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A constant, blind, affection for her infected him. One he couldn’t seem to rid himself of, no matter how hard he tried. Not that he has tried very hard.
Half-written letters, half-drawn sketches, half-spoken sentences. They all sat in the shadows of everywhere he went. Just like she seems to.
What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to feel? Either way, she continuously approached him. No matter the signals of hatred or how uncaring she seemed to be towards him, she always spared him a few seconds. And then, that was all he needed.
Except, recently, seconds turned to minutes, until she could bare him enough that he wasn’t considered a constant annoyance to her.
It still came as a surprise when she started to show up unannounced to his cabin. She had a plethora of excuses to throw of why she was there. Honestly, he found it amusing.
Light rain tapped against the roof and echoed through the small room. A dim light shone, the yellow hues covering every surface it could find.
A blank canvas, greyed from age, stood on the easel. His pencil ached in his hand, fitting perfectly where it always sat between his fingers.
He placed the tip of the led to the tightly woven canvas. Only one thing ran through his thoughts as the pencil drew.
The door opened. The low crack of the hinges startled him enough to drop the pencil to the ground. His eyes shot towards the entrance, knowing who it was.
She was soaked. Water dripped from her pigtails, and her bangs were pressed against her forehead. Her clothes, which was just the school uniform, had drained all excess water to his floor.
He looked over to her. He raised an eyebrow. She remained unblinking and unreadable. He couldn’t fathom why she would come all the way out here in weather like this.
“It was raining,” She said. The moment she opened her mouth, he could feel the burning sensation that her voice sent to people. It cut through his thoughts, his vision, everything else was drowned out except for the words she said.
He stood up, walking to the cabinet in the corner. She took a step forwards, trailing water further in. The cabinet squeaked open. He pulled out a not-exactly-clean towel and tossed it to her.
“So?” He asked. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
She held the towel in her hands, making no efforts to dry herself.
“I like the rain.” She stared forward at him.
He eyed her up and down, a smile flashed across his face. He brushed his hand against his nose to try and hide it from her view.
He watched her to see if she noticed, and as suspected her features slightly squinted together. He cleared his throat, pushing himself off the wall and his face returned straight.
“Yeah,” He said, nodding at her, “I can tell.” He couldn’t make out her visual response. She was always unreadable.
She stood there, dripping water onto the floor. He recoiled a bit as she walked to a seat in the corner. She always sat back there. The towel was abandoned on the floor. He looked over at her. She looked back. He picked it up with a frustrated sigh.
“You’re gonna get my place all wet,” He said, “Dry off before you ruin something.”
He stood in front of her, holding out the towel. He knew well that she was not too keen on doing what she was told, but he was hopeful she had any respect for him and would at least dry a bit. After a few seconds, she reluctantly reached out and took it from him.
She seemed to be trying to show discontent, not that it was any different to how she usually looks.
She always amused him. Everything she does, all the time. It was horrible. He couldn’t tear himself away from her.
“You were drawing me again?” She asked. She pierced through his thoughts and pulled him away from any peace he was able to feel in the past few seconds.
He felt his heart stop cold for a second and soon it picked up the pace. He couldn’t hold her stare and looked back at the canvas he left standing. The rough sketch of her outline stared back at him.
“What does that make it?—”
He sighed and tossed the unfinished drawing to the floor. Turning it to face the opposite way.
“—The fourth? Or was it, the fifth time?” Even in her monotonous tone, he could make out the mockery in her voice.
“I don’t know,” He groaned, annoyed at her. He pulled out the chair from the other side of the table, sitting diagonal to her.
He laid back in the chair, his arms crossed. He watched her dry her hair with the towel he had given her. She stared forward.
A silence broke the two of them. The only noises heard was the now harsh rain hitting the rooftop, running down and dripping to the damp grass. Occasional thunder rippled through the surrounding area and lightning flashing through the window, sparing more shine to her shadow-casted face.
He couldn’t help but wish he had bought better lights. They were great for painting and doing his art, but in moments like this, he just wished he could see better in front of him.
She glanced over to him, letting her own eyes linger. His eyes were green. She never noticed that, she never had a reason to.
Him though, he noticed every feature of hers. Her brown, lifeless eyes, pale skin and dark under-eyes. Her dark red lips and straight, white teeth. How could he not notice.
He looked away from her, his own mind embarrassed her. He faced his eyes down to table and leaned forward, resting his elbows up.
She dropped the towel to the ground. He pursed his lips at the noise it made. Her boots clacked on the wooden floor as she stood up. Her clothes were now not visibly wet, but definitely still were.
“Can I ask why?” She stood over him. He looked back up to her. Even while he was sitting, and her standing, she was still just barely taller than him.
“What?” He crossed his arms, now standing. He leaned back on the table,
“Why you draw me.”
He raised his eyebrows, curious of her. She’s never been interested in whys before.
“I don’t know,” He answered. It wasn’t the exact truth, but it was not a lie. He didn’t dare lie to her. Ever.
She glared at him, “Do you know anything?” She turned her head to look over at the flipped canvas. There wasn’t much even drawn yet. He was surprised she could tell it was her.
“You have an easy face,” He said. She was looking for an answer, so he gave one.
She crossed her arms over her chest, “You’re a liar.”
He smiled, she was smart enough to see through such a lie. He did admire that about her. She was incredibly perceptive, and picked up on any signs of a lie.
“You want the truth?” He asked slowly moving closer to her.
“Yes.” She took a subtle step backwards, one he so obviously noticed.
“You inspire me,” He whispered.
He watched for her reaction. She remained silent for a moment, her face twisting into a look of disgust.
“I do not invoke inspiration.” She hissed, glowering up at him.
He shrugged, taking another step forward. His head was tilted down towards her. The sound of rain and thunder was louder, drowning out any other small noises. They were barely inches from each other.
He watched closely as her shoulders rose and fell with her breath. There was no sign of her feeling any different.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” She asked. It sounded more of a threat than a genuine question, as if something bad would happen.
“Yes.” Right as he heard the question, he knew the answer. He knew he wanted her no matter what that was supposed to mean.
She closed the last millimetres between them, pressing a hand to his arm. He was warm. His lips rest on hers. He brought a hand to her jaw. A smile spread across his lips as he kissed her.
He counted one beat. Then another. Neither of them made any attempt to close the distance between their bodies.
She felt a rush of warmth flush from the top of her head through the deep abyss to her feet. She didn’t like it. She pulled away.
“I have to go,” She said, quickly stepping back. She moved quickly towards the door.
“It’s raining,” He said, becoming annoyed.
“So?—”
He tried to move closer but she dodged his advancing as she opened the door.
“—I like the rain.”
She shut the door. He grabbed an umbrella sat next to the doorframe, propping it open as he rushed out. He could see her quickly walking away.
“Wednesday, wait up.” He called. She ignored him and kept walking. Even as he lifted the umbrella above her, she wouldn’t look over at him.
His hand gripped around her wrist.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asked. He held her tight enough that she couldn’t escape his grasp.
“I’m leaving.” She attempted to separate his grip from her, to no avail.
“Did—”
He sighed, looking across her face for any hints, but as usual, completely blank.
“Did I do something wrong?” He was practically yelling by now, out of confusion, frustration and trying to speak over the loud rain and thunder.
“No.” She said.
He scanned each word in his head. The exact tone she used. He looked for any signs of anything.
“You didn’t.” She said, objectively after noticing his confusion.
He pulled her closer, not letting go of her arm. She paused. Unable to move away. Literally, and figuratively.
“Let go of me.” She growled, her voice was dangerous, or maybe the opposite.
He looked at her. A specific look in his eyes, something she couldn’t understand. His hand dropped hers. She was free to leave. She was allowed to turn and run and never come back. And as much as she want to, she couldn’t.
The umbrella above them blocked any rain from hitting them. It was probably considered too late to save her from the weather. But that wasn’t the point. She was under it right now, that’s the point.
He was trying to figure out what she was thinking, he always was, but she wore that deadpan stare like it was never changing.
She stepped forward, suddenly too aware of what was directly against her. It was sudden, like something took over her body.
They were barely a centimetre apart. She could feel the warmth from his body, from his breath, hit her. She has never felt this kind of intimacy.
The umbrella dropped out of his hand, the rain soaking them both. He grabbed both sides of her head, her skin was cold under his touch. They shared a stare before crashing his lips on hers. He didn’t dare let go.
She shut her eyes, allowing herself to relax in his arms. He pressed into her lips again, jerking her head. Somehow she didn’t notice the bright light that shone through her closed eyelids, as if her whole world had been suddenly infected with a disgusting glow.
She breathed in for air and he pulled away. She noticed he had been smiling once again. He noticed her face remained the same, actually a bit more relaxed, if he wanted to delude himself.
“Come on,” He said, picking up the umbrella from the ground. He shook off the water that gathered on it, and held it above them, “I’ll walk you back.” His grin unshaken and unbroken.
And for once in her life she did not protest, admittedly still in shock to actually behave regularly.
He pulled her back to her dorm by her hand that evening, giving her one last kiss goodnight and goodbye before retiring to his own dorm where he would replay the days events in his head for the next week straight.