red head flannel

For defcliff0rd and tokyoluke’s blurb night!

You don’t even remember how it started.

He’d stumbled into class one day, his maroon SnapBack askew on his head, his red flannel buttoned messily. In fact, it looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed.

The professor continued to talk, and he took the seat closest to him—which also happened to be the seat next to you. And then he’d asked you for a pencil. You were about to turn to him and snap something about how he should’ve brought his own, but as soon as your gaze met those crystal blue eyes, you were robbed of your breath.

Because Luke was magnificent. With his electric eyes, his scruff, and the black piercing on his lower lip, it was no surprise that he was a frat boy—and a heartbreaker.

And so you’d let him borrow a pencil. Determined not to interrupt the class, he scribbled down a small note onto the corner of your paper, the single word making you smile gently: “Thanks.”

It went on like that for months. You’d never actually spoken outside of class, and even during the long lectures you’d only be able to communicate by writing down random notes to each other on your paper. You felt like you’d been transported back to middle school, the note-passing paired along with the butterflies in your stomach.

But it never bothered you.

One day was different. Luke took his regular spot down beside you, your hand already outstretched with the pencil that you would let him borrow for the lecture. He took it and scribbled down another “Thanks” onto your paper. You expected him to pull away, but instead he paused, his lips pursing and brow furrowing as he debated with himself.

And then he was jotting down a bit of a longer note. You waited a moment until he blew on the page satisfactorily, shooing away any excess graphite. You then leaned forward, reading what he’d written.

“Do you want to go out with me tonight?”

Immediately your stomach tensed with excitement. You’d never pegged him as the kind of guy to enjoy a single girl’s company—he looked more along the lines of someone who couldn’t be tied down. But your brain was screaming at you to say yes—this was what you’d been waiting for since the first day of the semester.

And so you twirled your own pencil between your fingers, trying to fight against a smile as you wrote down a single, three-lettered word.