there are faries in his hair

Chapter 1

Noah had a problem of epic proportions.

He was late. Not even a five minutes late kind of late, an hour and a half kind of late. To what might have been the most important meeting of his life. A decide-your-future kind of meeting.

And he was so late.

He was walking as fast as humanly possible down the undecorated hallway of Lemonstand Publishing, trying very hard to look professional while also at the same time not in a rush. And if Noah knew one thing, he would never be either of those. He was also holding hot coffee in his hand, which he was trying immensely hard not to spill. He would've had starbucks, but he wasn't exactly wealthy, so he was stuck with his peasant instant coffee.

Noah reached the elevators, repeatedly pressing the 'up' button. His mind raced, going through every possibility imaginable. He could lose the internship. He could make a terrible impression on whoever was interviewing him, most likely his possible future boss. He could be disowned by his parents. He would have to live on the streets! Was this what his life had come too, begging for coins? He would die alone, he knew it, he would-

"Dude, I think you've pressed that button enough."

He turned his head to the right so fast he could've sworn he saw stars. It was a girl. A girl.

And ok.

It wasn't that she was so pretty he couldn't form words. She was pretty, for sure, but not in that model, effortless, wattpad y/n kind of pretty.

Noah just had absolutely no idea how to fucking talk to women.

You would think that after nineteen years of living with three sisters, he would be well versed in the ways of the female population. He was not. He could barely speak to men as it was, but women? No, just no.

And if Noah had to use one word to describe this girl, it would be loud. From her black and red dyed tips down to her battered doc martens, he could tell that this was the kind of girl that you saw on the subway and never talked to because her presence just said, too cool for you. Just, way out of your league. If you try to talk to me I will make your world implode and you will wish you never worked up the nerve to open your dumbass mouth. You dumbass bitch.

So, yeah.

"Are you gonna say something, or...?" She waved her hand in front of his face and scrunched her eyebrows.

Noah startled, and leaped back from the girl as if she had shocked him. "Yeah, I'm just, late. Um, yeah. Very, very late so that's why I was pressing the button and I really need to get to my meeting like right. Now."

"Okay!" she raised her hands in surrender. "Sorry to bother you, but couldn't you just take the stairs?"

"Stairs..." he said slowly. "I- there are stairs here?"

She pointed behind him and he turned to find that there were, in fact, stairs in the building. Marked by a neon orange sign and glaringly obvious doors. He hated those doors. They were looking at him like: You didn't see us? Fucking dumbass. Who invited this kid?

His dad's friend Patrick. Who he hated. But at the same time couldn't because he was Patrick and even though he had a potbelly and smelled like beer and stale fruit gum and had questionable opinions on politics, he was Patrick. No one liked Patrick, but everyone loved him. And now that he had helped Noah with getting this interview, he was in his debt. Not a fun thought.

"Th-thanks," he muttered. Noah was fairly sure his face was burning like the fiery pits of hell right now, so he booked it over to the doors and pushed past them. He could feel their stares in his back. He got up three steps when he remembered his meeting was on the eleventh floor.