Not so Creepy
You didn't like it when people stared at you. It didn't matter if they were family members, friends or complete strangers, you didn't like being watched.
Hunching over your book even more, you bit your lip, flipping the page. This is why you didn't like going out in public. The risk at being stared at. Even though you didn't consider yourself as one of those worthy at being stared at. You wore baggy clothing to hide your figure and kept your hair long enough to hide behind. your mother called it a defense mechanism. You called it being safe.
So, why was there a drop-dead, super-model gorgeous man staring at you? You blushed, trying to hide further behind your hair. At least this allowed you to study him without him really noticing.
He had long, wavy, golden blonde hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail. His half lidded cerulean blue eyes were framed by abnormally long eyelashes. Your eyes slid past his elegantly long nose and full pink lips and landed on his chin. You tried not to giggle. His chin was covered in a light fuzz of blonde stubble.
Your eyes dropped back to your book and you let your thoughts become serious. He had to be some sort of creep, there was no other explanation. No guy as good looking as he was would stare at you so enraptured. Either that or he was a few crayons short of a full box. Although, he looked familiar.
The library intercom crackled on and someone announced that there was fifteen minutes to closing. You sighed and pursed your lips. Once again you had lost track of time, barely getting any reading done. You re-shelved the books, then headed out.
You nodded to Berwald. The head librarian flashed you one of his rare smiles, then returned to the large pile of books on his desk. You shuffled out to door, sighing. At this rate it would take you three years to finish your report on the Franco-Prussian war.
Sighing deeply, you headed home.
"Excuse me?" A deep, accented male voice startled you. You looked up and blushed. It was him, super model creep.
You berated yourself for thinking that. He could be a nice guy for all you knew. He was smiling and you blushed, wondering what he wanted.
"You are _____ right? From Art class?"
You blinked. You had never noticed him in class. Come to think of it, besides the instructor, there were only two guys in the class. They were brothers who immigrated from Italy.
So who was this guy? You blinked and squinted at him.
No, it couldn't be. It was the class instructor. Except his hair wasn't down and he didn't have thick lensed glasses perched on his nose. You were so used to seeing this man hunched over a canvas, covered in paint, that is shocked you to see what he really looked like.
"But you look so different." You blushed as soon as the words were out of your mouth and you felt like kicking yourself.
He blushed as well and looked away. "So do you."
"What?!" You let out a nervous giggle. He took a step forward, wrapping one arm about your waist. You felt your cheeks turn a deeper shade of red. He reached up with his free hand and pulled your hair away from your face, a small smile gracing his lips.
"You look better wiz your face unobstructed." You froze, sure that your cheeks could have been used as traffic lights. You remained frozen until you felt his lips on yours. And then you found yourself kissing him back.
Francis's beard stubble tickled your chin and his long wavy hair fell forward, a curtain to cover your dancing lips.As much as you were enjoying this, you were surprised. Surprised that he was kissing. Surprised that Francis seemed to like you. And Surprised that you knew what to do. This was your first kiss and yet it was going smoothly, no awkwardness.
Finally, you both pulled away reluctantly, gasping for air. "Je t'aime." He whispered. You blushed, wrapping your arms about his waist and burying your face against his chest.
"I love you too Francis."