He was the most beautiful I had ever laid eyes on. His uniform was worn but not in a way that would give him an image of carelessness, fatigue, or burnout; instead, each discolored patch of fabric told a fantastic story of scholastic triumph, defeat, of love and of loss. Upon further inspection, the way the soft black fabric fell carefully over his evidently chiseled body revealed every ridge and valley of his body shape. The slant of his jaw was like the moon on a dark night–sharp yet menacingly present–creating an air of regality as I gazed upon his features. On the crown of his nose was the most commanding pair of spectacles I had ever seen–black, as though to proclaim to the world his professionalism, but still covered in nicks and bite marks inflicted on them before urgent examinations. Moreover, the way his light brown locks parted over his porcelain white skin at the apex of his forehead gave him the sort of aura reserved only for some forgotten prince in some cliche fairytale, off to save a stereotypically beautiful damsel in distress. I immediately pictured him sprinting heroically into a burning stone tower. Bursting out of the flames, he comes dashing out as he fireman carries me, adorned in the finest silks and rarest gemstones. It is suddenly day as we approach the safe and forgiving greenery of a lusciously verdant meadow–as though, finally, the nightmare was over. He gazes deliberately into my eyes as I become lost within the endless auburn glaze of his dark brown corneas. He pushes back my hair lovingly and slowly presses his warm, red lips to mine as he suddenly awakens me from my unending nightmare.

But the knight in shining armor never comes, I'm no princess, and this passionate exchange never even occurs in theory.

And, in reality, he's just a kid sitting across from me on the train, I'm an awkward 19 year old college guy with a glasses fetish, and the only thing passionate about this train ride is the old guy in a dirt-brown suit on his cell phone yelling at his kid for stealing his socks. God, I hate public transit.

Moreover, he probably thinks I'm some creepy serial killer who's gonna offer to buy him a cigarette so I can corner him in an alley and dismember him limb by limb with a plastic spoon, or at least that's what my face must look like right now. Christ. I take out my phone and pretend to make a video call in attempt to check my expression but, to no surprise, it's on the backside camera, totally pointing at the underaged bifocal-clad babe sleeping soundly across from me. My face suddenly becomes flushed as I stare at the tired object of my 6:45AM affections. Gazing upon his sleeping physiognomy, I feel a strange sense of ease flood over me as though I had been instantly transported back to my delirium induced fantasies. Flustered, I look down, up, down, and back up again at the lethargic high school boy, immediately drawn to the labelling on his collar that reads "3-A"–or, in layman's terms, year three class a. In other words, this kid is at least 17 years old.

Great. Good job, Go, at least this one can be the object of your affections legally. I squint my eyes at the muscular seifuku clad figure on my cellphone screen, examining him how a microbiologist would a new disease, and suddenly the kid jolts awake.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Glancing around the train car with an absolutely adorable look on his face, I blush–and fail to move my camera out of the locked and loaded position. He immediately glances across at me as I stare at him through the digital magnifying glass. Sweat instantly comes gushing out of my pores as I sit there in shock. Oh dear god, why does this always happen to me? Great. This is my legacy–Go, the camera voyeur.

I quickly glance back up across the train car to, finally, capture the disgusted look on his face and confirm my worst fears. As I slowly open my eyes, I feel an odd sense of dread and accomplishment; after all, I did get him to notice me, I guess. Finally, as I mustered the courage to pry my eyes open, I'm blinded by the stupidest smile that I have ever seen in my life. Grinning from ear to ear, the no longer sleeping schoolboy holds my gaze before gathering his belongings and moving across the train to my side.

"Hiya, handsome, the name's Spark."