So guess I don't know you that well. But want to? Or something. Crazy stuff.

-------
"Who are you?" Sophie asked.
She received no response to this either, but felt a momentary
confusion as to whether it was she or her reflection who asked
the question.

FOOOL. ahaha.

He's ok.

-------

From a distance you look like my friend,

even though we are at war.

Of course, he'd shy greatly away from having the term 'proud' associated with his actions. Under his rambunctious, spiteful exterior there's a hugely despondent young man, crying out for recognition and acceptance. As the misanthrope he almost is, he doesn't have enough faith in the bulk of humanity to support him, and is thus very selective of those he chooses to converse freely with. Through the guilt imposed on them by his fear of revealing his fragile inner workings, he binds them (as himself) to a severe level of secrecy. And you'd think it'd be a choking feeling, but he sees it for what it brings him - control.

Takes compliments poorly, and brushes them off as he does insults - with wan sarcasm only opaque enough so that the untrained eye is never quite sure of whether he means it. It is this level of discomfort inspired in those around him that defends his inner self - a crushed soul on the verge of giving up on writhing free of his own, pained self-oppression.

But hey, what would I know?

-------
now lookee baby,
you're just nineteen.