He lifted me to my feet, his large, firm hand clutching my own. Once he was certain I was steady, he released me, his eyes never leaving my face.
I matched him stare for stare, ignorant to the social appropriateness of how long you were allowed to stare at someone who just knocked you to the floor. The first time I had met him, I had been nervous and cautious due to the fact I had been caught taking his photograph. I didn’t really pay attention to his features, my most dominant thought at the time being ‘abort mission!’. This time, thanks to the many hours I had spent over the last few days staring at his picture on my computer screen, my eyes drank him in. He was just as attractive in person, which was something that surprised me to even be possible. If I was being honest, my photograph didn’t really do him justice. His green eyes regarded me silently, until the corner of his lip twitched into a smirk. It was only then that I realized that I had probably surpassed the staring limit I had previously considered.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, my eyes dropping to adjust my bag on my shoulder awkwardly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Neither was I,” he admitted. “Since you’re the one who ended up on the ground, it should probably be me apologizing.”
I glanced up at him again, matching his grin. A silence passed between us, until my mind returned to me. What was he doing here on campus? Surely, he didn’t go here? I had been stalking this boy at the library for the last few days, and all this time, he was closer than I thought?
“What are you doing here?” I blurted, my verbal filter unable to stop my thoughts from escaping passed my lips. I mentally face palmed myself, but kept my expression neutral.
He didn’t seem taken back by my blunt question, crossing his arms over his chest. I noticed a messenger bag slung across his torso, pulling the fabric of his button down shirt tightly across his chest. The black jeans he wore clung tightly to his legs, making them look impossibly long. My eyes lingered, again probably longer than socially acceptable, before I looked back up to his face.
“I go here,” he stated plainly. “English lit major.”
“Really?”
He laughed at my shock. “Yes, really. Why is that hard to believe?”
I shook my head quickly, trying to gain control over myself as I dropped my eyes. It was something I always did when nervous or feeling cornered. I found that if you looked away, you found a little bit of bravery that hadn’t been there when you were staring someone in the eye.
“Its not. I guess I just wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
He tilted his head as he considered my statement. “Were you expecting to see me somewhere else, then?”
“No!” I answered quickly. Probably too quickly, since again the corner of his mouth turned upwards into a smirk.
He was teasing me, that much was clear. Where the first time we had met, he had been annoyed and challenging, where this time he was playful and engaging. I felt nervous in his presence, and I knew that probably had something to do with the fact that I had spent so much time thinking about him, looking for him, and picturing him in my mind.
I felt myself blush slightly as I realized just how much I had thought about this man who I didn’t even know, and who now I was standing in front of. I felt almost like a peeping tom, that I had been watching him, analyzing him all this time without his knowledge or consent. He had no idea how much I had thought about him over the last few days, and I had little doubt that if he did, he would walk away quite quickly.
People passed us by, hurrying down the halls towards their various classes. It was as if we had spent the last few moments in our own little world, and it was only now I seemed to remember I was standing in the middle of a lecture building, surrounded by other students. I shook my head slightly at myself, embarrassed that I was losing myself so easily in him.
“Well, I should probably get to class,” he finally said after a moment when it was clear I wasn’t able to form anymore intrusive questions. “Sorry again for knocking you over.”
He gave a small wave as he stepped around me, making his way down the hall.
I turned my head, watching him carry on towards his destination without a word.
What the fuck was I doing?
I had been searching for him since Friday, literally combing the city for him. I had been despondent and irritated at the fact he seemed lost in the fray of New York, never to be found again. I find him, on campus of all places, and now I was letting him walk away?
“Harry!” I called out, again my mental filter really not doing its job.
He stopped in his tracks, turning his head to look over his shoulder at me. I walked up to him quickly, striding with purpose until I was again standing in front of him.
“Wouldyouhelpmewithaproject?” I blurted quickly before I could lose my nerve.
His brow furrowed, his face twisting slightly in confusion. “Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, before asking again. “I was wondering if you would be willing to help me with a project?”
He turned to face his body towards me again, stepping to the side of the busy hall as to not block the traffic that passed us by. I followed him until we were beside the brick wall to my left, away from the countless bodies that passed, ignorant to our exchange.
“What kind of project?” he asked, casually leaning his shoulder against the wall.
I bit the inside of my cheek, knowing that this was the moment when his relaxed and playful demeanor would probably change drastically. All the while I had been searching for him, desperate for his participation, I had also known that it would probably be refused. But I had to ask, because as I looked up at him in the middle of this busy hallway, unguarded and engaged, I still had no doubt that he was the only subject I wanted for this assignment.
“Its my final assignment,” I started, and I wondered if he could sense my nervousness. “We were given a topic, and we need to find a subject. I think you would be perfect.”
Again, his expression changed to one of confusion, his eyebrows pulling together as he tried to decipher what I was asking of him. Suddenly, his face hardened, his eyes widening slightly. I knew then that he had figured it out.
“You want me to pose for you?” he asked, his voice tight.
Under his stare, all the assertiveness and verbal diarrhea I had experienced in our encounter thus far seemed lost. I only nodded in response.
His jaw tensed as he swallowed hard.
“Im sorry, but no.” he said quickly.
“But…”
“Lane, I already made it quite clear that I didn’t appreciate you taking my picture in the first place. I tried to be nice and let you keep them, when really I wanted nothing more than them off your damn camera.”
“Harry….”
“What is this topic anyway?” he asked, tilting his head.
My next rebuttal to his refusal was cut off in my throat. I felt myself blanch slightly, reluctant to tell him exactly why I felt so strongly about his participation in this project. How did you explain to someone that you wanted to take their picture because they looked lost and wounded?
“Well?” he pressed, leaning his head down into my eye line as it had dropped slightly.
Again, I bit in the inside of my lip, trying to gain some courage. I kept my eyes downward, staring at the base of his throat rather than his eyes.
“Secrets.” I muttered quietly.
He paused, raising an eyebrow at me. “And you feel I fit this bill?” he questioned. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “How do you figure?”
I sighed, feeling my anxiety raise the longer he challenged me. I knew all along this would be how it went, and yet, I still felt on the spot and unprepared. I had gone over this conversation countless times, and yet, I felt at a loss for words.
“The look on your face,” I finally admitted, my voice low. “When you didn’t know I saw you. You looked so….lost. It made me want to know why.”
I felt his entire body tense at my admission. He pushed off the wall quickly, almost startling me. My eyes raised to his face, which was tight with anger.
“And you figure this is something you would like to exploit, then?” he spat through gritted teeth.
“No!”
He snorted loudly. “I seem ‘lost’, and you want to use that for an assignment? I’m broken in some way, and you want to display it to the world?” He shook his head, the distaste evident in his eyes as he looked at me. I felt nauseous under his stare, wanting nothing more than to shrink away and hide.
“Harry,”
“No,” he said firmly, adjusting his bag across his body. “Absolutely not.”
With that, he spun on his heels, storming down the hall. His shoulders were rigid, his stride long and purposeful as he made his retreat away from me. I felt myself exhale, not realizing until then that I had been holding my breath. I watched him go until he disappeared into the crowd.
He didn’t look back once.