Summary: I used to watch him from the corner of my eye. He was like poetry, and he always smelt like fresh cigrettes. SxS AU
He sat in the last row, at the seat closest to the window. I used to watch him from the corner of my eye. Tomoyo told me to keep my distance - he was notorious, she said.
"For what?" I asked.
"For being notorious."
He used to turn up precisely three minutes before the lecture began, and he always smelt like fresh cigarettes.
"Apparently that's not all he smokes."
"What do you mean?"
He was an art major. They'd already had several exhibitions of his work around the university - I suppose it was too expensive and he couldn't afford to display it elsewhere. My favourite was the one of the dancer, because you could practically see the subject moving before your eyes. His work was all like that - never sedentary or bland, it was always moving - from each stroke of his paintbrush to each smear of charcoal. Everything about his art flowed like water in a stream.
Everything about his art was alive.
He wore red flip-flops to lectures no matter what the weather was like. This was against the university's dress code, but he didn't seem to care. And for some strange reason, that tiny act of rebellion thrilled me.
Everything about him said: I am dangerous.
And for that reason, I wanted him.