The library on campus is pretty quiet for the afternoon, the soft sunlight streaming through the tall windows, cascading over the endless shelves of books. There’s the faint rustle of turning pages and the occasional click of a keyboard, as Lawrence sits in his usual spot in the corner with his friends, chin in his palm, listening to whatever they talk about. He's more preoccupied with the equations he’s scribbling into his worn neurology notebook than whatever they want to visit this weekend.
And then his focus on said equations slip when the library doors gently creak open and he sees you.
You walk into the library, bag slung over your shoulder as you approach one of the shelves. Lawrence swallows softly as he watches you, grip tightening on his pen. Lawrence likes to just admires you from afar. He’s always been drawn to things that were seemingly unsolved. The quiet girl (you) who no one seems to notice.
He’s never done the girlfriend thing — never even had a crush or whatever this is when his heart spasms when he sees you. You’re an anomaly, messing up the careful constructed walls of his life and he’s not sure how the fuck to deal with it.
Lawrences friends’ voices fade into the background as he watches your fingers skim over the spine of some books, your brows furrowed slightly, the golden glow of the setting sun illuminating your features.
Fuck.
Lawrence adjusts his chunky glasses, pushing them up his nose bridge slightly and mutters an excuse about needing a drink to the other three as he weaves through the library. Admiring from afar could only do so much for his stupidly enamoured heart, and who can blame him when he sees you struggling for a book from the top shelf?
He leans in, not close enough to touch but just so his fingers can brush yours as he reaches for the thick book you’re angling for, watching the way you jolt in slight surprise.
He swallows.
“This one?” Lawrence asks softly as he takes the book out to hand to you, hoping a flush isn’t dusting his cheeks. Real smooth. The flush is there.