Mute should always have an admirer nearby

You scoot up to Mute. "Great," Jorrel says, "I'll take the stairs and check out the dungeon. Emalie, you go take the hallway with those spooky noises. Shiva and Mute--"

Mute interrupts, "I know. You really don't have to spell it out. I'm not a bleeding idiot." Before Jorrel can reply, Mute grabs you roughly by the arm and slips through the door. He takes long strides and, being a head or two taller, you barely manage to keep pace. You can vaguely hear Jorrel say something and Emalie slamming a door.

When Mute let's go of your arm, you find yourself disappointed. Too confused to appreciate his touch, you're left with a feeling of your brain having cheated you. Or maybe you did notice it, but got lost in the sensation, because you don't remember how you ended in this spacious room. Large, open, tons of dirt pouring through - what must have been - another door to your right. Same in front of you. Instead of doors, it's an enormous gaping hole in the wall. Steel girders bending as centuries of earth press against it. A battle it'd probably have lost if it weren't for the tangle of roots weaving the dirt tidal wave threatening to reclaim this ruin.

There's also another desk - smack dab in the middle of everything - creating a sort of symmetry. Gaping whole in front. A desk. Two doorways placed symmetrically behind it.

"I think this is the entrance," you say without thinking. "Look how the girders are all equal in size, except for one wide, rectangular piece, there. Maybe a door?"

Mute doesn't speak immediately, instead drawing on his notepad. He's doing so with much more vigour than usual. Probably best to leave him be. Give him some space. Let him breathe. Respect hi--

"Do you want to talk about it?" You say immediately, rudely, invading his private thoughts to sate your selfish curiosity. You just can't leave people alone, can you? Noooo, you need to know everyone's thoughts and feelings at all times. Constantly prodding and poking them.

"Talk about what?" He snaps. Though justified, Mute's own reaction to your question seems to have caught him off guard as he recoils in surprise. Light headed, he stumbles, and you proceed to violate his personal space to help him sit down on... some sort of stool?

"Damn," Mute says after a while, "I got this... Whining in my ear. Like my brain is punishing me for standing up for myself and feeling basic - insert deity here - damn emotions" He seems calmer. More his usual self. "You ever get that?"

Shrugging, you reply, "Sometimes. Goes away after a while."

Mute makes a sound of agreement, rubbing his temples and unclenching his jaw.

"Like the whole thing aches," he says sticking out his tongue and flashing you a smile. And there's your Mute. The person he seems to be only around you, alone. At least you're not the only shy one. There's a comforting thought - or it should be - instead you always get this lingering ominous feeling. Like you're a rodent sniffing at a cat's lure.

You try not to, but you still giggle like an idiot. You've got no idea why. Wasn't really that funny. Charming, maybe?

Mute pulls you down onto the stool with him and throws an arm around you. Immediately, your body tenses. He looks at you. You look at him. He leans in. You have to do something before something happens and he ends up hating your disgusting everything.

You don't pull away, but say, quite loudly, "What was that about? That thing back there. That happened. Let's talk about that in great and lengthy detail." You avoid looking at his face. Even a slight hint of disappointment would **** your soul.

"Right. Must have seem like a crazy overreaction." Mute says, absolutely not sadly, you lie to yourself.

"No, no. Didn't seem crazy. It's just..." Careful, Shiva, like precision soldering. "Yeah, seemed a little crazy out of nowhere. You're not crazy though. The reaction was. Not you. Reaction. Just that. Only that. Not you. Please stop me from talking."

Mute pushes himself off the stool, leaving a warm, lingering sensation where your bodies smoshed each-other.

"It was... a culmination of things. Not just that he thinks I can't do basic deduction." He seems thoughtful before continuing, "We all have an implicit agreement that he's the 'insert figure of authority here' of our gang. That's fine. Groups and communities are just fundamentally better when a single person makes those important decisions, but..." He'd been pacing around the room, slowly getting closer to you, again. With his dramatic pause, his face inches away from yours, you're afraid he's going to smell how awful you've got to be stinking right now.

If he does, he says doesn't comment on it, "It's crucial that such decisions are made, based off group input. Otherwise leadership is just a poor veil pulled in front to hide the gross face of fascism. Don't mistake my argument as proactively advocating for a democratic system. Sure, it can work on a larger scale, but in smaller groups it does not. Someone must be held responsible so the rest can freely, without fear, function in their roles. Where's the system in our group broken? When one presumes to command, instead of processing input - that's my guess. But how do we fix it? How do we create conversation through a broken system? I do not know..."

You want to say; We have that conversation, broken or not. Also, stop theorizing and start applying your knowledge. You're hot, and I think I want to get married and live inside of you forever and ever, but it's a little hard to do through the lack of experience and unintentional hypocrisy.

Instead you say, "We could try whacking it. I do that when sometimes when stuff breaks. I mean, let's not hit Jorrel, that's really not what I'm saying. Seriously, don't hit Jorrel. My point is, we can talk or we can do something. The something we have to do is talk, so I'd say it counts as something. Not nothing. On that note, I really need you to please shut me up when I start getting annoying with a constant stream of words because I find that pretty damn annoying when I-" You start to deflate like a balloon, finishing your display of embarrassment with, "and great I'm running out of breath as I'm speaking which is also a way to sto--" You finish, gasping for air. Phew. Thank you, biological functions, for putting an end to that.

Mute smiles, says, "I tried to help earlier," and shrugs. "I like you. You know that, right?"

You just stare into the ground, wondering when someone started pouring coals in your boiler suit.

"Like, like like you." Mute bends down in front of you. "I'm just worried that... I get the impression that you... That you have to like me."

You look up at Mute. Kinda. You look halfway up, first at his lips and then you worry about how that might come off, so you just stare into his nose instead, and ask "How so?"

"Hard to explain. Maybe it just makes symbolic sense in my head. Jorrel and Emalie are together, so it would make sense we should be too. Two guys, two girls, two couples." He looks up at you a question lingering in his expression.

A thought hits you and you - yeah, skipping ahead - instead you say, "Do you like me because you think you have to?"

Mute looks stunned for a moment. Opens his mouth, but let's out nothing but air. Then closes it again with a collection of random noises.

A heart-beat passes and Mute says, "Is it supposed to be this complicated? Falling in love, I mean."

"I don't know. I think it's as complicated as we make it."

Mute laughs and you laugh too because, somehow, you know what he's about to say.

"My brain do possess an incredible talent for making stupid shit as complicated as possible."

You nod in agreement.

Then the stool starts burning.