Of course the famous perfect blond haired quarterback was coming down the hallway at the same exact time that our favorite little bookworm with monster eyebrows was searching through his locker. The bell had just rung and students were pouring into the hallways, but the moment that shoulders bumped into each other, something clicked. For the guy with the enormous eyebrows, it was that he would probably spend the rest of his high school career trying to photograph this stranger. For the quarterback, it was the fact that this kid was a total creep.
But, honestly, anyone would think that with the way that the humongous eyebrowed boy stared like a gaping fish- his mouth opening and closing as if he was going to say something and then deciding against it, over and over again- would be really weird. Heck, the quarterback, otherwise known as Alfed F. Jones, even took the time to stop and look back, wondering what the other would say, but the way he just kinda stared, wide eyes and all, just really weirded him out.
The guy with the eyebrows, whom had been dubbed Arthur Kirkland by his English parents approximately sixteen years ago, was stunned to say in the least. The image of those bright, stunning blue eyes shining behind those glasses and that stunning, blemish-free skin that was practically gold and gah! Everything about this guy was just stunningly beautiful! How would he be able to capture such radiance in a simple picture? This question was contemplated for a few seconds before someone else pushed him, a backpack ramming into his shoulder, someone stepping on his foot. There was a hiss of pain and he was then slammed up against the lockers, and another similar sound of pain was released.
"Watch where you stand, Iggy.", sneered a terribly annoying voice. It was the high pitched tone of Gilbert Bielschimdt, one of the members of the so-called "Bad Touch Trio". With a name like that, you'd think that the three in the group was some sort of gang, but in reality, they really weren't. If anything, it was just a publicized love-triangle of sorts that everyone just didn't really care much about. Granted, the group was made up of some of the "hottest guys at school"- "Hot" means nothing in comparison to the striking- Arthur! Compose yourself, you idiot!- ,but the French one had been out for the first month of the American school year. He pulled his locker door open again and stuffed his last class period's text book in there, and then gathered all of his stuff for his homework. All of this stuff was shoved, almost neatly, into a backpack printed with a Union Jack on it and then swung over his shoulder. He didn't want to be late for his time at the library, now would he?
Because Arthur was a smart guy, he didn't have a class period at this time and while he was allowed to leave campus then, but he preferred to spend his afternoons helping fix up the library. However, Alfred was not nearly as lucky. He had to suffer through last period with a boring chemistry teacher that droned on about the different types of reactions and what to do and what not to do. And from there, there was the occasional chastising of a student that acted out, passed notes, had their cell phone out or if -heaven forbid- they sneezed.
It was in this class that Alfred sat next to his brother, Matthew. This "Matthew" or, "Mattie" as Alfred had called him, was a short, meek and nearly invisible type of boy. No one could look directly at him and actually see him, and at those rare times in which he would speak he caused rumors of a ghost at school. There seemed to be only a few people who noticed him: his parents, Alfred and his friend, Arthur. Alfred bragged about having the best twin brother in the world, but his fellow peers didn't believe him, simply because they have never seen Matthew.
But it must be mentioned that there is a time in which sweet, beloved Mattie is actually noticed. In the very background of a band called "BTT Plus Two", there is a drummer worth mentioning as pretty good at what he does. This drummer isn't noticed all that much, but his music has been known for being pretty good. But, any recognition past that, the poor boy is still invisible.
"Trisha's a bitch." Alfred sighed, resting his cheek on his hand as he pretended to take notes. This statement caused his twin to look up, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.
"Why would y-you say something like that about y-your girlfriend?" The younger asked, returning his attention back to the front of the room after earning a stern glare from the white haired teacher.
"Ex-girlfriend, Mattie. She dumped me for some loser in the band. Sucks, right?" Alfred visibly melted down onto the table, limp limbs splayed even across Matthew's notebook. The smaller sighed and merely worked around the obstacle.
"Well, maybe y-you could use the break to actually focus on y-your work, Alfred. That way, y-you wouldn't have to use my notes."
"But your notes are always so much better than mine, bro!" A snap from the front of the classroom made Alfred sit up suddenly.
"Alfred Jones! Pay attention! What is the kind of bond formed between a nonmetal and a metal?"
"An ionic bond, sir."
"Well, it appears that your head hasn't suffered too much damage out there on the field. Pay attention and don't distract your brother!"
"Yes sir." Alfred ducked his head down again. "Anyways. You should totally set me up with someone. You have friends, right? Know any girls?" He smiled at Matthew, this time with his chin placed on top of his elbow.
At this, Matthew turned red. While the boy's cheeks always had an adorable tint of pink to them, salmon spread all over his face and down his neck. Even the tips of his ears had lit up for the occasion as well.
"Ah… Um… No, actually, I don't. I have one friend though. Um…He's pretty cool…"
"Damn, that sucks-"
"Alfred Jones, again with the jabbering? Move to the front of the classroom, now! Front and center, boy!" The teacher had shouted with a heavy accent now, anger really starting to show. Alfred groaned and picked up his stuff to obey the order. And with that, Matthew was left alone for the rest of the class period, dwelling on the thought that he really does need a female friend. Could Ms. Elizaveta count?
Across the school's academic building and up the stairwell and at the center of the entire campus, Arthur was busily putting away books. He and had been chatting readily about British literature again. No one came by the library on a Friday afternoon during last period. Most would think that the library would be the perfect place to escape class, but the librarian was particularly frightening when she found a couple snogging in a corner of her precious library, or doing other hormonal teenager things.
But here was Arthur, bragging away about his motherland's writing as if he had written it all himself, quoting things left and right and making the librarian laugh! Of all things, the heavily eyebrowed kid was making the scariest woman on campus laugh! What was it about Arthur that just made him so easy to talk to?
Nothing. Nothing at all. The Brit was like a maze to a Pandora's box that's wrapped in thorns three times over and once the box was opened, maybe you ended up with friendship. was an exception, as she was the person who had challenged Arthur to join the photography club the previous year. Since then, they have decided that each other's company was a pretty decent thing.
"Oh, but what is a rose by any other name?" was one of the quotes thrown about as they spoke of Shakespeare. Arthur draped himself over a book cart, resting his head on top of a particularly old smelling book.
"You sound as if in love, Arthur." The librarian said, waving her old copy of a collection of classical sheet music. She always had the thing somewhere near her, but when Arthur had mustered up the courage to ask why, she simply brushed him off with a "an old friend gave it to me" story that made her gave a lovesick look in her eyes.
"Perhaps. It is just funny though, how there are other names for a rose, like the scientific name, the name given to it by legends, other linguistic names and so on, but it is still just a flower with thorns. Nothing special, really- so why is it the patron flower of love?"
"Who's the victim?"
"Surely you jest, fair librarian." Arthur stood straight up and started organizing books as a student walked in through the main door.
"No, I don't. I'm just curious as to who has captured the eye of one of the strangest students at this school." Elizaveta stated this as she started to check in the books the student dropped off.
"Someone who has probably never stepped foot in here before. They were way too beautiful for their own good and it looked like they knew it too. I really want to get a picture of them…"
"She sounds like a cheerleader." Scoffed the woman.
"Hm? She? Ah… Well… yes, I do think she's on the squad…" Arthur practically lied through his teeth, not really wanting to tell the librarian the truth about that statement. He wasn't quite ready for such… news to be spread so easily across the school…
"You poor thing. Way too out of your league!" This made the student laugh as they started to browse the new book shelf.
"Hey-!" The bell interrupted any kind of response that Arthur could have given back to that. He put the book in his hand on the shelf and then started driving the cart back up to the front. His backpack was shouldered in an instant, and with a quick wave the teen was absolutely fine with leaving the school as quickly as he could.
Besides, there was somewhere he really needed to be!
Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks for checking out Through the Viewfinder! This fanfic is a spin-off and fixed version of "Snapshot", a fanfic I discontinued because I didn't like where it was going. Reviews are really appreciated!