"Older?", I echo back to him, my eyebrows stitched together in curiosity. "Like.. you're fourty?" I mumble, my voice suddenly going small as the thought destroys my hopes of getting with this mystery man.
"Fourty?" He laughs, and it's the most masculine sound I've ever heard. The vibrato of his voice ringing in my ears.
"No, no, not fourty. Give or take a few years, say 26, princess."
I have to stop myself from letting out a sigh of relief. He wasn't 40. But he was 26. A much more, experienced, handsome 6th year. No big deal.
I lose my voice. My mouth opens and closes, trying ever so hard to get words out. Any words at all.
It is a huge deal! What was I thinking? What 6th year would ever go for a 2nd year like myself? I can barely work a catheter yet. I swallow my nervousness and tuck my hair behind my ear nervously, and I could've sworn I'd seen his eyes darken slightly.
"Any advice for a 2nd year?" I suggest, making eye contact with his now.. slightly darker eyes?
He seems to stand up so fast that if I blinked I would've missed him.
"Yeah,"
"Avoid falling for any 6th years."
