this is an AU lol
~~~
It's been a whole semester.
A whole semester!
16 weeks!
And I still haven't mustered up the courage to talk to the cute guy who sits next to me everyday. Like any other normal college, there aren't any assigned seats. Yet every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday there he is. The same seat as always. I once caught him move his stuff over from the seat next to him when he saw me approaching, apparently he'd saved it for me.
I'd also never managed to talk to him, my nerves always pulling my fantasy away. I despise that I can be shut up so easily, by something as stupid as my own consciousness sealing my lips forever. Then again, he never talked to me either. Perhaps he saved the seat for me occasionally and only sat next to me when given then chance because I was quiet or didn't smell bad. I also wasn't as annoying as the girl who sat in front of us and crunched on ice for 20 minutes.
Whatever it is, the man's always silent.
I knew more about him than I cared to admit. He was an ex soldier, a non traditional student working towards a degree in Criminal Justice. Yet, he's always drawing next to me. He draws people, our professor, dogs, someone's bedroom. But he also draws out the floor plan of the campus, an apartment, molecular structures. Some days he'll sketch out the periodic table or do pages worth of complicated mathematical problems, his handwriting being it's own work of art. One day he'll be dotting out constellations and the next he'll be jotting down plans for some complex device.
His eyes are never on the board and yet every test a perfect grade is plastered on the top of his paper.
I often spend my free time pondering how this up and coming Einstein landed a spot in my Criminal Justice class. He has to be a genius, he just has to be. There's just no logical explanation for him mastering nearly everything. It's our final class meeting of the semester and just like every other time, I took my seat in my normal spot and pulled out a book. I only get through three pages when my quiet companion joins me.
He sits down silently and doesn't glance over, like I had, and pulls out a notebook. When he opens it, the pages are covered top to bottom in complicated diagrams accompanied by complex math. It might be physics but who knows, that's not really my area of expertise.
After staring at his steady hand for far too long, I resumed reading. His hands were nice. The pale, slender figures grip the pencil carefully. No wonder his hand writing was art-museum worthy. Was it odd to be attracted to someone's hand? I don't care for much. To me, all of him was rather lovely.
He's broad shouldered and muscular, his jeans always begging to be released caused by his thighs. Even as large as the man is, he moved with the grace of a ballerina. If I could guess, he would had to have been a phenomenal athlete when he was younger.
The only defect one might find in this man would be his lower leg prosthetic. He had massive thighs but his pants never quite fit from the knee down. I don't care, I guess it's just the morbid curiosity in me. Whether it's from self-consciousness or something completely different, his legs are always cross and he favours his right side towards me, allowing me the perfect view of whatever he's working on.
I risk glancing at his hand, still scrawling down equations and formulas I wouldn't even begin to understand. Suddenly his hand pauses and he tilts his notebook toward me. I freeze, wide eyed thinking I'd been caught when his slender fingers draw a smiley face. Next to that he jots down hello. I glance up from the word, already finding his deep blue eyes looking at me. The man smiles and hands me the pencil. Out of pure embarrassment, I quickly write something down.
