You slump in your seat, sighing as you gazed upon the white board, covered in MATH equations that nobody gave two shits about. In dismay, you flip the page of your composition book, that you had just drawn in, and began sketching on one of the sketch book pages you had torn out of your actual one, to act as a temporary sketch book. As you drew, you could feel a presence watching you. Nothing new, just the same thing that happens every year when people had realized your fear of communication. The boy sitting next to you, was new to the school, and pretty outgoing. It seemed wherever he went, he was always screaming rather than speaking-but this seemed to be the one trait many people loved. He had dark hair, an Irish accent and crystal blue eyes. Even though he seemed like your polar opposite, that didn't stop him from tipping his chair to whisper "Wow! That's really cool!" Great. Another one of these people. It was time for study hall, and many of the students rushed out of the doors, hoping to get a good spot at the library to chill out. Everyday was the exact same thing, and every day you just sat there all alone with nothing but your open sketch book. And when people like this try to break the ice, there's truly nothing you can do but block them out.
"...thanks..." you reply shyly, trying to cover up the sketch with your arms.
"I really like your hair!" He says, getting a closer look at it. Green and dark brown looks so cool!" Something about that comment was insincere, like it usually was. But that wasn't the surprising part of this statement. While he said this, you looked up at him, looking directly in the eyes. Ever since you were little, it seemed you always had this sort of strange ability. Just by looking into someone's eyes intently, you could uncover their true emotions many times hidden deep underneath. And as you gazed right at the beautiful sky blue of his eyes, everything began to lay itself out in front of you.
Help me
I can't take this
Someone, just kill me
I want to die
How is it that he could hide all of this and not show any sign of depression? It amazed you how well he had been able to deal with the stress. None the less, it seemed you were hiding them just as well.
"I don't know..." You argue, "don't you think it looks gross?"
"actually," he corrected, gladly pulling up a seat right across from your desk, "I quite happen to be fond of bright green." As if nothing had just happened, he calmly rested his chin on the back of the seat, and stared intently at your hand.
"W-What are you doing?"
"I'm watching you draw!" He grins, looking back at your pencil.
"But...why would you want to see me draw the whole thing? It's gonna take all study hall, not to mention I'm not even good-"
"I don't mind," he inturupted, "I think beauty's worth the wait!" With a slight annoyance, and a shy smile, you continue your work. Every line you made was more tense then usual, because you were not used to being watched like that. As one of the only artists in your grade, people watching you draw was nothing new, but something about this wasn't as casual. He viewed your work, like he actually cared about it, making you nervous about every little mess up. It made you wonder why he cared so much.
BY the time studyhall was over, many of the students had already come shuffling through the doors, some returning from the library, and others just anywhere but the classrooms.
"Look at him! Isn't his Accent charming?" One brunette moaned silently to her friend, promptly sitting in the desk behind yours.
"I think it makes him sound dumb." Whispered one of her friends, who just happened to be the flattest girl in the grade.
"I heard he moved here from Ireland. Pretty cool, huh?" One of the nerd's ask, diving through pages of a student log.
"He won't even talk to anyone! He thinks he's better than us!" Said one of the jocks, who just happened to like the brunette crushing on the boy.
"Well he's kept silent with everyone...but y/n..."
The entire group made an Ooooing sound, and hiding in your open sketchbook- keeping your face completely blank-you can feel a pair of sky blue eyes search for your reaction.
"They'll never read me..." You think to yourself focusing back on your drawing. You were just about to finish the mask, covering a girl in a room with pills scattered on the floor, a knife in her hand, and tattered clothes. "They'll never see her cry..." you say, finishing the last taper in the line art. "And never understand..."
...
"You may be good at hiding your emotions," He whispers to himself, looking back at his composition book, covered in detailed drawings of you, "but one day I'll be able to see through all of it. And when I do, we can finally be friends."