can't take my eyes off you || jae & simon
September is persistent sunshine that draws a rush of blood to the head, painting cheeks subtle tinges of pink and red with its reckless fingertips. September is daydreams and restless sleep, tossing and turning in crisp cotton sheets under the moonlight. September is the slow heady rush before the kiss, a lull in the beat before the crescendo that builds into glorious exultation. September is a concoction of all sorts of different things, but most of all—it’s the month of yet another beginning.
Usually, the unbearable warmth causes lethargy to sink into his limbs and weigh heavy upon his eyelids, but today’s a little different. Despite his ambiguous reputation as the (somewhat) quiet and pensive Ravenclaw boy, he thinks that he’s not like that at all. Now, at least. September gives him a rush of fearlessness, a dash of impulse and not so much thought. It’s why he’s abandoned his usual post under the trees in the courtyard or inside the school’s library, mouthing along to yet another aged book about something or the other. It’s why, squinting into the sun, he’s steadily making his way to the quidditch pitch with his backpack haphazardly slung over one shoulder. The skies above are relatively clear, save for a few clouds that drift about, puffy and swollen with tufts of white stuff. Footsteps temporarily pressing the blades of green grass under the sole of his shoe until they spring back up. It takes him a moment or two to reach his destination, but eventually he manages to make his way to the top of the stands without anyone’s notice. He admires his efforts for a moment before sitting down, backpack settled beside his knees as he nimbly tugs his sweater over his head to reveal the thinner t-shirt underneath and sets it aside, then settles back. Tips his head back, shoulders relaxing, stance softening, lets his eyes fall shut for a moment.
When he opens his eyes, he realizes he’s not alone.
The other person can’t—hasn’t seen him, but he doesn’t dare breathe for a cusp of a few seconds. When they don’t look up, he released a loud exhale of breath that is carried away by the gentle breeze and the birds that cheerfully sing out around him. Leaning forward onto his knees, he watches the latter striding across the flat field, seemingly small and harmless, a sleek broomstick tucked under his arm. It’s a boy, or perhaps a man. A man, by the breadth of his shoulders and the steadiness of his gait that seems to speak years of experience. Yet he’s not too old, by the looks of it. His features are quite youthful, and there’s a calm air about him that suggests that this is a familiar playing ground. Casper’s not sure he’s seen this stranger before, but then he remembers the first day back, under the brilliantly colored banners and the velvety black ceiling speckled with winking stars. Remembers snippets of an introduction that had somewhat stood out among the rest—he’d caused a commotion, girls giggling under their breath and boys chattering excitedly until they’d been quieted. He was famous or at the very least well known, he’d gathered. Japanese? Something like that. With yet another loosening of breath, Casper began to watch. At first, the routine is simple. A few stretches, ticks here and there to loosen the body before he’d started. It’s fascinating, really. There’s a fluidity in his movements, in the way he simply gestures. But there is also a steadiness as well. He’d done this a number of times.
Casper loses track of time, but he’d hardly felt a need to notice it anyways. He sits in rapt attention, fingers laced together and cupped around his knee, imprinting the movements of the latter in his mind. It was something he’d never seen. He’d never even been in the stands, save for the few times in his first year when he’d been coerced into doing so. It was…different. New. He’d already decided that he’d come back the next time and watch the man again when suddenly the birds paused for a split second in their song, and the man’s eyes flickered to his. At first, he stayed still, not yet grasping the moment. And then the other had spoke, voice loud and clear and clearly unamused. “You shouldn’t be here.”
