#andr

"are you serious?" 

you say this aloud, not as an actual question, but more as a demand to any listening ears. 

are you serious? definitely. 

because as you sit in a coffee shop, a week back into school, attempting to study for the fourth time that day--your computer freezes. it sticks its tongue out at you and blows raspberries. 

you have to wipe some spit from your face. 

"no," you say, still aloud, and unfortunately unaware of your surroundings. "no, no, no. seriously?" 

you click every possible button. you plead with the temperamental object, promising to never ever throw it across the room again. 

a price to pay for absolutely no response, of course, because the computer is just there.

the curser is not blinking, merely mocking you in its stagnation. 

"you stupid, brainless, fu--" 

"you alright?" 

you look up, face indignant, eyes glaring before you can stop them. 

there is a boy. he is frowning down at the computer. eavesdropping on your conversation, and invading your personal space. 

he smells like coffee, by the way. 

"it's--" you stop. take a deep breath in. remind yourself to quit being rude to strangers. "it's fine. i'm fine." 

"there was just a lot of cursing..." the boy drawls. he looks at you, eyes more amused than they should be. "and some yelling." 

"my computer froze. i'm trying to study." 

"froze?" 

"as in, hates me and won't work." 

the boy tsks. "common, but annoying." 

you open your mouth, not sure if you should just agree with this stranger, or get up and go home and climb into bed because you didn't want to study in the first place, didn't want to speak to anyone but the barista making your day, and did not, in no type of way, want to fight with your computer. 

instead, you close your mouth. blink. "yeah," you agree. "so." 

it is an invitation to leave. 

"do you want some help?" the boy asks, sliding into the booth across from you. 

you might have to mail that invitation. 

"what?" 

"i'm good with computers." 

you frown. "are you going to tell me to turn it off and then back on?" 

the boy's lip twitches. "did you already try that?" 

"i--" you stare at him, considering. "no. i didn't." 

"then yeah. but i can also save whatever you were working on." 

"free of charge?" you ask, brows furrowing. 

maybe you've been in a bitter mood these last couple of weeks. maybe you have a hard time trusting strangers. 

but right after winter break, when it's cold outside, you like to sit very comfortably in your blanket of resentment. 

and you're not very good with strangers. 

"you just have to stop hitting it," the boy says because he's cheeky, and then he takes the laptop from right in front of you and immediately starts clicking buttons. 

unlike you, of course, he seems to care about the well-being of the stupid machine. 

you take a sip of your cold coffee. you swear to the world that it hasn't gotten you yet. 

and that you don't have enough money to buy a new computer right now and it would be really nice if this boy wasn't a liar, and could actually fix it. 

all the usual things. 

"do you fix a lot of computers?" 

the boy glances at you, and he's got a smile on his face. "what?" 

"it's a college campus. i can't be the only person you've seen that's yelling at their computer, and crying at their desk." 

his eyes do a quick up and down your face like they're checking something. "no," he says. "i think you're the only one." 

"how?" 

"most people don't have... 80 tabs open." 

"there's five." 

"there's at least twenty. i'm looking at them right now." 

"i have a system." 

he laughs, a bit under his breath, and then looks back down to the computer. you watch him with closed-off eyes. 

as in, there is a mask on your face, hiding any sense of gratitude you may or may not have. 

"actually, i do this a lot," the boy says, sitting back a little as he types something else. 

"you do?" 

"yeah. i work for the IT department on the weekends." 

"so you're not deleting everything on my computer right now?" 

"not intentionally." 

you stare at him. 

he's got messy brown hair, circles under his eyes, and creases in his forehead like he's very concerned. but also smile lines, so that must mean something. 

he's wearing a sweatshirt that definitely hasn't been washed in a week and jeans that are torn at the bottom. converse that are unrecognizable, unless, like you, you're looking at a near distance. 

all in all, he's a very normal college student. average, even. 

and then again, he looks at you. he doesn't seem to mind the staring. 

brown eyes, three feet across from you. he smiles at you. 

your brow furrows, still looking even when he looks away. 

"okay," he says. "now we just have to wait a minute for it to restart." 

"and it's fine?" 

you stare very attentively, listen to his voice. wait for some suspicion to drop. 

"should be alright. as long as you didn't spill any coffee on it." 

"that's a waste of six dollars." 

he laughs, scratching his jaw. 

a tiny pin-prick of hope startles your heart. you look away from him, preferring to watch as two people run into each other, spill their coffee on clothes they bought secondhand, and strike up a conversation. 

you look back. he is still there. he is still just as handsome--no, wait. college-y. 

perfectly ordinary for a guy who can code. who randomly helps girls in coffee shops because what else does he have to do? 

"sorry if i ruined any plans you had," you say. 

the boy offers you a half-smile. "i wasn't doing anything important," he says. "i just wanted a scone." 

you look down at his hands. 

"i'll get one once it's fixed." 

you frown. you want to say something--something like, do you like footloose?--but you don't. 

the boy clears his throat. "what were you working on?" 

"oh, um. just a presentation for my econ class." 

the boy raises a brow. 

"and checking facebook, of course." 

"for economical purposes." 

"exactly." 

he looks down, clicking another button. 

"did it work?" 

he shakes his head. "still rebooting." 

"does it get annoying," you ask, "always having to help people with their computers?" 

"there's a lot of 'where did my favorite youtube video go?' phone calls." 

"but really, where did it go?" 

he laughs. "i'll have to check with youtube on that. it's usually an easy fix. or sometimes panicked students trying to bribe me into helping them with a project or a paper." 

your lip twitches. "what if their computer just broke?" 

"most people don't offer me a twenty dollar tip for just scheduling them an appointment." 

"you could just be very helpful," you suggest, sipping on your coffee again. perhaps it will get rid of this dumb idea. 

"i've been told that my customer service could use some work." 

you immediately start coughing. 

this boy stares at you for the thirty seconds it takes to regain your breath, looking incredibly concerned. 

"is it up yet?" you say, in between gasps of air. you clear your throat until it's sore enough that you won't ever get to talk again. 

it'll probably be better for the two of you. 

especially when you're just on the verge of asking this man if his name is peter and if he enjoys terrible forms of media, and why the hell he hasn't called you again. 

instead, you just watch. 

he nods, hesitantly. "yeah, it's up. are you--are you okay?" 

"peachy," you say. "it's not broken?" 

"just incredibly irritated." 

you mock laugh, sliding it back over to you. "that makes two of us." 

you put the password, not even looking at him--except for the occasional glance because he's still sitting there and he's got... 

well, a nice voice. but you already knew that. 

he's also got a very nice smile, and eyes that might be burning right into your brain at the current moment. 

"okay," you say. "i think it's good." 

"yeah? no mocking laughter?" 

"not that i can hear," you frown and listen closer. 

but the only thing you can hear is your own heart, telling you to stop being such a coward. alerting to the whole world that you are absolutely insane. 

you look back to him, no interest in that, thank you very much. 

"okay," he says, still smiling. 

"thank you for your help," you say, softly. you smile back, unsure if you're doing it right. "i appreciate it." 

"it's no trouble," he pushes his chair back, leaning against the table to stand up. 

"will you--" you interrupt, wide eyes. 

he looks back down, pursed lips. "hmm?" 

"do you like the show friends?" you blurt out, frowning even as you say it. 

he laughs. "yes?" 

"that's not--" you groan, looking up to the ceiling to accuse some universe of taking away your sensibility. "i'm sorry. you're busy. thank you, again." 

you rub your eyes, blinking away any hastily drawn conclusions. 

and when you open them, he's still standing there. 

his head is tilted like he's observing even closer. 

he's tall. he's got dimples. and he hasn't said a thing. 

"i'm, um," you start talking, just for an excuse. "you work for the overnight IT hotline?" 

he nods. 

"a couple of weeks ago i called, and, well, it wasn't the most... professional interaction i've ever had, but the person i talked to was very helpful and--" 

"--has great opinions?" 

your head jerks, eyes searching his. 

they're amused. they are warm and welcoming, and this boy is staring at you like you're crazy, like he doesn't really mind if you are. 

"i'm peter, by the way," he whispers. 

you breathe in, lip curling. "y/n." 

peter smiles--there's a hint of adoration on his face, a feeling you can't explain--and he reaches his hand out so that you'll shake it. 

you do, feeling a bit ridiculous. 

"okay, y/n," peter says, closing your laptop for you. "wanna buy me a scone?" 

*

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