Disclaimer: I own nothing except for ten fingers and a fanciful imagination.

Intro

I'm normally good at this sort of thing.

I make a joke. They laugh. Idle chatter ensues. Eventually, I ask them out on a date. Normally, they accept. But somehow, that scenario just doesn't seem right.

No, not with him.

His name is Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha. He's been in my anthropology class since the beginning of the year.

That was nearly four months ago.

Somehow, he infatuates me. It's insane. I didn't begin to even really think about it until a month or so ago. He had raised his hand to answer a question. And his voice… the monotone, half-interested tone of it somehow caught me by surprise. He had spoken before in class, I'm sure. But I had never really listened. I had never realized how perfectly deep and smooth his tantalizing voice actually was. It reminds me of a cello, almost. And his lips are like two strings that I would love to pluck.

Incidentally, it isn't just his voice that's appealing. Hardly. Sasuke is the type of guy who could "turn straight men gay," so to speak. His pale skin is free of any freckles or blemishes, and it hardly ever flushes. The only time I've seen any amount of color in his face is when the AC broke down in August.

I'm just not sure how to approach him. I've seen him in the hallways a few times—he's always alone. Occasionally, a girl will come and try to initiate a conversation, but he finds some sort of suave way to send her away.

I don't want that to happen to me.

I want him to be interested enough to look at me, at least. Somehow, I don't think that using my lame-ass jokes will cut it.

Ah, here he is now.

Usually, he's the first one here. But lately, I've been waking up a good thirty-seven minutes earlier in order to get in class before him. Just to see the single second that it takes for him to duck his head and walk through the doorway.

I don't know what's so intriguing about it. When he enters the classroom, it seems like he is completely aware of his surroundings without even lifting his gaze to examine it. Then, of course, there's the fact that his hair is always wet. Not to the point of dripping, but damp enough to cling to his face. It's so irresistibly sexy and seeing it is a far superior way of beginning the day then buying a 4 cup of coffee from Starbucks.

The teacher isn't even here yet. Technically, we're here alone. But I know that he won't say anything.

And neither will I.