He's your opposite, it seems.

His hands are rough and calloused from constantly grinding his number 2 pencil or ink pen across paper. A thick patch of skin on his middle finger, dubbed a "writer's callous," from his persistent pondering documented on pages more often than not.

He smells like a garden after a sprinkle of morning dew. Earthy, like all the earnesty in the soil has been exhumed. There's a mist around him; something certainly latent hiding behind the fog of overconfidence and flirtatiousness. Those shimmering droplets cascading down the leaves make you wonder what he's like during the dry season.

How can someone be so blunt yet secretive?

Sitting besides Jean in your studio art class with the professor dragging on about principles you've already learned, you watch Jean scribble across the page. His work is animated; the fountain pen tearing apart the sheet of notebook paper he was abusing with his creativity. Distracted it seems, Jean isn't sneaky at all as he crumbles up the torn paper. That's when you see the marks resemble you.

Has he been sketching you?

Surely not... he didn't even lift his gaze from his desk. Yes, you have been in the same class as him for months now but... there's no way he has the curve of your nose memorized or the plumpness of your lips mentally filed.

As these raw thoughts are tumbled in your head Jean's eyes drift to you, the side eye so quick you wonder if it was real. Yet, you still feel the warmth from his mahogany gaze.

It only adds to the burning question traveling from your mind down your throat: Does Jean Kirstein, hot shot soccer player and promising artist, fancy you?