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𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 // 𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓵𝓭 - 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼
"What are you listening to?"
You stared at my notebook. Nothing was coming to you. Why does this keep happening? You haven't moved from this spot on campus for a little over an hour, and you've been staring at blank pages. You wanted to bang your head against the tree you were leaning up against out of frustration. There was no point in trying to force words onto the page if you didn't feel anything.
A hand waved in front of your face.
Your gaze slowly begins to look up, and you see an ashy blonde bending over, just staring at you, while mouthing words. You take off your headphones.
"Hi. You. What are you listening to?" The way he spoke intimidated you.
You hesitate. A million thoughts running through your mind, but you keep circling back to why is he talking to me.
You tell him quietly, slightly embarrassed.
He lets out a small laugh and takes a seat in front you, crossing one leg over the other while leaning on his knee. There was something about him that made you nervous. He seemed confident enough to sit down with you, and try talking to you. You weren't quite sure how to go about having a conversation with him, especially since you were clueless as to why this was even happening.
"Can I listen?" He asked, as he holds out one hand. Your heart skips a beat. You see no other option, and hand him a headphone.
You try to ignore the fact that he was sitting with you, listening to your music. You stare down at your notebook, tapping the edge of the page with your pen. You couldn't think of a single word before, and now, there was no way you would be able concentrate on what to write. What was he doing here?
You took a peek from under your eye lashes, but he wasn't looking at you. He was still in the same position, but with his head leaning against the arm he had laying across his knee. His eyes were closed, as if taking in everything he was listing to. He was honestly attractive to look at.
You could feel your face start to burn up. Your mind is telling you to stop, and focus. You do not need this distraction right now.
You decided to go back to writing, or at least try to. You flipped a few pages back in your notebook, thinking, maybe, something will come to you by looking at your past work. There had to be something from your past that could guide you - you had to have written something decent before everything happened ...
Your eyes widen. His hand was now on your notebook, not allowing you to turn any more pages.
He was leaning over, his deep brown eyes quickly glazing over the pages. His fingers started to trace along each line.
"Are these poems?" He asked, eyes still glued to the pages, while yours on his face. He looked almost angry because of his scowl, but you knew of him. It's how he usually looked. It still intimidated you though.
"Lyrics, actually," you said softly, with an embarrassed tone again. Your eyes shifted to the side to avoid eye contact.
There's something about him. You can't quite put your finger on it. Why is he talking to me. You try to shake the thought once more. It's not like guys are foreign to you. You have guy friends, you've had boyfriends. But it's always been through a mutual acquaintance.
No one has ever gone out of their way to meet you. No one has ever been interested in you.
He leaned backwards on his palms, and let out another small laugh.
"You don't need to be embarrassed about that. From what I can see, you write really well. I'm assuming you sing them?" He asked with a smirk.
You were taken aback. "Why are you asking?"
He started to stand up and grab his bag. His tall build towered over you, and he did this thing with his tongue where he ran it over a couple of his teeth. You could feel the heat in your cheeks again as you thought of how alluring that one small movement was. But his demeanor was almost like he knew something that you didn't, and he wasn't sure if he should tell you. Which, he probably shouldn't have, since it ended up mortifying you.
