and i'd give up forever to touch you (cause i know that you feel me somehow)

Chapter 1: the mortifying ordeal of being known

(A/n: view chapter 2 and chapter 3)
she looked different than usual. and he knew it was because this is real, not just on a screen watching her stream, but because he's a few meters away from her.

he stands against the wall, trying to wait for his next class and for her to pass him on her way to her dorm; she didn't have a class again until two pm.

and right... about... now. she stands up from the picnic table outside, packing her things and he moves a little bit to get out of the blinding sunlight, and before he could react, he's catching flying papers and folders. a string of curses hit his ear as he crouches down to pick up the papers as well as the other person, presumably the person who ran into him.

you're not that exciting to look at, well, to will he thinks everyone pales in comparison to his streamer, who, after taking a wild look around, had already passed him and as the courtyard empties, he knows class is starting.

but you were wearing a black top, a brown cardigan on top, and worn jeans with ever more worn out sneakers, you were what comfortable embodied, he thought in passing, and as he handed you back your papers and folders, he caught glimpses of notes and rhythms and words and scribbles.

it sent him back to a time where his sole comfort was music.

technically it still is, but he used to make music, plucking the strings on his guitar, pressing melodies into the keys of the piano in his parents' home. used to find a warm feeling in hearing everything come together, especially after agonizing over every detail for weeks, sometimes months.

and sometimes they were good, sometimes they weren't. but even so, no matter what he did, he posted them online, desperate for some kind of praise.

though, after being made fun of for his songs at his school, he promptly dropped the hobby and his passion, and forgot all about his musical presence online.

"you're wilbur soot! yeah! um, you had posted several songs and an unfinished album about three years ago!"

well until now.

"i-" he didn't know how to respond but apparently that wasn't necessary.

your eyes widened and talked so fast and then you were breathing out too slow and then you made, kept making, eye contact and touching his arm and he couldn't-

"gotta go," he chokes out, pushing himself off his knees and rushed for his next class, even if his walking corpse of a professor would glare at him for five minutes, he could take that over the overwhelming human presence that was-

all he could hear after you recognized him was the blood pumping in his ear, though anatomically impossible, his heart also thumped uncomfortably in his throat. everything was so uncomfortable, so loud, too close and too much.

pushing the door open, he was aware of his late presence, and as his professor glowered at him, he took his seat in the back, and leaned forward to calm himself down.

he hated how people still managed to ruin him even after the hate stopped, after he moved away from his bullies.

as he forced himself to listen, to sit straight and take notes on the upcoming quiz, he couldn't stop thinking how instead of pummeling him with hate, you couldn't stop looking at him with stars in your eyes, as if you thought the world of him.

he choked on a laugh, yeah, as if anybody could look up to him and find him an upstanding role model.

looking up to the chalkboard, and scribbling the next thing the old man rattles on, he finds himself lost in the lesson, letting himself forget the entire encounter.