You've had your eye on him for awhile— the edgy looking guitarist you'd see standing by the courtyard. Today wasn't anything different; you'd sit there on the bench with a book in hand, a pretty lame excuse to admire him but hey— if there's a will, there's a way, right?

You were so busy watching his fingers play around the strings of his guitar that you didn't realize he noticed you.

"Can I help you or something?" His voice— grumbly dark and low, sending shivers down your spine.