ignoto | SnowBaz Fanfic

- tre -

sognare to daydream verb

escape the living world to enter one's thoughts.

What day is it?

I'm supposed to be researching but instead I'm playing tetras. The teacher says something but I can't hear, my earplugs pound rapid beats of drums and guitar.

Summer must be nearing an end. It didn't feel very summery. It didn't feel like I ate enough peaches or saw any sunlight. I didn't do much, but sleep or pretend that I was sleeping.

Now I'm back here. I wish I'd stayed home. Mum wouldn't let me today, she says I've missed out too much school. I try to tell her that I've also been on holidays. I think about mum and then I think about Basilico. Is this really going to happen? My mind stops paying attention to the game as I start to daydream about having another, unknown person in my personal space, around me constantly. Basilico. Would he be disgusted with who I am? How I live? I feel somewhat ashamed, just remembering his bright smile and shimmering brown eyes. Life has favoured him. He favours life. Everything about him has an air of adventure and essence to live and I haven't even met the guy yet. What the hell is going to be like when I do meet him? He's also two years older than me. He's turning twenty next month when I turn eighteen January next year. I swallow. How will he think of me? I realise that I'm worrying about something ridiculous. Who cares what he thinks? I haven't even met him yet, why the fuck am I worrying about it?

At the back of the class, tucked in the corner I quietly sit. Normally, it's reserved for the cool assholes but I couldn't give any fucks, and they pretend I'm not there anyway. It works out well. I can do whatever the fuck I want without anyone freaking out, even the teachers seemed to have given up hope.

I look up from my laptop as the relief teacher stands in front and waves good bye, just as another relief walks in for the second half of the block. I tug one earphone out, watching from a distance where I slouch in my chair. There have been many encounters were people have tripped over my ankles. My legs are that long, and I slouch that deep in my chair, only the top of my head is visible, peeking out from above of my tiny, shit-ass laptop.

"Morning, I'm Mister Dalton...I don't believe I've relieved this class before..?" The young man holds a slip of yellow paper, reading the notes our English teacher left us. He wears a light checked shirt, rolled to the elbow and slim beige trousers. The glasses perched on his straight nose are round and chic, in the light, they glisten a dark tortoise shell pattern. Immediately the girls next to me who were gibbering about Agatha's eighteenth (which isn't for months) start giggling and whispering. I assume the focal point of their conversation is the relief teacher. Mr Dalton's eyes find mine and he flashes me a smile, which I don't return.

I turn my attention to the certain blonde head a row in front of me. It hurts just looking at Agatha, and I feel like I can only stare at her in short lengths of time. Whether it's because I start blushing, or the embarrassment if someone notices or if she notices (which happened once, she smiled at me and I felt like an idiot), or simply because I'm not worthy enough. She's an angel, there seems to be a soft glow about her and her pale skin is dewy and soft and those eyes are bright and gentle. Not to mention her lashes, I love how she bats them softly. And that hair, always silky and remarkable in any light. I sink lower in my chair, smash the space bar and continue playing. The girls are back to talking about Agatha's party, what they're going to wear and who might be coming. Everyone but me, it seems. I don't mind.

Mr Dalton prowls the spaces between desks, stopping to ask questions about our assignment and what we're up to. As he nears, I pull up a somewhat empty word document, though I don't expect him to interrogate me or even pay any heed.

Except he does. "Simon?" I blink up at him. "Mind if I take a seat?" he pulls out the empty chair next to me and plonks down. He's the sort of guy who rests an ankle on his knee, stylish, even when sitting. "So, I hear we're going to be spending some time together Thursday afternoons." I pull out my earphones and cross my arms, jaw sticking out. "Did Miss Loverige put you up to this?" I murmur grumpily. "Yes...yes she did. She's only trying to help." Mr Dalton sticks out a hand and I look at it. "Would you mind if I helped you as well?" I keep looking at that hand and shrug, turning to my laptop. "Sure, whatever." It's easier to oblige. If this guy is going to be my tutor, then I don't mind. I could've had worse. I shudder as I think about Mr Donald.

"You're very talented," Mr Dalton observes. I turn to find him musing over my sketch book.

"He-Hey!" I almost shout and snatch the book back. Mr Dalton gives it up easily.

"I apologise...maybe you shouldn't leave that open when you're supposed to be doing work?"

Jerk. I close the book and shove it under my ratty pencil case, trying hard to contain my flush. There a few drawings of an angel I wouldn't want anyone seeing. "Is there anything I can help you with? Struggling with structuring an essay? Need help finding more information?" I shake my head without turning to him, my curls slapping into cheeks and eyes. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow then. Bring this along if you change your mind."

So, today's Wednesday. 

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This is a shorter chapter, but fear not! Things are picking up...especially as a certain Italian guest arrives shortly...

Stay tuned for the next chappie,

Vi amo!

Hope xx