Hi, I'm Aiden Levin, and to hammer home the fact that I'm straight, I've dressed in my nicest sweatpants and sweatshirt at exactly 7:30 PM on a Wednesday evening because I know that the hottest guy in our dorm, and River Bay, and the entire universe, is out in the kitchen studying right now, and I want him to think I'm a bit less of a slob than I actually am. Sweatpants and sweatshirts really help with that, I think.
Sam, being the perfect human he is (I didn't say that), wears jeans, even now. The flannel, however? Gone. Don't know where it went, but it's been replaced by a grey hoodie, and he's tugging at it's sleeve as he reads a scarily thick book. Hardcover, one that'd probably kill someone if you dropped it from a height. Any height, honestly. That's how heavy that thing looks.
"Do you drink beer?" I ask.
He doesn't look up. "Not when I'm studying."
"Well, you know, there's this thing called a break, and I don't know if you've heard about it, but it's when you stop doing this study thing and do something else for a moment, so, you know, you don't burn yourself out." I lean back on the counter, hoping he doesn't see how tightly I'm clutching it because I'm not nervous at all and he definitely shouldn't think I am.
Sam grabs the back of the chair, turning to me. Why the fuck is that so hot? "Does it matter to you?"
"Maybe I want to get to know you," I say, "and maybe you make it really hard by studying all the time."
Wait, how much weed did I spoke? Did he just start smiling? Granted, a glare-smile, but I'll take it. The shape of his lips makes his smile v-shaped, and then it goes down a tiny bit before going up again at the corners of his mouth, and, uh, yeah, I think I'm actually going to cry. "Fine. But I'm suing you if I get any less than an A on this exam." He turns back to the table to shut his book. "And yes, I drink beer."
Fuck yes.
Now, we just have the problem of me potentially turning into the kind of mess I was a couple of days ago when Kell kind of found out I'm gay (which I'm not (but I'm still pretending that didn't happen because it was kind of traumatizing, to be honest)).
I ignore that possibility too, and open the fridge to grab two of my beers that I, for some reason, buy with the money I don't waste on drugs, meaning I have virtually no food. Perks with working at a diner that pays you minimum wage, am I right?
I sit on the table, using the chair next to him as footrest. Being a gentleman as usual (that was a lie), I open the can before giving it to him.
He takes a sip before putting it down on the table and playing with the pull-tab. "What do you want to know?"
Just tell me everything, is what I want to say. I want to know everything—his interests, his values, his ideas, his views. I want to know what happened during his childhood, during high school, how he met Kell, hell, how he met Emma, what his family's like, what lead him to self-harm, what makes him sad, what makes him happy.
Obviously, I can't just ask him all of that. Some of those things, I'll probably never know, because he'll never like me enough to tell me, or trust me enough to tell me, and I guess that's okay. Still, it makes me feel a bit... empty, like I'm supposed to learn all these things, like we're meant to be the greatest of friends even though he clearly dislikes me.
In an attempt to not scare him away before I know, like, 1% of those things, I start off simple. "You grew up in Nettlefield?"
He looks up at me. God, I've never seen brown eyes quite as... catching. Engaging, and not because he looks engaged at all—actually, he looks super tired, which makes me feel kind of bad for making him drag the studying out—but the color just feels so full of life somehow. "Yes," he says.
