Realizing he had accidentally fallen in love was perhaps his most startling discovery.
You didn’t care that you were privileged to be under the voice of one of the greatest physicists in the world.
You talked infernally in his lectures, you chewed that horrid, messy pink gum, you were always cussing, you put your high-top black converse on desks and chairs, and your marks in his course were just plain awful.
You snatched every paper from him, you flicked him off when he excused you from the lecture for constant interruptions, you nearly killed him on the way to his car with that dreadful, skull-painted hoverboard of yours, and once you made fun of him by calling him “Gru”—a character from that tasteless old children’s movie “Despicable Me”.
And yet now—when he reconsidered it, Siebren wasn’t sure if crush was even the right word to describe the swooping drop of his stomach anymore.
It came out of the clear blue. Literally. A water gun fight had broken out right on the stairs and sidewalk in front of the student union.
There he was, boring, strange, lonely old Dr. Siebren de Kuiper with his boring shirt and tie and his crisp white documents about strange, cosmic space things.
There he was, packed up with his car keys and awaiting a peaceful evening in his study— hot tea, some light reading and Vivaldi.
There you were, wild, intoxicating, adventurous young (Y/N), all soaking wet, all skip and bounce, all allure and temptation in that scandalous swimwear, dulled only a little just underneath your plain white t-shirt.
You laughed and shrieked; you jumped and tumbled along with the other conglomerate of boisterous young people squealing around you.
Siebren stood entranced upon the wet, crowded, walkway when your eyes seemed to find his thin, grey frame.
You were moving toward him, neon green and orange assault rifle poised and ready.
You, his greatest tormentor—his mocker. You, his problem student.
But your lips weren’t twisted in that familiar scowl. Your eyes weren’t lidded and spiteful.
He stared and stared, bolted to where he stood.
You mouth was lit up with impossible laughter. Your eyes were bright, alive—happy and welcoming.
You...that rowdy tomboy from his lecture.
A deepening since of panic was tumbling down onto Siebren then as his eyes caught again, the poised aim of your water gun.
What should he do if you squirt him, beckoning his stern “professorness” to join the fun? Would he just, rapidly shake his head, muttering some apologies and lightly bat you away?
Should he join? And gain new, positive recognition as one of the faculty to let loose?
He had to decide, you were almost right upon him.
Siebren’s eyes were widening, shoulders stiffening as he braced himself for what may come.
Would you tackle him? Would he timidly smile up at you as your lush body and feminine hips pinned him down to the concrete?
“Get fucked, Daffy Duck!” You hollered.
Startled by his misperception, Siebren whipped around to see the chubby, but also soaking-wet girl who had been conveniently behind him.
She shrieked as you went to assault her with your rapid fire bullets of water.
You probably hadn’t even seen him.
Siebren caught his breath, straightened his tie, and kept walking—ice in his heart, fire in his loins.
He put the keys into the car’s ignition and stared through the windshield and up into the sherbet-orange summer sky.
He marveled quietly at its distant beauty, and the hot tears streaming down his thin cheeks.
