Lost. That is what he was. Lost in thoughts and dread to what would happen once he crossed through those double set of doors. What would happen would be he would go home. Once he got home he would get yelled at for wasting the night away out lollygagging and doing nothing productive. Only after a hit from his father for not coming home in a proper amount of time would he be allowed to go to bed. He'd have a new bruise most likely. He was used to them. To the bruises that riddled his flesh more often than not. His father had taken to drinking on some days and it made him worse than when he was sober. It was okay though...he was mostly numb to it all anyways. His life was no cake walk and never was it worth going home to. His mother's most common name for him...freak. He had come to know that as what he was just like what his name was. Usually they were used in the same sentence as well.<br/><br/>A loud thud started to tear him from his thoughts. It wasn't until the metalic lipstick container thwacked him hard in his back did he snap from his somber thoughts. He stopped and blinked back the thoughts. Letting reality form before his vision once more. He turned around and saw the singer. She had fallen and most likely bruised herself up. He kneels down and picks up her lipstick. Picking up all the items on the floor. One by one. Holding them in the crook of one arm while adding the last of the items, a cell phone, to the pile. Picking up her purse and let them slide like an avalanche back into the purse. Zipping it up once he was done doing so.<br/><br/>He then turned and helped the singer up. "You are a good singer. I come here to listen to you almost every night. Not because the songs make me drawn here and entranced like it seems to do everyone else that is male. I come because here, when I hear your songs, is the only time and place I feel peace and balance." He spoke softly. His accent sexy but not very thick. It was there but just like an exotic fruit that makes the listener ache to hear just a few more notes of the voice speaking to them. He stood up and pulled her along. Kneeling down again and picks up her purse. Handing it to her. "You seem to have had a nasty fall. Are you alright miss?" He asks softly. Though anyone looking at him would hear a lack of life. As if people had been ripping at him. Tearing his spark of life apart. Piece by piece making it shredded and in an ever so slow downwards spiral into the oblivion of nonexistance. Yet the faint spark of light seemed to light up even the darkest of thoughts. Yet it was clearly a flame slowly being smothered into darkness once more.<br/><br/>He lowered his hands to his side. If she happened to look up into his dark midnight blue eyes she would see a young man whose spark of life was dim and flickering in and out. A man who was clearly made numb to the world and feeling alive by some unforeseen factor. He gave her a small smile. "I wanted to thank you...for singing and bringing life to a soul that everyday is made to die and break little by little. Your songs speak to me...call me back to life. Give me hope so that I might go on just a little while longer. For that I thank you." He says. He turns to go walk off. "Also...thanks for holding my gaze though for but a moment. It made me feel as if I was not just invisible to all but the darkness that makes up my life. So...I must thank you for that."