“Did my heart love till now?”

Mindlessly reading the newest assigned novel from English class, Ivan focused more on sneaking glances at you, sitting besides him.

Your fingers were tapping out a rhythm on the table, one that he recognized as the beat to your band’s newest song. And while your expression was calm, indifferent to the point of disinterest, your gaze followed attentively along the passage he was reading.

Ivan suppressed a shiver at your attention. Even if it was directed to the book in front of him, he was just about ready to vibrate out of his skin with excitement. It was a different kind of thrill from the excitement of the pit at one of your shows, where everyone was dancing and cheering without any regard for personal space. This was quieter, to an audience of one at a far more respectable distance, but somehow more electrifying than hearing a perfect guitar riff.

Ivan had accidentally stumbled upon your band when his teammates pulled him into a bar to celebrate their win against a rival school.

Following his teammates, he took the stairs next to an inconspicuous sign promising drinks for cheap and was greeted by what he now knows as a death growl. There you were, on stage, dressed in all black, and standing in front of the microphone with your guitar, singing and screaming your heart out. Ivan froze, mesmerized by the sight and for a moment, he could’ve sworn he made eye contact with you from his spot by the entrance.

He fell in love with you right then and there.

Then, as he was in English class daydreaming about your most recent show, your voice, which had been making small talk with him in his head was suddenly reciting the reading he was supposed to be paying attention to.

That diction, that tone– was his imagination getting better?! ...Wait, why would he imagine you reading out Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka?

Ivan whipped around in his seat, coming face to face with you. Wow. You were dressed in all black, clothes stylized tastefully with a matching black choker and bracelet. Your gaze was focused on the book you were reading from, eyes outlined by your usual perfectly done black eyeliner that he wants to see smudged—

Whoa. Who said that?

Anyways…after that discovery, Ivan was more than motivated to go to English class. And, if all of a sudden his grades started dropping to the point he needed a tutor of which he specifically requested to be you, well, could he be blamed?

Surely no one is expecting him to be able to keep up his grades AND win football games, right? He has to keep all of his attention focused on more important things. Like the way your hair swished when you whipped your head up from your guitar to the microphone to sing, or how your mouth moved when you were called on to answer a question… Yes, lots of important things for him to focus on.

“Forswe–”

Ivan’s face scrunched up, squinting at the word on the page as if it personally insulted his family. Finger dragging across the word, he slowly pronounced each syllable.

“Fo-rees-wee-are…”