For QLFC S6R13

Prompt: Write about someone who has a very likeable disposition but is awkward or shy.

Optional prompts: (weather) rainy, (phrase) drop of a hat, (sound) explosion

Neville was well and truly having an awful day.

He had woken up late and made a mad dash out the door, just missing the bus that would take him to his university and the lab he was going to be late for if he didn't leave right this minute. The bus stop didn't have a shelter, and so he waited, shivering, under the rain for another half hour before he realized that the bus wasn't coming at all.

Of course, five minutes after he began the walk to school, the bus whizzed past him, splashing him with a good amount of water as it passed too.

Now, drenched and smelly, Neville tried to ignore the way his lab partner Lavender subtly shifted away from him whenever he stood too close. They were creating tissue cultures today, which was fairly easy, but he couldn't seem to settle down at all. He jiggled his leg anxiously to the point where Lavender snapped at him to stop it already, and shuffled through his papers and instruments like a madman. He just wanted to get this stupid lab over with and then go home again.

Two more hours to go. Neville repeated the words like a mantra in his head. Two more hours.

An eternity later, he finally set down his container. He was done. And, glancing around the room, Neville realized he had actually finished quite early. "I'm returning this to the refrigerator then heading off," he said aloud.

Lavender, squinting at her own set of notes, nodded absently and waved him away.

Neville nearly glided his way over to the fridge at the far side of the lab, his mood drastically improved already.

He tugged on the door of the fridge, feeling a blast of cold air hit his face. Then, he heard the sound of glass shattering. Neville looked down at his feet, where someone's ruined culture laid in pieces on the ground. In an instance, all the blood drained out of his face.

Oh no. Oh no.

One large piece of glass still had the label stuck to it, and Neville could see the name of its owner as clear as day. Hannah Abbott, it read.

He had seen her around, of course. They'd had tutorial together a couple times before and she seemed sweet, if quiet. How in the world was he going to break the news to her?

As it turned out, he didn't have to. When Neville turned around, he saw Hannah Abbott staring at both him and the butchered remains of her two hours of work.

"Oh," she said in dismay.

"I am so sorry," Neville said hurriedly. "I'll help you restart a new one. If we go quickly we can make it in time?"

She nodded mutely at that and after Neville quickly cleaned up the broken glass, he went with her to her station to start again.

…

Neville slumped back in his seat as the professor droned on in the background. His stomach growled and he discretely pressed his stomach to it, willing it to quiet down.

His stomach wasn't listening to him at all though. After a particularly loud grumble, Neville set his pen down for a moment and reached into the open top of his backpack to retrieve the sandwich he had packed that morning. He took two quick bites of it, setting it down again after the professor highlighted a point that would be on their final.

As he did so, Neville felt his elbow push against his sandwich and it fell to the ground.

Neville groaned. At the drop of a hat, he grabbed the now dirty sandwich in his hands and crept out the door, searching for a trash can to dump the food into. And, as he looked around, he glanced up, making direct eye contact with Hannah Abbott.

He felt his burn in embarrassment.

Why was it that every time he did something unbelievably clumsy, she was always there to witness it?

Neville quickly shoved it into the trash can and fled the scene, back to his lecture hall.

…

The night air was cold against his skin and Neville shivered outside in his pyjamas. Outside, the entire residence milled about, some half-sleep, others complaining about early classes the next morning. They were being held outside for an indeterminate amount of time while the fire department checked the building.

There was no real fire though. He would know, because he was the one who had accidentally triggered the fire alarm.

The sound of footsteps came from behind him.

"Neville, right?" came a light, feminine voice, breaking him from his reverie. Neville turned and stared into the tired eyes of one Hannah Abbott.

Neville didn't realize she lived in the building as well, but of course she did. His luck was just that awful.

"I wonder what happened," she said, stifling a yawn.

Neville chewed his bottom lip anxiously, but he was awful at lying so he ended up blurting out, "It was me. I made a small explosion while trying to make popcorn."

Hannah's eyebrows shot up before she burst out laughing. "I'm—not even surprised at this point. Are you always this clumsy?" she asked, but there was no judgement in her voice, just good humour.

"I'm not," he argued weakly, because the evidence said otherwise.

"Right," she said, a hint of a smile on her face.

"Tell you what, you seem like an interesting guy. How about we go out for a coffee sometime?" she proposed.

Neville felt his face burn red again, but not from embarrassment this time. "That's seems fine," he squeaked out.

She flashed a smile at him just as the fire fighters started letting everyone in, and left to join the rest of her friends in a small huddle near the front.

Neville, on the other hand, walked back up to his room in somewhat of a daze. And if he fumbled with his keys and dropped them more than once, who was there to notice?