3rd Persons' POV
"Fire leeway, please exit the building. Fire leeway, please exit the building. Fire leew-"
"Everybody stay calm !" The professor screeches. "It's just a drill."
"My shirt !" Lisa hisses, looking down upon it as it sticks to her body.
Now might be a bad time to mention that the fabric was white.
White and very, very wet.
"Go !" He urges, covering her head with her bag.
Her hands reach out to grab her books which were still near the wooden tables, but he retracts her limb. "I'll get them, just go change !"
"But-- My books !" She says, looking down at her now nearly see through shirt. His gaze never drifts away from her face.
His fingers undo his blazer, putting it on her haphazardly. "Go." He repeats.
"Thanks." She smiles hastily. He nods, pushing her out of the classroom. Her books were under the foot of the tables, the pages still crispy dry. He scoops them in his bag, his books bunched up with hers.
His shirt had stuck to his muscular form, his wet skin changing the color of the silk from brilliantly white to a pastel gray. His moist eyelashes frame those brilliant hazel eyes of his while he brushes his wet hair back, granting him a less water-blurred view of what was in front of him.
He rushes out of the classroom with the last of the students, his buttoned white shirt sopping wet. His hair was dripping on his sleek cheekbones, small droplets hanging on the sharp cut of jawline.
"Where could she be ?" He mutters, looking around.
Slightly moist students remain outside, each disgruntled as they were sorted into lines. Teachers stood in front of each row of red blazer-ed students, irritatedly ruffling the droplets of water out of their hair.
Wet imprints of footsteps overlapped each other in a frenzy, a runway of slightly darker pavement upon the dry concrete beside it. His eyes drift to footprints that drift away from the wet ground, trailing to the locker room.
His feet thunder along the marks, his shirt weighing a lot more than it should, but he supposed that was because it was also holding more water than it should. His hair remains stiff even as the as the air beats against his face. He screeches to a stop at the mark of the plastic 'women' symbol that was nailed tight against the sleek marble white walls of the locker room.
"Lisa !" He calls. He hears a bag drop dead against the floor.
"Y-yeah ?"
"Is there something wrong ?"
"My spare shirt's still in the washing machine. I-I forgot it wasn't in here." She sighs, her breathing becoming more and more uneasy as he stays quiet. He drops the bag by the door of the locker room, and walks to the side of the palisade, clenching his eyes shut.
"There's a sweatshirt inside my bag. Take it."
"Where's your bag ?" She stutters.
"Right outside the door." He promises. He can imagine her nodding along to his directions.
"Okay..." she says. Her feet gently thump against the cold floor, her hand slipping around the elegant crystal knob. She twists it open, not expecting a bag to fall limply against her leg. She picks it up, looking for him.
"Get back inside." He pleads. "I promise I'm not looking."
"Thanks." She nods, a soft smile pushing her cheeks to the limit when she spots him leaning against the outside of the building, his eyes closed determinedly.
She lets the door thud softly against the lock embedding into the doorway, a click arising from the spot. She quickly slips off her wet shirt, turning it inside out and using the slightly drier silk to wipe off her moist torso. She throws the shirt into her locker, zipping open the bag and blushing as her fingers pull the large sweatshirt out and pushing his neatly folded blazer in.
She pulls his jacket on her, refusing to acknowledge how it smelled like her favorite pine scent with a hint of chocolate, and completely bypassing the fact that she'd only just noticed how tall he was; The clothing was giant on her.
The bottom hem of the hoodie barely covered the entirety of her thighs, grazing against the tops of her knees. The shoulders were far too broad for her, the stitches that usually met the end of his shoulders flowing down her arms and stopping halfway at her biceps. Not to mention the excessive length of the sweatshirt made her look even smaller than she actually was.
She takes a deep breath, looking at her foreign reflection in the mirror, though she didn't know what she was hoping for. She takes the bag, surprised at both of their dry notebooks and quickly zips it up, not bothering to sling it over her shoulder.
Her fingers hook into the small loop of material by the head of the bag, carrying it behind her as she pushes open the brilliant white door. He remains outside just as she found him ; his muscles hadn't moved in the slightest.
"Hey." She flicks his forehead, getting his eyelids to flutter open charmingly.
His hazel eyes stared right at her face, not drifting to his rustic chocolate brown sweatshirt on her petite form. She looks right back at him, grinning thankfully.
"You look nice." He blurts. She thanks him, motioning him to walk along with her while their feet start to patter against the nearly dry concrete.
He hadn't looked at how the sweatshirt complemented her eyes or made her snow white toned skin stand out, but simply at how her cheeks pushed a little higher because of her brilliant smile and the glint at the edge of her eyes that convinced him she was happy.
So yes, he wasn't lying about that bit. She did look nice. But she could've worn a damned trash bag and he'd think the same.
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*A/N :
The chapters from now on are going to be unbelievably cute, and I'm so excited to publish all of my drafts !
Thanks for the support !