Dylan is a famous sculptor that has had to do his sculptures on the digital media lab from NYU since his hands got injured in a bike accident. A very passionate artist, Dylan pays little attention to other people until he meets NYU student Irene "Ir...
As Iry picked up the scattered books in the college library tables she looked at the strange man in the corner, standing up, not a single book near him. The man moved his hands in the air like a sculptor twisting and shaping imaginary pieces of clay. He was a sight to behold, long hair, scraggly beard, long arms escaping from a sleeveless black leather jacket. His neck, hand and arms were covered in inky tattoos that extended all the way to his knuckles. Tight faded jeans hugged a toned body, more muscular than you would expect in a place full of computers like the research lab.
His eyes were hidden by a strange device, looking a like black sightless goggles but under them you could see his high cheekbones and the classical lips. Lips that suddenly were drawn in a tight line as he started cursing under his breath and pulling out the device and letting Iry spy the largest bluest eyes she had ever seen.
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"I'm going to have to ask you to keep your voice down Sir" said Iry glaring at him. "And please refrain from using such bad language" she added. The man glared back at her. "I wouldn't have to curse if this blasted thing didn't just erase 3 hours of work" he said spitting out the words. "This is a piece of junk. Tell Adam I won't work until he can provide me better Virtual glasses, ones that don't disconnect every other hour" he added.
"Sir I don't know you from Adam" said Iry congratulating herself for the pun then deflating at his annoyed expression adding "Or rather I don't know you or Adam. So I can't tell him anything". "You don't know Professor Adam Quinn ahead of your digital media ? You would think working on his father's wing of the library would make you familiar with him" scoffed the tattooed man. Iry gulped and said in a squeak "Oh that Adam!" making Dylan's eyes roll. "I'm guessing you are new here. I'm Dylan Watts and I'm working with your boss on a media project. Please call him for me"
"Iry. Irene Smith. I'm the new undergrad slave they got tidying up the shelves. I just started yesterday and I have no idea where he is" said Iry extending her hand. Instead of shaking it Dylan held her fingertips with his , his head nodding a curt hello. His fingers traced down the skin of hers with him staring at her intently while he felt her palm with his fingertips. What he felt made him draw a sharp breath and say "You played an instrument. Violin ? Were you forced to stop ?" he asked. "Viola. I.. kinda was forced to stop yes. How did you know ?!!" said Iry blinking back tears. How did he know ? Surely her calluses were gone by now, after the year in the hospital.
"Whoa lady! I didn't make you cry already, did I ? Christ, even for me that's a record. Usually you girls take more than 3 sentences to run away from me crying.." he said running the back of his hand through her wet cheek. "It wasn't you. It was.. is.. the viola" said Iry. "Crying for a Viola ? Not possible. Violins yes, pianos maybe... But who could cry for a viola!" said Dylan attempting to make her smile. "Have you ever had something that made you feel alive ? Have you ever have that ripped out of your hands Literally ripped out..." said Iry with pain shooting through her gaze. To her surprise Dylan answered "I have. Is one of the reasons I'm here. And how I knew. Because Adam gave me back my hands but my scars are still with me" said Dylan showing his palms to her.
