The brick building loomed over you. Here it was, college. You didn't really know if you were ready or not, to be honest, but you supposed you didn't really have a choice. If you were ever going to make friends, now was the time. For an eighteen-year-old who was still a virgin, and, actually, had never had a boyfriend in her life, or even kept a friend for more than a year, you figured that college was your one shot to be socially accepted, and you were not throwing away that shot. A surge of hope filled you as you walked confidently through the halls.
That hope did NOT last long.
You were on your way to your dorm to drop off your suitcase when a particularly large, dark, muscly shoulder slammed into you, throwing you into the wall. You squeezed your eyes shut as your diaphragm reacted. You HATED getting the wind knocked out of you.
"Oh... sorry," the guy who ran into you said. You looked up just enough to see his dark face and matching eyes, complete with full lips. His body was still half-turned towards his friends, one of which had a lighter complexion and a short, brown ponytail sticking out of the back of his head. The other's skin was creamy brown, and his frizzy black hair was tied up in a bun.
And then he came down the hallway.
"Cut it out, guys. We're in college now, and we need to be 'responsible,' whatever that means." His long, curly brown hair was back in a ponytail. His laughing brown eyes turned concerned when they landed on your crumpled form. And his freckles-oh, God, he had freckles!
"Hey... are you okay...?'" he asked, clearly concerned. Your head began to spin. He was talking to you? He was! He was talking to you!
But all you could do was nod, although you were doubting that your recently getting the wind knocked out of you had much to do with your inability to breathe anymore. You'd never seen someone so cute in your life.
"Here," the guy said, extending his hand. Forgetting every scrap of ettiquite you had ever managed to shove into your cluttered brain was suddenly somehow evading you. You stared at his hand, and the freckles dotting it. You slowly remembered how to be civil and shook his hand.
"Hi. I'm John Laurens," the guy said, smiling the sweetest smile.
"I-I'm (Y-Y/N) (L-L/N)," you said, wishing for all the world that you would stop stuttering and that you would stop turning increasingly red at his touch.
"Sorry my idiot friends here ran into you," he said, his eyes redeveloping their earlier laughing gleam. "This is Hercules Mulligan, taylor extrodinaire, Marquis de Lafayette, a fine French immigrant, and Alexander Hamilton, my dorky roomate."
You waved shyly at the three men. They all grinned at you.
"I don't suppose you'd like to join us for a drink tonight?" John asked, catching you by surprise. No one had asked you to do anything with them for almost a decade.
"Oui. We are hoping to wash down some of our first-day jitters with a bit of alcho'ol, non?" added the frizzy-haired one, who must've been Lafayette judging by his thick accent.
"Um... yeah. Yeah. That sounds amazing," you replied, giving your first real sentence of the day.
"Great! See you on the main floor at eight then? Give you a chance to settle in," John said.
"'Kay. See you then. Thanks," you said, standing there awkwardly, having forgotten how to move. You all stood there for a second until the guys continued boistrously down the hall. They seemed to be badgering Laurens about something, although what flaw that man would have to make fun of, you were unsure.
