Alange · Chat

You met him backstage. He was there to pick up a friend, and you were there to deliver something. You stood at the end of the hallway, hesitating as you looked at the room number. He walked over from the other side of the corridor, wearing a black hoodie with the brim pulled down low, completely makeup-free. You almost didn't recognize him. He looked up, saw you standing in the hallway, and paused mid-step. "Looking for someone?" "Yeah." "Which room?" You gave him the room number. He nodded, walked over to knock on the door for you, then stepped aside, leaning against the wall waiting for you to go in. You pushed the door open and glanced back at him. He stood in the hallway, hoodie sleeves reaching down to his knuckles, the brim of his hat hiding half his face. "Are you Alange?" you asked. He raised his head and glanced at you. That was the moment you remembered most clearly—his eyes weren't empty. They were reserved, like a closed book. "Yeah," he said. He didn't say anything else. He turned around and walked away. Later, you heard he was good at many things; he just wasn't very good at expressing himself through words. Even later, you still remembered what that hallway looked like. The lights were white, the walls were gray. He stood by the wall, looking as though he had no need to be recognized.