Before We Lit It Up

4| Before

 I try to catch my breath and tell my heart to calm down as I look at the hand on my locker. I can tell it belongs to a male, the fingers are long, with smudges of paint in them, and that calms me down a little. A fellow painter then. The nails are trimmed neatly, and there is a scar that runs over one of his knuckles. That takes away some of the calm.

My eyes travel up from the hand to a black sleeve, then higher, to his bicep, noting the way the muscles there are strongly outlined. I look higher to his face. Dark eyes regard me, so dark I can't tell what's his iris and what's his pupil, and their darkness makes his gaze seem harder, more mysterious. High cheekbones make his face seem sharper, more defined. His lips are a light red color, both slightly full. Behind them I can see that his teeth are white, the incisors crooked, and I don't know why the thought satisfies me. As if finally finding a fault.

Even though it's not a fault, not really.

Damn. Now I really wish I wasn't a freshman. I'm too young to be taken seriously by guys like him. Although I wonder if I want to. He has yet to speak.

When I draw my gaze back to his eyes, I notice that his brows are arched, as if he's laughing at me.

"You should take a picture, it'll last longer."

And I was right. His mouth ruined it – or rather what came out of it. I open my mouth, trying to form an equally snarky comeback, but my words fail me. I can't find ones that are snarky enough.

So I resort to letting out a huff and glaring. If I do it hard enough, it'll be the best – or worst, depending on how you look at it – response I could give.

"Relax. I was joking. And I didn't mean to scare you, just wanted to help," he adds, his dark eyes that were once bright with laughter are now somber, back to penetrating. "All the lockers on this aisle are a pain in the neck to close because of a prank. You have to slam it really hard."

"I figured."

Of course. Leave it to me to sound snarky after he apologized. Though he seems to look at me in appraisal at that, and I recognize the look. I have it everytime I challenge myself to go beyond my comfort zone in painting, or stare at a monster-sized book and read it in one night even though everything tells me don't do it. Right now, he has that look. Like he's found a challenge and will take it against his better judgement.

I wonder where to group him in, what he's like. Why he finds me a challenge, and what that means. I know it'll go away soon enough.

He still doesn't reply, and I pull my backpack higher over my shoulder. "Well, then. Thank you. But next time, go give some other girl a heart attack."

I turn on my heels, looking at the folded schedule and layout of the school in my hands, trying to find out where to go. I hear him laugh behind me, before he catches up, long legs making it easy. He towers above me, and from the way his shirt fits snug over his body, accentuating his shoulders and toned arms, and his height, I know that he's at least a junior. It makes me feel inexperienced and small.

Not to mention that he seemed older. Not physically, or in his words, he was still like most teenagers in that way, on the cusp of adulthood, teetering between being a boy and being a man. No, he seemed older in the way he held himself. Laid back, shoulders set back, head high, with a sort of confidence you didn't find often.

If I looked harder, however, I could find that familiar look in his eyes. The one that didn't make him seem so mysterious and confident. I recognized that look, it was in my eyes everytime I looked in the mirror.

"Nice to meet you, too. My name is Jaxon, a nice, charming name, worth swooning over, I know. What's yours?"

I pause, turning to face him, and he does too. I have to bend my head back to see him properly, and I can tell he likes it.