Paint You Wings // Ashton Irwin [au]

Four

Emilia's POV

The next morning, I take my usual seat in the back of my communications class and glance at the clock displaying on my phone. Nine fifty-two, it reads. Class starts in eight minutes and Ashton isn't here yet. I twirl my pen around, threading it between each finger as I wait.

My eyes constantly trail towards the double-door entrance to the classroom, hoping that at any moment, Ashton will come sprinting through. However, when Professor Ross begins lecturing that hope quickly diminishes.

Thirty minutes into class and there is still no Ashton. I am slightly disappointed that he hasn't showed up. When he sent me the text yesterday clarifying if we were going to sit together, excitement and anxiety filled my being. Not the terrible fight-or-flight response provoking anxious feeling, but rather the positive kind of anxiety that pumps your blood and prepares you to dive into something that could potentially change you in some way.

I actually want to see him.

A loud screech forces my eyes to dart towards classroom entrance where Ashton emerges from the doors, completely out of breath. All eyes on Ashton, including an annoyed glance from the professor, encourages him to mumble a quick 'sorry' to everyone. He scans across the room until finally meeting my gaze, smiling when our eyes lock. Quietly, he treks up the steps leading up to the back of the lecture hall and slides through the aisle, almost tripping on some guy's legs, but quickly regaining his balance. He sits to the right of me, placing the green spiral notebook he has been gripping in his hand onto the small desk attached to the chair and crosses his leg. Free from interruption, Professor Ross continues on with the lecture.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Emmie," Ashton whispers, his breath tickling my neck from close proximity. "I woke up late and my roommates thought it would be funny to turn my alarm off." His voice is tired and husky, making his accent even stronger.

I quietly shush him and give an assuring smile, letting him know it's all right. I draw my attention back to Professor Ross, writing down bits of information I know I will forget later. I can feel Ashton eyeing me and normally, I would feel uncomfortable, but the way his gentle eyes watch as I immerse myself in the lecture makes me feel almost...secure.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ashton pull out his cellphone and swiftly tap on the screen placing it onto his lap. My phone's screen illuminates next to my notebook. Of the five contacts I have saved in my phone and out of the two that I actually converse with, I have a good feeling Ashton is the one texting me since Julia is at work right now. I unlock the device and open up my messages to see my intuition is right.

"I have a question," his message reads.

"Shoot," I reply, placing my phone back on the desk.

His phone is back in his grasp, eager to respond. I barely have time to finish writing the definition to semiotics that Professor Ross recites before I receive his text. "I've noticed you don't talk much. Why are you so quiet?" he asks bluntly.

I reread the text over and over. In my head, I try to construct some sort of plausible explanation as to why I'm quiet, but there really is no excuse. I'm not necessarily a quiet person; I can actually be very talkative when conversing about a certain topic. Just last night, I was talking Julia's ear off about the elephant mug I saw before I bumped into Ashton and subtly hinted she should buy it as a four month early Christmas gift for me.

Instead of writing a text and saving time, I open the notepad app and began typing. "I'm not trying to purposely be quiet. I'm just not very good when it comes to socializing. I don't have many friends, so being in this kind of situation is different for me." I turn only slightly to face Ashton, holding the phone in front of his face to show him the message. He scans the screen briefly before taking the phone from my hand and typing a message of his own. Once finished, he slides the phone across the desk to me.

Before I have a chance to see what he wrote, Professor Ross announces a new assignment. "We are already a month into the semester and I've noticed that many of you," he extends his pointer finger, dragging it in the air as he refers to every student here, "do not communicate to your fellow classmates." I shift uncomfortably in my seat, looking down to my lap, feeling as though this entire announcement is an indirect towards me.

"This is a communications course," he continues, "You're supposed to interact and apply the knowledge you've gained in this course to better your personal and professional lives. So, I've come up with a project," he pauses, trying to build what little suspense he has created. "For the rest of the semester I want you to pick a partner and get to know them, their friends, and even their families. I'm not talking about playing a game of twenty questions; I don't want to hear what their favorite color is or how many siblings they have. Really dig deep and find the small details that will paint the picture of your partner. At the end of the semester, you will present your partner to the entire class."

Groans and pleas not to do a presentation fill the room, but they are all rejected. I turn to Ashton, watching his thin lips curve as he stares ahead and taps his finger against his knee. Forgetting about his message, I quickly read the words typed on the phone screen.

"I won't bite." A winking emoji follows. "Take your time."

A single brick from the imaginary wall that I've worked so hard to build over the years crumbles down. The rest continues to stand, but from the way he's insinuating everything is on my terms, I can't guarantee it won't be the last to fall. This is only the beginning and that alone scares the shit out of me, but for some reason, I can't shake off the smile that spreads across my face.

"I'm going to let class out early," Professor Ross says, earning a few cheers. "Pick your partners and get to know them."

He doesn't need to tell us twice.