101 Thomas Brodie Sangster Imagines

Class Together

Class Together

I’m sitting in my Social Studies class, completely ignoring my teacher. I can’t take my eyes off my crush, Thomas Sangster. He sits diagonally from me. I just stare at the back of his head every day during class. Well sometimes I doodle his name on my notebook, but other than that I just stare at him.

Today was different. We were assigned partners to work on a project. Of course Thomas and I are partners. This is going to be awkward. I’m probably going to end up confessing my love or falling on my face. I don’t know which is worse. I just shake the thought away.

“So, umm… I’m (Y/N),” I say nervously. He looks up at me from his notebook that he covers with his arms, so I can’t see it. I wonder what he’s hiding.

“Hi, I’m Thomas,” Thomas informs me, even though I already knew.

“Hey,” I reply. Even though what I really wanted to say was ‘Yeah I know! I’ve been loving you from afar since the beginning of the school year!’, but I didn’t. Because that would just be weird.

We worked together for about a week. Today was our last day working on our project. So far he had wrote mysterious stuff in his notebook everyday. He’d just randomly stop everything he’s doing and write. Which I thought was extremely cute. I needed to know what he was writing though. I yearned to know.

Thomas, again, stopped in the middle of working on our project to write. This was my chance. I leaned over towards him and tried to read what he has wrote. I couldn’t see.

“What are you writing about?” I asked. His head shot up, seeing me very close to him.

“Don’t read it!” Thomas practically yelled. A blush came over his face and his flipped his notebook over, so I couldn't see it. I put my hands in the air, surrendering.

“Sorry, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” I said.

“Well, it is,” Thomas said sharply. I leaned back.

“Sorry,” I muttered again. Thomas hung his head, low.

“No, I’m sorry,” Thomas announced. “It’s just this is personal,” he told me, pointing down to his notebook. I just looked at him. Not like I have all year, but differently. He was a lot different than I thought he was. I just stared at his as he hung his head.

“What do you write about?” I ask him, nervously. His head rises and stares back at me.

“I write about my observations. Things I think are beautiful. Things I learn and think are truly amazing,” Thomas admits to me.

“What’s so amazing and beautiful about Social Studies?” I asked. I gave him a confused look.

“It’s not the class,” Thomas said simply. I could see a blush come across his face and also a small smile.

“What does that even mean?” I asked, leaning closer to him. I wanted to hear him. Thomas was actually quite quiet.

“It means, it’s not the class that’s amazing and beautiful. It’s something else,” Thomas tells me. This boy is such a mystery to me. When he says these things it leaves me thinking. The way he says it gives me chills.

“And what would that be?” I asked.

“What do you think?” Thomas asked and then showed me his writings. I read page after page.

She’s so beautiful. The way her brown hair falls in front of her face as she works. The way her eyes sparkle in the light. The way she bites her lip when she’s concentrating. The way her eyes will find their way to mine. The way her smile lights up the room. And lights up my heart. I love it all. All of her.

Is he talking about me? Oh my god, he is!

I look up at him. His face blushing with crimson. I smiled at him.

“I was writing about you,” he admits.