Eight Minutes (Dave x Reader)

Chapter 2

(Name)---> Be the thrower.
You are now the thrower.
   
This particular thrower's name is Dave Strider, and to state again, you are now said Strider. Your scarlet gaze is pointed at a certain student with (H/C) flying about her neck who is sitting in front of you. The red ink from your now broken pen is bleeding onto your white shirt. The shit is getting everywhere. You hadn't realized how hard you were gripping onto the poor, now dead, pen. You just had been slightly nervous to throw that letter. The anxious look you had held on your face soon dissipated as soon as she picked up the paper and smiled. No one had noticed your... Well almost constipated looking demeanor, behind your mirrored aviators.
   
You let your head drop to the table in front of you with a thump. The pool of red ink was soaking into your golden locks and smearing onto your freckled nose. The pale nose scrunched up, making the problem worse. At this point your "caring levels" were lessening, lowering by the second. Your mind was left to wander.
   
"I have the next class with her... That's the only time we ever talk..." You thought, "She always seemed nervous around me... Do I scare her? Probably, fuck..."
   
A loud buzz came through the air to your ears, making you whip up your head, much too quickly according to you neck. It cracked out in response like a dying rat. A screech escaped your lips. The girl who had captured your eye flipped around, looking at you with a lot of worry in her eyes. You smiled, trying to calmed her down, leaving her to just nod in response as she walked out.