joelle | d.m

03 | natural beauty

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟒.

Draco couldn't quite read her.

Joelle Honrada was a difficult girl to read. A difficult person to read in general.

Her face never really spoke much of what she was thinking or how she was feeling. She barely even talked to him, or at all, actually. She never did double-takes with him.

She didn't even bat an eyelash at him.

He was actually insulted.

He was extremely handsome. Sexy and witty and he had charisma. What the fuck did she not see in him? Why did she not flush around him or act shy?

He was heaven's work.

He really needed to get some sort of anything out of her. A smile or a word or a blush in her cheeks or a little gleam in her eye.

He needed something—anything—before he could move on to trying to get her to fall at his feet. Then, he'd take her to bed.

So as Draco studied her from behind the wall of the corner in the corridor—which was a lot less creepy than it sounded—he debated on walking up to her since she was alone.

She was sitting on the floor with her spine resting against the stone wall, legs crossed by the ankles.

Her textbook was opened on her thighs and a piece of parchment rested over it. Her book bag was next to her and a packet of some sort of sweets was next to that.

She was doing homework. Or studying. Draco didn't know, but he did notice she focused so hard on school.

Finally, Draco decided to walk up to her. He hitched his book bag up higher on his shoulder as he crossed the distance to get to her.

She didn't even look at him. He suppressed an offended scoff.

"Hello, Honrada." He didn't know why he said hello instead of hey or hi.

Joey was silent for a moment, finishing up the sentence she was writing. She dotted a period before she lifted her gaze to him.

"Hello, Malfoy," she mimicked him.

"What are you working on?" he asked casually, eyes flicking down to her work before to her eyes once more.

"Work," she answered in an even tone. Her voice was deep and smooth, though still delicate and soft. Much like those rich, dark chocolate doves wrapped in gold foil his mother put in his stocking for Christmas every year since he was a kid.

"What kind of work?" he questioned cheerily.

Her eyebrows rose. "Do you want something?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then ask someone else."

He ignored her retort. "I'd just like to know what you're working on."

"Why do you care?" She chuckled and peered down at her parchment again.

She chuckled. She chuckled. She actually chuckled. Good, good. He was making progress.

"Just curious." He shrugged and raked his ring-clad fingers through his platinum hair to brush it back.

"Why were you standing behind the corner watching me like some sort of creep?" She didn't even glance at him as she spoke.

Draco's lips parted. "I wasn't," he blurted hastily, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his uniform pants.

"Malfoy, you stood there for a good three minutes before coming up to me." Again, she did not look at him as she spoke so neutrally.

Okay. This was his chance. He could flirt.