"Hmmm. You’re kind of cute," he said softly, staring at him with his dim eyes. He grinned slightly, the first real smile. His face was odd though, it wasn't really meant for smiling. He got off of him and turned. "That didn't take long," he muttered softly, walking out of the door. "Come on," he called over his shoulder and then sat on the couch. He pulled out a cig, put it into his mouth, and lit it.

Mikal blinked and slowed his breathing, flexing his arms and rotating his wrist to assure himself everything was relatively undamaged. Cute? He sighed and wondered what didn't take long. He slid himself off the bed, leaving the book with his brother and Uto on the floor where he had dropped it. He padded silently into the living room, wrinkling his nose with disgust at the smell of the cigarette smoke. Since when did his brother hang out with people who smoked? He sat down and stared at the paper. Maybe he should just leave now...

Looking down at his stories his eyes skimmed them for a long moment and then he looked up at him and then down again. "Your problem isn't your writing. Well, that much isn't true. Your writing is a little lacking, but so is your grammar and the way you make your stories flow." He stared at them for a moment then over at him, petting the teddy bear normally.

Mikal's ears flattened to his head and he sighed. "I know. I have the ideas and I even have the characters but I don't know the technicalities of it. I just can't get the stuff to stick." Mikal looked away. His mom had taught him what he did know and that was the only stuff he could remember.

He took in a deep breath, leaning back. "Okay," he said, leaning back and then looked over at him, putting the story on top of his lap, his legs crossed over one another. "Let's start with where you’re applying." He brushed his hair once more from his face. "What university are you aiming for exactly?" he asked softly, taking a deep breath of his cig.

"I'm applying to Tekoni University to be a secondary history teacher. But I wanted to apply to be a secondary literature teacher so I could write like you one day." Then he bit his lip, accidentally drawing a small spot of blood. He cursed himself silently. He hadn't even told Taskito that.

He didn't know what to say to that. Leaning back he took in a deep breath, brushing his hair from his face once more, trying to think of what to say. "Listen, Mikal," he said slowly, his face turning compassionate. "I don't think that you should go to that one. Lower your standards a bit. Your grades are not that good as it is." He held up Mikal’s report cards. "I've seen what you've made in school. Maybe you could try for just, you know, a regular college."

Mikal's eyes widened. How had he gotten his report cards? Then he blushed and stood, suddenly defensive, his hands curling into fists. "No Uto, you listen. This...I have to go to Tekoni, I have to do it. It's all my fault Taski had to drop out of university, and now I'm going to go to Tekoni! I don't care what grades I got...Tekoni promised if I passed their entrance exam I would be accepted. Why do you think I've been working so hard? Why do you think Taski and I have hardly seen each other? I've been locked in my room for the past month studying for this exam and I'm not going to give up now!" He felt the water gathering in his eyes but he ignored it, refusing to let it spill over. "I already gave up on my dream of being a writer but I will not give up my dream of going to Tekoni!"

For a long moment he didn't know what to say as he stared at him. His brow wrinkled and then he laughed happily, leaned over, and ruffled his hair between his ears. "That is a better reason then any. With me as your tutor you can't go wrong. I'll get you into this university, I can promise you that." He grinned as he sat back down. He could see the determination. He could see the tears of determination in his eyes. Taking in a breath he looked over them. He'd help this kid. He really would.

Mikal took a deep breath, surprised at his sudden change in mood. Then he sat back down. He stared at the papers for a while. Then, "Uto...do you think...I could be a writer?"

Taking in a deep breath he brushed his hair from his face once more, taking another deep whiff of his cigarette before putting it out in a panda ashtray. Uto looked up at him then cleared his throat. "...You could be, if we find your problem. And if you stop being such a hard ass and stop jumping from one conclusion to the next." He leaned back in his chair and then took in a deep breath. "How old are these?" He asked, looking up at him. "Your writings, I mean. How old are they?"

Mikal's eyes flashed but then he looked at the writings. "They are.... from before..." He left that hanging, not wanting to say what before. He glanced at his portfolio and then pulled out the story, the story of the accident. "This...is the only thing I've written since then." He handed it over silently.

Since the accident, he wanted to fill in but left it silent. He didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to hurt him with words since sometimes that is the worst hurt someone can feel. Seeing the paper he was willingly handing over he took it and nodded. "I want you to write me something else. I will read this tonight, but I need you to write me something else so that I can compare your work. I saw your history scores and you are very talented in that, but is it something you want to do?"

Mikal looked away, afraid to let Uto see the look in his eyes as he took the paper away. That paper told the story of that night, how they left to go see a movie, how on the way home they got crashed into, how he had half-dreams in the hospital where he talked to Taski, when he finally woke completely and realized Taski was there, how he felt when he realized his parents were dead, the 2 months he spent in depression, and the road to recovery for his right arm...the one that was bandaged from wrist to elbow, the one he wrote with. It was all told from first-person perspective. He sighed. "No, not really. I want to write. But history is something I am good at. I will write you something tonight, okay?"

He nodded. "Alright." He said, uncrossing his left leg from his right and crossing his right over his left. "If you are good at something but you aren't passionate about it you'll never excel in it. You'll never do you very best at it." He looked up at him with dim green eyes and then back down at his paper, yawning softly once more.

Mikal's eyes glanced at him. "You're tired. Look, there's still two weeks till the test, so why don't I leave for today and come back tomorrow with a fresh writing after you've...read that paper." He gulped and stood, slipping his stuff into his bag. "I agreed to deliver Taski dinner anyways." He closed up his bag and sighed, looking down. "Look, sorry about earlier, I was just shocked...I apologize, and thank you for helping me."

He stood, nodding. "It is fine," Uto said softly, staring down at the smaller male before him. "Do not worry, little one, it is completely one sided anyways." He shrugged, brushing his hair from his face once more, the strands always tickling above his brow. "You are welcome. You can come by here tomorrow and get started on some real work."

"Okay, thank you." He bowed and then left. After making up a boxed dinner he delivered it to Taskito. Taski was working overtime again. When he got home he sat up for a long time, struggling with what he wanted to write. Finally he finished. Satisfied, he turned of the light and crawled into bed.

Uto stared at his laptop, took in a deep breath, and groaned softly. This wasn't even remotely good. He didn't know what to do about this. He couldn't think about anything! Looking over at the story on his bed he walked over to it slowly. He sat on his bed, and started reading. As he read, sadness filled him: sadness, worry, and heartache, all for the boy.