sincerely yours || luke hemmings au

0.1

dear someone,

i see writing on this desk all the time. what does it mean? i can't tell. maybe nothing.

this class makes me want to scoop my brain into a blender.

xoxo vanessa

She turned back to the front of the class, hoping Mr. Evans wouldn't see her quickly scribbling words on the surface of the desk. Not like it really mattered; she sat in the very last seat in the six-rowed classroom, well out of eyesight for the decrepit teacher. He was rambling on and on about the history of some battle, but Vanessa could have cared less. She played with the split ends of her dark purple hair, drumming her chipped black fingertips on the surface and her desk. The clock slowly ticked away the seconds, as if time were slowed down solely to torture her with the mind-numbing boring class. She sighed, putting her head down. Just then, mercifully, the bell rang and she rushed out the door and to her locker, all but forgetting the little note on the scratched surface of her seat.

The next morning, he sat in the seat she had vacated the last period of the day, perplexed at the girly handwriting in which the note was written. Reading it once, he smiled to himself, pulling out his own pencil.