Rhombus [h.s]

12

12

After spending an entire dinner talking about the life journal and transcendentalism (one can never avoid that topic when talking to the Murdock), we went out in the sidewalk and walked around, not entirely sure what to do or where to go next.

"Catch up, Howler." Murdock looked at me over his shoulder, smiling. I jogged up to his side and tried to match his snappy pace.

Once we crossed the street, I looked at him and he smiled at me. My heart leapt up into my sinuses and I blushed. I blushed, because with the street lights shining down on him through his unkempt hair, and his skin glowing under the bright moonlight, he looked beautiful. Unearthly beautiful.

As we were walking in silence, I thought more about him. Murdock wasn't like any guy I'd ever known. The way he dressed, the way he laughed (like a clown who's had too much sugar), even the sluggish way he pronounced his words were all his own. Everything I learned about him made me twice as anxious to learn something else. He pretends not to care about anything, but we all know he cares more about the world and balance and human beings than most of us do. He had always been the guy everybody knew and respected.

Now, attraction is a funny thing. Some people are solely attracted to the physical, some emotional, some intellectual or some any combination of the previously mentioned. A guy can be physically cute (if you refer to studies, the most beautiful people have more balanced sides and proportions to their faces) and completely turn people off.

Murdock...he's different. He wasn't what most people would call "cute" or "hot", whatsoever. He had a rugged look to his face, like Johnny Depp. He always looked tired and stressed out; he had frown lines and forehead wrinkles and big front teeth that protrude out more than the rest of his teeth. But he's really attractive to me. He's confident in who he is. He's funny. Smart. Extremely smart. The best kind of smart. 

Also, Murdock mastered the subtle art of not giving a fuck, and this doesn't mean he's indifferent. It means he's comfortable with being different. He doesn't care about adversity in the face of his goals, he doesn't care about pissing people off or stealing boats or breaking in libraries to do what he feels is right or important or noble.

What I mean is that Harry Styles is the type of guy who would write about himself in third person and use the word 'fuck' in an article 180 different times just because he thought it was the right thing to do. He just doesn't give a fuck.  He's one of the people who don't give a damn about failure or embarrassing themselves or shitting the bed a few times. The people who'd just laugh and then do it anyway. Because they know it's right. They know it's more important than them and their own feelings and their own pride and their own needs. They say "Fuck it," not to everything in life, but rather they say "Fuck it" to everything unimportant in life.

And that's what I liked about Murdock. That's why I'm attracted to him.

The right side of his mouth pulled up and I smiled tensely and looked away.

"Hey," he said. I turned back to him, a little too quickly. "Do you want me to walk you to SLSU, now? It's getting late. And you look flushed."

"I'm alright."

"Are you cold?" He stopped in front of me and frowned. I tried to shrug, like, casually, but shivered like a wet Chihuahua instead. "Do you want to go in?"

I shook my head.

He unwounded his maroon wool scarf and wrapped it around my neck, pulling it snugly against me and tucking in the ends. God, this was probably one of the most cliché things that have happened to me ever.