my depression doesn't help much."

"I'm sorry," he says,

"Don't be." I don't want him to be sorry for me. I don't know what I want from him, for now I just want him where he is, here with me. Us being real with each other. Me being able to talk without being scared.

"I have autism." I watch him as I say the words, I watch how his face doesn't morph into utter shock, I watch how his eyebrows slowly lift up in small surprise and his mouth forms a little 'o', and I feel how he doesn't let go of me but instead pulls me even closer than possible.

"Alright. It makes sense." alright. Okay. That's it. I like it, I like it a lot that I can't help but beam at him as if for a second I was the happiest person ever. I don't want it to be a big of a deal, and he just offered me that. I don't go around saying I have autism because I know the usual reactions are so far from being like June's. When I was nineteen, I got told by a nurse that I don't look like someone who has autism. And I hated that. What does it even mean? Am I supposed to look deranged to look autistic?

People with ASD are all different and unique in their own way. Not all of us have the same symptoms or characteristics, we are just people who don't fit in the 'normal' of society because we have to go through challenges to live our daily life. It is very hard sometimes, sensory overload is no fun to deal with. I can not stand anyone or anything near me when I go through it.

I look at June, and see a beautiful person, a person that for the first time in a long time made me want to be better. Do better.  "June, I think I really like you." I would probably regret saying this later, but I'm going to enjoy the high before I feel the low for once.