Messy blond hair, goofy smile—he was a dangerous combination, a force to be reckoned with. That smile, to begin with, pushed his cheeks so high they nearly completely hid the blue of his eyes. And that hair—all messy and curly, falling in front of his face—Jaida's heart sunk to her feet.
To her feet, to her paint-splattered shoes, which he—he had spilt all over her.
Araimir, a boy from class 4A. Her home room. A ditzy, skinny kid who always sprawled his legs, always had his head in the clouds. When she wasn't doodling in class, she liked to look at him. There was something artistic about him, in the way he moved, talked, breathed.
But that didn't lessen the fact that he'd just interrupted her project and dirtied her shoes, all in one swoop.
"You...you dumbass!" She hissed. Rage clenched her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms.
"I'm sorry," the boy swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. His eyes were wide now, almost fearful. "I'll—I'll help you clean it up, here—"
He reached for a dirty rag slung over one of the empty easels in the art room, leaning a tad too far. He slipped on the paint, still slick and thick, falling hard... and taking the easel out with him. He tried to grab it to hold onto as he fell, instead bringing it hard over his head.
There was a loud crack.
"...Ow!" Araimir cried. "Ow, ow!"
He dropped the rag, too; it lay there pitifully on the floor, but not as pitifully as he.
Jaida helped him to his feet. His hands were large but with thin, graceful fingers, like that of a pianist. She tried to ignore the way his touch made her skin buzz. "Let's go to the nurse. Get an ice pack."
Araimir held her hand. Her hands were small, but not strangely so, with stubby little nails covered in chipped polish. "But..." His words caught in his throat, fingers curling around her own. "But your shoes, the paint—"
"Forget about it." Jaida's voice sounded very weak to her, all tinny and soft. "There are more important things."
"You're right. You're right. Did you know that—did you know that concussions can cause headaches and amnesia and... and vomiting? A lot of vomiting, that's due to the gastrointestinal—"
"That's sick." She smiled, all teeth. "Literally."
Araimir could feel his heart beating in his cheeks. Why hadn't he let go of her hand yet? Why hadn't she? Why did they have similar senses of humor? Was she not mad anymore? Why were they randomly holding hands randomly and what if she thought he was weird?
He felt something thick trickle down his neck, matting his hair red.
"You're bleeding!"
"I am?" Araimir felt for his hair, drawing back fingers a dark crimson. "I am."
Jaida wrenched her hand from his to tear off a scrap of her shirt, a clean rip. It was an old, frail shirt anyway, one easy to paint and move around in, one she wouldn't have cared had it gotten dirty. Or ripped.
Her shoes on the other hand, she'd just purchased, after the others had a hole worn into the sole. She did care about those.
She cursed beneath her breath, moving to press the strap against his wound. Moving his hair aside. She tried to ignore the fact that, aside from the parts where the blood had already begun to cake and harden, his hair was amazingly soft. I-want-to-run-my-hands-through-it soft.
"You could've just used the rag, you know. No need to resort to brute force."
And no need to let go of my hand, he added. Mentally, of course; Araimir was not bold enough to say some things.
"Shut up." Jaida's face was burning, flushed from the mistake. She'd just acted in the moment. "Just... let's go to the nurse's office."
School crush AU where they both have crushes on the other but don't know.
