Some things in this world,
They don't make sense,
Some things you don't need…
Until they leave you.
They're the things that you miss.
-Bright Lights,
Matchbox Twenty

You find her in a field about a half-an-hour from the recording studio. She's sitting there, pretzel style, picking blades of grass carefully. She studies them, running her fingers up and down and letting her eyes follow them. There's something almost magical about it, soothing. Then she rips the first one in half. You yelp involuntarily, as if she just tried to rip you rather than that delicate blade, and she looks up at you. It's hardly for a second before she looks down again. You can feel her wishing you away as she does, picking up another blade of grass. You almost remember some Walt Whitman poem you had to read first thing this year in English, something called Leaves of Grass. If asked, she'd probably be able to recite it all to you…to me.

I walk over to her, and she keeps her head to the ground. My first guess is that she's crying. It's my only guess really, it's how she is. She's only ashamed of her own weakness. "Lilly," I say quietly to her, sitting down next to her. She turns her head farther away, wishing me gone again. So I don't say anything, because this is one of those times when my words will only result in her trying to ignore me for weeks. I pick up a fistful of my own blades and tear each one as swiftly as possible to make up for lost time.

I can feel her watching me now. Her eyes on my hands, feel her agitation at the method I'm using. I know if I look up at her right now I'll receive that deer-in-the-headlights look she gets so easily from me. And I don't just for that reason. Letting me win kills her.

I keep tearing my leaves by the handful, if I go at this rate for the next few minutes all the grass around me will be gone and I'll have an excuse to move closer to her. She must realize this too, because she pulls them out of my hands after another moment or so and hisses, "Oliver!" in her angry voice. I look up at her.

Her hair isn't curled because it was under her wig earlier. It's the perfect straight, helmet head Lilly hair that I've missed. I can hardly remember the last time I saw those blond locks fall from underneath a hat, let alone the last time we went skating. Her cheeks are bright pink, that raw color they only get from too many salty tears. It makes her eyes seem so blue in contrast that it chocks me. "Hi," I tell her stupidly.

"Why are you here?" She asks, simple and right to the point. Sometimes I wonder if we hit our heads against each other's too hard when we were three on the tire swing in my backyard and it gave us some kind of Freaky Friday switch as far as our communication methods go. Lilly says exactly what she means right away without interruptions no matter who it might hurt. I stumble around and embellish here and there until she gets annoyed and makes me tell her what I want.

I consider my usual way tonight but decide she'll probably run away on me this time since she's so short on patience already, "I wanted to see if you were okay."

For a second she stares at me, her mouth half agape, and I know she's touched even if she'll never say. It happens pretty quickly that she corrects herself and looks back down into her lap again, "Mission accomplished, I'm fine. You can go now." I don't, and she doesn't push it.

I stare up in the sky as she picks aimlessly at the ground once again, leaning back on my palms. It makes you feel small, sitting in one of the only empty lots by the ocean in Malibu and looking up at a dark sky full of stars. Lilly's dad taught us all the names to the constellations when we were nine. Lilly still remembers which stars belong to which names, and can rattle them off in five seconds. I still can't tell Orion's belt from the Big Dipper. The only concrete thing I know is what they make me feel.

"She's so stupid," Lilly says, and I feel her mirror my position. I consider reaching out to touch her hand or stroke her hair but I don't feel like risking her pulling away at this moment. I just want us to stay like this.

"Of course she is," I mean for it to come out with a little humor but it sounds completely serious. Maybe because it's the truth.

"If I were talented…if I had somewhere to hang my hat," She grasps for the words, and I can hear her voice breaking just a little bit. "I would give so much just to have that. And giving it up… it's so…"

"Stupid," I finish for her.

"Yeah," She sighs, tingling my arm a little with her breath. My heart races a little, but it subsides. It always does. "And for a boy, I would never give anything up for a boy. Especially not in high school."

"Not even for me?" I lean my head into my left hand to look at her, and she laughs before doing the same to see me.

"You're not a boy, Oliver," She says. Even thought I was expecting those words, it still hurts a little. A lot.

"What am I then Lilly?" I miss my joking air once again unintentionally. It's becoming like a high note during puberty, impossible. "Last I checked I didn't have a uterus."

"Last I checked you didn't have any common sense either," She baits back. She breathes out onto me again, and I feel my spine freeze up. "You're…" I bite my lip in anticipation. "My…doughnut." It's not quite what I wanted but I'll take it.

"That's me," I say slowly. "Oliver Oken, doughnut boy."

She laughs, and it mends the ache a little. "I just told you, you're not a boy." I shrug, and stick out my tongue. "Now…what am I?"

"You're Lilly," I respond automatically, without even thinking about it. Her face falls, and I know that was the wrong answer.

"No," She says softly. "No." Follows it more firmly. "I mean, what am I?" I think for a moment. Looking at the clear sky, thinking about tonight, our life. Everything that's never added up in my life besides her. And it dawns on me.

"You're my snowflake."

Before she can stop herself, her hand is over her heart, and she's looking at me like… like… I don't even know. "I am?" She asks, her voice full and happy.

I nod, "You're completely unique, unlike every other cliché person on this earth. You could string a hundred of them together and they'd all look the same but I could study you for a million years and still not find all the differences."

She still beams but something else is happening. Her lips are struggling to make words, to make sense of what I just said, what it means to her. They seem to form the motion means Oliver, but nothing comes out. And her face is slowly and quietly falling into something… something unknown.

"Lilly," I begin. I want to confess it all, just like I come so close to doing everyday. "Lilly, I…" I miss you, I wish you'd stop spending all your time with Miley. I sometimes feel the urge to sneak out my window and go curl up next to you on your bed in the middle of the night. I want to hit every boy that you come in contact with just because it's another second you aren't focused on me. I think I'm in love with you.

Nothing comes out though. I just stare into those eyes, those perfect eyes. How can I take a chance of making her anything but happy? How could I possibly corrupt the safety she feels with me by kissing her? Could I really ever let her fall in love with me if it meant I might break her heart? "I think it's time to go."

She looks hurt, and I watch as she bites her lip. She's crying now, and my heart pangs for the millionth time. "What's wrong?" I ask softly, kneeling next to her.

She sobs out a little, and you can tell she's embarrassed. She looks at her hands, tracing her finger in the webbing of her thumb, "Can we just…will you…stay here with me for a while?" She looks up at me, pleadingly.

I sit down next to her again, letting my arm fall across her shoulders and trying not to jump at how it makes me feel just to touch her little times like this. "Of course," I tell her, and her head falls against my shoulder lightly.

I can feel her crying lightly into the fabric of my baggy t-shirt. I want to cradle her, and kiss her forehead, and sing away those tears. I just sit like this though. I will be what she needs, even if I break my own heart doing it.

AN: This was going to be posted Friday before I left but FF-dot-net wasn't letting me put it up. It turned out to be a good thing because I changed the ending. Originally Lilly started crying right after Oliver said snowflake. And it didn't really make much sense. So here this is. It should be shortly followed by a Camp Rock one-shot called Insomnia. Don't hurt me if it isn't though.

AN2: My new dog hates me. My mom got him while I was away and he's convinced I should not be living in my house now. He keeps growling at me, and I miss MY puppy. I'll even take my dad's neurotic corgi over this one.