#gwrites

You liked to watch him from afar, across the classroom napping during a lecture, vigorously taking notes, or flipping lazily through his book. You liked to watch him stand in front of the class and present, stuttering every couple of words, and watching his cheekbones bulge as he tried not to smile. It was at this time of day you found yourself walking to your literature class, staring at the back of his head as he turned into the classroom a few steps ahead of you. He took his seat in the corner and began to fish through his bag for his notebook as you walked in. Noting your presence emerge in his peripheral vision, he paused his search and slowly looked up.

As you make your way to the opposite side of the room, you could feel his dark eyes on you, and you were glad. After sitting down in your chair, you looked over and met his eyes. He smiled lightly and turned away, beginning to search again for his notebook. 

“Just say ‘hi’ to me,” you mumbled under your breath. You turned your head and looked out the window. 

‘Mark Lee,’ you furrowed your brows, ‘hmm’

Turning back towards him, you watched as he talked to the kid in front of him. You smiled softly as he laughed loudly and joked around with the boy. You almost inserted yourself as a third member of the conversation. You wanted to join in. You wanted him to talk to you. 

‘Talk to me like that.’ you frowned and looked towards your desk, flipping open your notebook. 

The class silenced themselves as your teacher, Mr. Darten, entered the room. He was young, fresh out of school, and full of passion for reading and writing. You liked him; he was a cool guy. Instead of his red mug he always had in hand, he carried a large box. 

“Dude, what’s in that?” someone yelled. The class was too comfortable with him, but Mr. Darten never yelled or scolded them for their informal behavior.

Mr. Darten smiled as he spoke. “I dug this out from the storage room,” he said, placing the large box on the table in front of the class. After wiping off the tiny layer of dust he opened it and spoke again, “This marking period will be centered on William Shakespeare.” 

He sat on the table next to the box and reached an arm inside. As he pulled out a Macbeth book, the class groaned. Nobody likes Shakespeare. 

“Mr. Darten are you serious? The whole marking period?” a girl behind you whined. 

“Yes. Your first major project will be a book analysis. You can pick any Shakespeare novel in this box. There are about three copies of each. Those who pick the same book will be partners. You guys will work together on this and in a couple weeks we’ll have presentations.”

Mr. Darten came around with the box, each kid digging around to find the right book for them. Luckily, you were first to pick.

‘I need something easy…’ you thought as you sifted through the dusty paperbacks, before pulling out a small book with a purple ripped cover. 

“Ah, Romeo and Juliet. Kind of basic y/n. You better really wow me with this. No surface level stuff,” Mr. Darten laughed. 

He was right. You couldn’t have picked a more basic Shakespeare novel, but you didn’t care. It was easy. You flipped through the pages while you thought about the project, completely forgetting there was another copy to the book in your hand. 

“Hey y/n,” you looked up to the sound of your name and saw the book cover in a familiar boy’s grasp, “Mr. Darten said you picked this book too.” 

Your eyes widened as you stared at the glossy purple page. You felt your ears heat up slightly and bit the inside of your cheek, concealing your smile - you wondered if he noticed. 

‘Finally!’ 

“Oh, hi Mark! Uh yeah, I picked this too. I guess we’re both basic huh?” you laughed as he sat in the desk beside you. 

“No, I think we just both hate Shakespeare.”

“I think you're right.” you looked at him and smiled. He chuckled lightly and quickly looked away, his face blushing gently.

You began to flip through the book calmly as the inside of you was swarmed with butterflies. Though you’d always watched him from afar, all you really wanted to do was talk to him, but you felt he never shared that desire. Little did you know how wrong you were.

As you discussed how you guys were going to tackle the book and assignment, he zoned out. Mark stared into your face as you talked, noting the birthmark on your face and the way your eyes looked when the light hit them. He watched you flip your hair and squint as you attempted to read the words ahead of you. Your voice was like peaceful music playing in the back of his brain; its notes and inflections were strong, but the words didn’t register. He was lost in your glowing abyss, a place he’d encountered from afar, but up close was overwhelming. 

“Does that sound good?” you asked once finishing laying out your ideas, “Mark?”

Your voice calling his name ripped him from his trance and he jumped slightly, “Yeah,” he lied, “Sounds great.”

~

He left school clutching the glossy paperback in his hands. As his fingers flipped the old pages, he thought of you and your pretty face. His stomach was still swinging from class and the thought of working alongside you. 

“Okay. You have to do a good job on this. You gotta impress her.” he said quietly as he pulled open his car door. He placed his backpack and the small book in the passenger's seat and sank down into the leather seat. Exhaling deeply, he pressed the key into the ignition.

“Alright William, help me out here” he said aloud to no one in particular, not even the writer resting peacefully underground. 

~

“For the next week, begin class sitting next to your partner and start working.” Mr. Darten went on, “You don’t have to wait for me to begin class.” He then nodded his head and raised his red mug to his mouth, taking a long sip of his black coffee. 

You watched as Mark picked up his bag and walked towards you, taking a seat in the empty desk beside yours. You liked the placement of your desk; it was right next to the large window out-looking the courtyard. You often got distracted, finding yourself lost in the swaying trees or trapped in the muggy air during rainy afternoons. The window let a certain type of light spill into the classroom, one that filled it fully, but never made you squint. It was warm; you liked it. 

This light reached Mark’s face as you began to discuss the first part of the book. It caramelized his brown eyes and highlighted his dark hair. 

“So they hate each other?” Mark asked, his eyes glued to the page ahead of him.

“No. Their families do. Romeo and Juliet don’t know each other yet.”

“Right and Romeo’s depressed about Rosaline.”

“Mhm.”

“And Juliet’s supposed to marry that Paris guy.”

“Right.”

“Well, obviously none of it’s gonna work out. It’s conveniently set up for these ‘forbidden,’” He made air quotes with his fingers, “lovers to meet. Sooo sly of you William.” Mark put the book down and looked at you to smile. 

You laughed, “Mark that was lovely. Great analysis” you said mockingly. 

“Thank you.” He looked down quickly after you two made eye contact, cautious not to lose himself in a daze again.

Slowly your conversation digressed from Capulets and Montagues to you and him. It was a normal conversation, something you had been waiting for. You rested your head on your hand as you two talked. You began to notice his eyes shifting, and voice faltering every couple minutes. It was almost as if he would forget what he was saying mid sentence and have to begin again. It reminded you of when he would present in front of the class, the random stutters and slight blushing.

‘Is he nervous? No. There’s no way.’

~

It was Sunday morning. The road was empty, the sky was clear, and the air was cool. You were driving in your car on the way to Sunbelts, a small breakfast bar in your town center, when you noticed a light flash on your dashboard. 

Fuel Level Low

“Shit, I need gas.” you mumbled. 

You started to drive in the direction towards the gas station and pulled in. Opening the car door, you stepped out and let the cool morning air hit your face. You enjoyed getting out early on Sundays; it was peaceful to have time to yourself. As you pressed the gas pump in the car you looked up, noticing two other cars join you. You watched an old man slowly get out of his vehicle and slide on his glasses as he looked at the pin pad on the gas pump. You leaned against your car before turning your head at the sight of something familiar. On the opposite side of the old man was a slim figure wearing black joggers and a loose black tee. He had on specs and his hair was a bit messy, but he looked cute. 

“Mark Lee?” you said loudly. You knew it was him, it wasn’t even a question, you just wanted to startle him.

The old man placed the gas pump in his car as Mark looked up quickly. He looked panicked, but he covered it up with a smile. 

“Oh, hey.” Mark said back.

“Your hair looks great,” you laughed, pulling the gas pump out of your car. 

He furrowed his brows and lifted a hand to his hair, feeling it defying gravity. 

“Oh my god,” he started laughing, “I didn’t even know it looked like this.”

“Wait, I’m coming over to you.” you said jumping into your car.

“Is that your girlfriend?” the old man asked Mark as you slowly pulled around the lot, intending to park next to his car.

“Oh uh, no. Hah, she’s… she’s not.” his face reddened at the question. 

The old man smiled and chuckled softly, “Not yet.” He lowered himself back into his car after paying and drove off, leaving Mark with a wink and a pondering thought.

You poked your head out of the car window. “Come with me to Sunbelts.” 

Mark smiled, he noticed your messy hair too and lack of makeup. He liked it. He thought you looked perfect. He wanted to tell you that, but he couldn’t, so he just stared. 

“Okay, sure.”

“Follow me.” 

He nodded and got into his car, placing the key in the ignition and letting it start. As you pulled out of the gas station, he followed, tapping his wheel nervously, and smiling. As he drove behind you, your voice saying his name replayed in his head, like the sweetest song he’s ever heard. Your voice elicited some response within him, one of excitement, desire, and anxiety; it made his stomach burn and heart race. It was a feeling of discomfort, but encased in joy or dipped in gold rather. The feuding feelings coexisted. 

‘Mark Lee?’

There was that song again. He exhaled and smiled again. Ah, how lovely.