Yellow || hs au

| 3 |

—

  I sigh out as the clock hits twelve. My Thursday English class always seems to drag longer than any of the few other classes I take throughout the week.

  Exiting the lecture building, I'm met with the freezing cold air and wind the whips my my hair back. The crisp air nips at my nose and cheeks as I stuff my hands into the pocket of my cream jacket.

  After yesterday, I can't help but feel slightly disappointed that he didn't even touch the coffee I had bought him, let alone send at least a little wave of appreciation.

  But I don't take it to harshly, maybe he's got a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. I don't know, but I would feel a little bit awkward if he simply just didn't want the drink from me. Which is fine.

  I roll my eyes at my own intrusive and insecure thoughts as I slowly walk behind a few other students who are heading off campus as well. I don't feel like going home for an hour just to leave again, so I'll just go to the café earlier.

  The obnoxious honking from the vehicles on the street mixed with the occasional shouts from people on the sidewalk never gets old. I only ever walk anywhere, figuring a car would be useless living in such a large city where the options for transportation seem endless.

  Stepping into the café is becoming one of my favorite feelings. It's always warm and cozy inside, light music playing through the speakers and that strong and comfortable smell of coffee also never gets old.

  "You're early today." Josie observes when I walk up to the counter. I grin and nod my head, glancing around the empty café.

  "I just got out of class, figured I'd come from there." I answer easily, exchanging the cash for my latte, Josie smiling at me before I walk off to my table.

  I pull my Mac out from my bag, deciding that until that boy gets here for me to finish, I'll work on my newly assigned English narrative. I've always had trouble in English, but I could always go above and beyond in math, even if I hated it. But I guess you get one or the other. English or math.

  No matter the prompt, fiction or non fiction, I could never write a good and well thought out paper for any English class. The whole 'keeping your reader interested' never worked for me because even I wasn't interested in my own paper. And I was the one writing it.

  I tuck my wireless headphones into my ears, scrolling through my playlist until I find a song to play. Basically anything by The 1975.

  I slowly drink my latte, staring harshly at the blinking bar on my screen that is screaming at me to write something. Literally anything. But my mind keeps wandering around to everything but what I should be doing.

  Soon enough, I find myself glancing at the clock on my computer, the café door swinging open and the curly haired boy walks in, a gust of wind following before the door closes.

  It feels like it happens in slow motion, the way he walks in right on the dot. His eyes unexpectedly meet mine, making their dark green color very known. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched as he tears his eyes away from me and makes his way to his table.

I raise my eyebrows to myself, peeking over at him as he slides into his chair, unraveling the string that keeps the cover of his journal closed, flipping to a page towards the middle.

I close my laptop and shove it into my bag, retrieving my sketchbook and pencil case, finding his page quickly.

I immediately start to finish the main details of his body, deciding that shading his face would be better than trying to capture his features from the two short looks I've had of them.