owen william teague

you could tell by the way his eyes followed your every move. that cheeky grin and the way he seemed to unconsciously lick his lips when you did anything he deemed particularly splendid. it was the way he matched his stride with yours in hallways, standing tall and proud next to you without even saying anything, only for him to suddenly turn and enter a classroom, leaving you confused and sort of breathless.

it was the end of the day and you were walking to your locker, as you passed the Bowers Gang, Patrick’s eyes met yours. although you tried to look straight ahead, you could feel his gaze as you moved past.

reaching your locker you opened it and began pulling stuff out. when you shut your door, he was standing there, leaning against the locker next to yours, “Patrick!” you gasped in shock, laughing a little and running a hand through your hair, “you scared me.”

he grinned down at you, “sorry.” it was only an apology in word meaning, you could tell he had enjoyed it, he enjoyed it when girls were jumpy with him.

“do you need something?” you asked, becoming nervous.

“thinking maybe i could walk you home.” he stated, “i know how guys can get when you wear an outfit like that.” his eyes raked over you.

“yeah? like what?”