By The Fireplace

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A friend can understand you, needless of words.

Submitted: August 03, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 03, 2016



In a night rather bleak and dreary, when the pelting rain could be heard as it made its assault on the windows and the wind sighed and groaned with a threatening promise, wielding its force on the fragile branches of the barren trees outside, Demian and Eve were sat sitting quietly by the fireplace, each lost in their own thoughts, seemingly unburdened by the harsh weather outside. The crackling of firewood made a pleasant contrast to the howling wind, and the warm gleam added to the ambience. Demian stared into the distance while Eve had her lips pursed in contemplation, looking fixedly at him with mere analytical interest. Her eyes wandered the contours of his impassive face, as if to find one crack to the overly perfect mask, yet she found none. Demian’s features did not contort to match the nature of events that life continuously bestowed upon its bearers, be they pleasant or unpleasant, but instead retained that curious calm. But… to Eve’s inquisitive eyes, he seemed sad, just in a way that was not the usual definition for the word. His sadness was not constrained to a moment of time; it was deeply etched, a part of his facial archeology just as much as his nose or eyes were. And even with such humanly emotion, he seemed to be of a species that bore very little semblance to humans.


Demian’s mouth tugs in a small smile, “are you attempting to psycho-analyze me?”

Eve hesitates for a moment, “do you mind?”

Demian’s gaze turns momentarily towards her before resuming his inspection of the flaming embers, “no. I’m rather curious to tell the truth.”

Briefly pausing, Eve too turns her gaze towards the fire, “it’s just that you’re shrouded with a veil of mystery. You seem to know many things about many people but little is known about you. You’re everybody’s best friend yet no one is yours. I wonder why you’re so secretive?”

Demian thinks over what Eve has just disclosed, eyebrows slightly furrowed, “I tend to fixate on the other person during a conversation and thus end up sharing little about myself, maybe that comes off as secretive.”

Eve shakes her head and turns fully towards Demian, “no, it’s not that. When Peter asked you a somewhat personal question earlier on, you evaded answering it. Not coherently anyway. Even though Peter is one of the closest people to you.”


Demian says nothing, but the crease on his forehead becomes more blatant.


After a period of silence, Eve continues, “I think… that while you are very introspective, you have trouble perceiving yourself. Recognizing other people’s emotions and problems is a lot easier because you can… see it, so to speak. It’s in the way the person behaves, in the slightest tremor of the lips, the uncomfortable shift in stance… You can take that sensory information and interpret it in your mind. But you can’t do that with yourself.

“Empathy is a lot more justified when it’s directed towards others, too, isn’t it? And so in the end, you are unsure of your own identity, being lost in the emotional manifestations of those you care about. And I suppose that in spite of your calm visage, it quite frustrates you. You subconsciously rely on others to understand you but that never happens. Is that why you always seem to be on guard?”


Eve receives no response from Demian, but she doesn’t fail to gauge the vacant look in his eyes and wonders if she has gone too far.

Eve has a tendency of stepping over people’s limits, only realizing she had done so when it’s too late. 

“I know what you’re thinking, I totally stole your role, right?” Eve lightly queries, attempting to lighten the air. But of course, the sentence comes out rather uncertain and definitely awkward. Receding to her nature, Eve slumps backwards in defeat, berating herself behind shut eyes.


“Yes. You quite did.”


Eve reopens her eyes upon hearing Demian’s voice. It was light-natured and quiet, nothing unlike Demian’s usual tone. However, if Eve concentrated a little more, she would realize it was more quiet than usual, as if bearing a newly found revelation. Glancing at her side, Demian has that distant look on his face again, but it is accompanied by a small smile.

Heaving an inward sigh of relief, Eve is grateful she had not lost yet another friend to her sometimes too honest analyses.


They allow the silence to hang once again in the air, with only the crackling of wood gracing the tranquility.

© Copyright 2018 Leitmotiv. All rights reserved.

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