ᴛʜɪs ɪs ʜᴏᴍᴇ - 𝐧.𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

this is home

[a/n: okay, but cavetown's "this is home" fits paranorman so well??? i'm shook. ]

key:

(y/n) - your name

(l/n) - last name

(f/c) - favorite color

(s/c) - skin color

(h/c) - hair color

(e/c) - eye color

Norman scratched his pencil across the lined paper, messily connecting line after line. The tip of his pencil started out as a very fine point—well, as best as he could hand-sharpen it, as the tip kept breaking—but now it had dulled down into a nub of lead. He added the finishing touches to his rough sketches.

The paper was littered with all the different characters he had met on his encounter with the dead. Covering the perimeter of the page was each of the seven judges (as best as Norman could remember). In the center of them all, was Aggie.

He gave a small smile at his artwork. It wasn't bad. But it wasn't super good, either. Just "not bad." Norman slipped the paper into his binder.

Just as he relaxed back into his seat, the bell gave a loud RIIING, signaling that class was starting. A half a second after the ringing ceased, Mrs. Good began speaking immediately.

"Class," she said, her chin tilted upward in a form of authority. The bridge of her spectacles hung loosely on her pointy nose, and the yellow beads of its neck strap trailed down to her bony shoulders and behind her neck. Her graying hair was tied tightly into a bun, always precisely at a forty-five degrees angle. Sometimes, Mrs. Good reminded Norman of a witch.

Norman's class didn't seem to hear Mrs. Good, because they went on chatting away. Seconds later, one of his classmates flew a paper airplane into the air. That definitely set Mrs. Good off.

"Class!" Mrs. Good snapped.

The class fell into an immediate silence. Mrs. Good's lips twisted into a tight, little smile. If this were any other day, then Mrs. Good would have already let the class have it. But today wasn't any other day.

Satisfied with the class's silence, Mrs. Good continued, "Today we have a new student joining us."

Murmurs of interest and hushed excitement bounced around the room.

"Come along, dear. Don't be shy," Mrs. Good said encouragingly, facing the classroom's open doorway.

A hunched figure in a (f/c) hoodie shuffled across the floor. They came to a halt right in front of Mrs. Good, still keeping their eyes glued to the floor's dirty tiles.

"Face the class and introduce yourself," Mrs. Good instructed gently. The kid sighed, spun around, but still refused to look up. Their (s/c) hands poked out of the loose sleeves of their hoodie, tightly gripping the straps of their backpack.

"(Y/n)," they mumbled.

"Everyone say 'hi, (Y/n),'" Mrs. Good told the class.

Murmurs of "hi, (Y/n)," "hello," and, "hey" rose. Norman gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

"You can go ahead and sit at the desk in front of Norman," Mrs. Good said, pointing a long finger in his direction, "in the back."

(Y/n) nodded and shuffled along the floor, plopping into the chair in front of him. He heard them heave a heavy sigh. Norman decided against introducing himself or having small talk. If he were in (Y/n)'s place, he wouldn't want anyone to talk to him, either. In fact, before Neil, Norman hadn't wanted anyone to talk to him and preferred to be left alone. In a strange sort of way, he understood (Y/n) without even having to know them.