"I'm not.. Xavier." The man spoke, confirming the chants in her mind as he shook his head, in such a way she couldn't help but be reminded of him. "Then again, I don't have a name. If you wish to call me so, then you can know me as Xavier."
"Then who are you?" She asked, quiet and almost trembling with anticipation, barely holding herself back from reaching out and confirming whether he was Xavier or not through a physical examination.
"I am a police officer. A time travelling police officer, to be exact. I travel through time to prevent anomalies and ensure the timeline continues on a correct way." He paused, taking a moment before leaning down to be eye level with MC, meeting her gaze with cold eyes, so unfamiliar from what she knew. "And you, Miss, are an anomaly."
Amnesiac/Kind-of-dead Xavier au, in which MC is forced to see the result of his love, and later finds a version of him from another time. Whether it's the future or past, who knows. All she does know, is that Xavier is different, he's not the man she knows, yet she can't help how her heart beats for him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
My own original fic, currently with one chapter. All the Lis exist in the fic, and are aware of each other. Planning to update every Wednesday if possible.
I'd lowkey do art for it if I could,, but I don't know how to draw, colour or render :(
Prompt list - https://www.tumblr.com/winchester-reload/696651024298115072/the-suptober-2022-prompt-list-thats-right"
Shoving the glorified cotton top to the back of his throat, Castiel thanks whatever deity that is listening that he doesn’t have a gag reflex. Swabbing his throat, he re-reads the instruction sheet and grimaces. At least it says to swab the throat first he thought to himself as he stuck the swab up his left nostril then his right. Placing the end of the swab into the plastic dropper, he clicked the lid closed and shook it twice before placing a couple of drops onto the plastic tester. Setting a timer on his phone for 15 minutes, Castiel places the test on his dining table, essentially forgetting about it while he unpacked from his latest trip throwing the clothes into the washing machine and remaking his stripped bed, he heard the timer go off and he trundled back to the dining area to look at the test… And saw two red lines. FUCK!!!!
Pulling his laptop out of the bag, he waited til it booted up and logged in. Opening his emails, he opened the last correspondence
Castiel clicked on the name and brought up a new message. Of course Crowley didn’t give him any more information about his new client. He would have to do some investigation himself but first he needed to contact this Dean person and let him know he would be unavailable for in person visits for at least the next 7 days.
Pulling out his phone, Castiel brought up Charlie’s external office number and pressed call. It rang twice before she answered. “IT, this is Charlie” Charlie mustn’t have recognised the number that was calling her. “Your Highness” Hearing Charlie squawk down the phone, “Cas! I thought you were heading back into the office today?” Hearing the ping of his laptop, he opened up his emails and saw a new message from Kevin sitting in the inbox, choosing to momentarily ignore it, Castiel filled Charlie in on the trip back home and how he ended up coming home with Covid. “Well Cas, did that teach you a lesson?” Castiel grunted and flicked the phone over to the speaker as he clicked on Kevin’s email.
Charlie was filling Castiel in on all the office gossip when his laptop chimed again, indicating another new email. Castiel can tell that he will get severely irritated by that sound by the end of the week.
Castiel sent back his affirmative reply and opened up a new tab in his browser and ordered some groceries for the week. He heard the beep of his washing machine and got up and threw them in the dryer. He could already tell this was going to be a long week.
A couple of hours later, Castiel heard the chime of the calendar reminder. Throwing the wet towel over the back of the dining chair, Castiel ran his hand through his wet hair and set himself up on the laptop and clicked the link. Suddenly this drop dead gorgeous man with beautiful brown hair and emerald green eyes that shone in the reflection of the screen appeared. .
Randall Brown / Clara Oswald - Fic - "Collide" - Chapter 2- Now online
Chapter 2 is up. A bit earlier than planned, but I think it is time to meet Randall Brown. Thanks for the beta fetchingsort.
AO3 Link
Summary:
Clara Oswald, English Literature Professor and Randall Brown, the Head of PR and Communication work at the University of Glasgow. They have never met before, but then coincidence finally makes up its mind. See what happens when two people who couldn't be more different collide. Slow Burn. Romance. Doctor Who/The Hour - Whouffaldi (somehow)
Clara found the office on the last floor in the same wing as her office. Hers was on the fourth floor and this seemed to be the last floor before the stairs went up to the attic. At least that was her impression.
She had to check a few doors before she found the one with the number 7.043, a filled waste-paper bin aside, near the stairs but not in obvious sight. The fact that his office was not far away from her own made her wonder if she really never had seen him before. Yes, she taught in another part of the building, but she visits her office every day and the man must leave his office from time to time. For work, food, going home. Her curiosity grew.
Standing in front of the door, she surveyed some thick metall silver letters, affixed directly onto the wooden door.
“How odd,” her head tilted as if it would help her to build words out of the letters.
R a n d a l l B r o w n
It was the only door that had its owners name highlighted like this. Everyone else simply had some plastic sign on the right, with some labelled cards in it. Easy to replace. Glancing to the right, she saw the square sign - empty. Smiling, slightly shaking her head, she knocked three times. Not even the headmasters had door signs like this. Either someone was very certain of his job, or simply quirky.
“Come in!” a voice echoed from inside and Clara opened the door, not without taking the chance to brush her fingertips against the letters.
She took one step inside, her gaze automatically fell toward the work desk in front of a row of little windows at the end of the room. The chair behind the desk was empty, so she took a second step inside and looked around, finding by the right wall someone laying on a couch - carved by Freud himself it seemed to her. She guessed it was the owner of the office, Randall Brown, even if she couldn’t see his face because he was reading a folder with some documents in it.
Clearing her throat, “Do I come in an inconvenient moment? Shall I come back later?”
The folder got lowered and a pair of eyes, framed behind black retro looking glasses appeared. He eyed her quizzically, without saying something.
Clara asked, “I know the office door says it very clear, but… you are Randall Brown, are you?”
The man returned to upright position, closed the folder, and placed it aside from him on the surface of the leather. Without haste, he scanned Clara and she could see that he tried to place her somewhere. The way he squinted his eyes told her, he didn’t know her, and so she was right in her assumption, that they indeed never had met before.
“Yes, I am,” he grabbed for the folder, and stood up, straightening his suit jacket. “We don’t have an appointment, do we?” he asked. He glanced down his watch, holding it then to his ear for a moment, and then walked over to his desk and placed the folder onto it.
Clara took the few seconds to let his impression sink in. Randall Brown - a Scotsman, going by his mocking byname and his accent - a man in the beginning of his fifties, tall, she guessed he was near 6 feet tall. Even from the distance she had to look up to him, with her 5ft 2. His lean figure was highlighted with a bespoke, dark blue suit, under a matching waistcoat a white shirt and the black tie finished his appearance in a very sharp manner. His hair, in shades of grey and black, combed backward. She realized, that his piercing eyes were directed at her, waiting for an explanation of her being in his office, so she quickly broke eye contact in case she had stared at him.
Raising the letter from him, “I got your message. I’m Clara Oswald. You told me to come by to discuss my interview,” she gave him a smile to which he didn’t react
“Oh, yes, I remember. English literature,” he frowned at her, checking the fit of his glasses with his right hand. “You are late.”
“Well,” Clara rose one hand in excuse, “I didn’t know about the interview till today.”
He walked around his desk, moved the folder he just had placed there to the other side of the desk, lining it up exactly to the desk’s edge. He then opened another folder, his finger gliding down a list.
Clara didn’t know what to say, did he assume she was lying or was he just correct? Glancing around in his office, she registered shelves with many books, a pinboard with notes, newspaper cutouts and some pictures, all in line, none in any way slanted. His desk was a paradigm for order and cleanliness. She saw no computer, no mobile phone and no radio. Only lots of papers, pens, and a frame, might be a picture of his wife or family, she guessed. She couldn’t see it from her point of view.
At the side, shelves, filled with books. Not that she knew him in the slightest at this point, she only had made her assumptions, had subconsciously taken the little bits and pieces she had collected through her observations and had formed an impression of him. She guessed they were all sorted alphabetically, followed by color, topic, and then probably by birth date of the author. She bit her lip to suppress her amusement.
‘Don’t be rude, Clara,’ she thought before stepping to the bookshelf to find out.
Randall stopped when he saw her move in the corner of his eye, and watched her, while she scanned over the titles. Although she has worked here for a year, he can’t remember seeing her before - he knew that from the basic information sheet he always asks for from the administration office for each interview partner.
She wore boots with high heels and was still very small to him. It occurred to him, she couldn’t reach the top shelf without them. A fact, that amused him - deep inside. Another fact that he wondered about was why she had left London. He knew at least four of his students who wanted to work at the ULC (University College London) when to get the chance, even when they would be offered a job here in Glasgow. She probably had her reasons, he thought, and pushed it aside. He knew, it was none of his business.
When she wanted to touch one of his books, he reached out to her with words, “I sent it out two weeks ago, over to the head of your department.”
Clara’s hand backed away from the books, and she walked back to the spot she had stood initially, “Yes, Nicola Murray.”
She didn’t wanted to put the blame on her and let her look bad, but she didn’t wanted to look incapable either. Her inner debate got put to an end when Randall closed the file with a little thud and gave the mentioning of Nicola a knowing hum.
“That explains your delay,” his voice was rigorous but she sensed, it wasn’t meant for her.
“Sorry,” she answered automatically and in reaction he lowered his chin a bit.
“Don’t be,” his expression softened until it was almost unnoticeable. ”I know Professor Murray and her…,” he thought about a single word he could describe her with. He found many, but none would go alone. None would be very pleasant.
“Talents?” Clara suggested dryly, knowing her eyes were betraying her sarcasm.
His fingernails tapped against the wood of his desk while they exchanged looks, “That is one way of putting it, yes.”
She felt he wanted to say something more about it when his lips parted again, but he seemed to decide otherwise and closed them again into a thoughtful purse-lipped expression. He checked the watch again, and stepped around his desk toward her. “Professor Oswald, I have to be in the studio in ten minutes, do you mind following me? I will hand you over to Mister Lyon there, one of my students who will do the interview with you.”
He had already opened the door, and waited for her to move. She knew there was no other answer as to follow him. “Fine.”
Randall nodded, closed the door and made long strides toward the steps. Clara had to hurry to follow him.
‘Typical Newsman,’ she thought.
Two floors down, Randall pulled out the key for the lift out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock. “Have you done something like this before?” he asked, while they waited.
“An interview? On TV? No, actually not, I am an English literature teacher, not a famous pop singer,” it was a helpless try to break the ice with the man they called a ghost.
He blinked two times at her before he answered and before the lift arrived with a faint “ding”. “I’m glad you aren’t, the opinions of pop singers are way too overrated in this world and personally I don’t give much about them.”
She squinted at him, trying to figure out if he got her joke and if there was one hidden in his words. “There are pop singers, who try to rescue the world, you know that?” she stepped beside from him.
Checking the fit of his tie he pressed the button for the basement, where the studio was, he asked, “And who could that be, Professor Oswald?”
“Bono. Bob Geldof and what about John Lennon?” Secretly she had asked herself, at which point he had decided to make a political discussion out of her poor try of making a joke.
Randall turned his head to her, and only his head, “Bono? Geldof? Lennon?”
Clara answered before she did think about it, “Don’t tell me you don’t listen to the radio and news as a journalist? You know these people, don’t you?”
The lift reached the basement. “Professor Oswald-”
“-Clara. If it’s not too much to ask. You are not one of my students, so please, … just Clara. Thats totally fine.”
The door was wide open, but he wasn’t about to move, he just looked at her, over the edges of his glasses. Piercing down at her with his greenish eyes, it was so intense she wanted to look away, but she held his stare. His expression softens suddenly, “Then they should have become politicians, world savers, superheroes.. I don’t know,” he stepped outside, turning around to her, “But not pop singers.”
He didn’t wait for her, just headed off to the studio, the next interview would start in a few minutes and he hated to be late - what he usually never was.
She caught up to him again, when he was already standing behind a big wall of glass, behind it the studio, an interview room. Cameras, lights, people buzzing around. In the middle two chairs. On the left side sat a dashing young man with black hair, he wore a grey shirt with the slogan “Save the Arctic”. The face was familiar, she knew it from the University channel. Clara could see a pen behind his ear, only slightly covered by his longer hair.
Randall could see it too, he huffed and stretched his shoulders tensely, checking again the fit of his tie, “Tell him about the pen, Donna!” he turned to a woman by a console, so she pressed a button and talked into a microphone in front of her. “Freddy, the pen please…”
Freddy looked up and sent a grin over to them, before slipping the pen away.
“One minute!” someone called.
Clara could see that Randall got nervous, he was tapping the fingers of his right hand against his upper thigh, and the fingers of his left were twisting his lower lip, “Where is she?” He walked over to the microphone and repeated his question.
“Sorry! Sorry!” it was Nicola Murray. “I had to change.”
Clara couldn’t suppress her laughter, but quickly covered her mouth with her hand when she saw him scrutinize her for it.
“Nicola Murray,” he only whispered and shook his head in disapproval.
Nicola settled down in front of Freddy and shifted a few times in her seat, she was unsure if she should lean back or sit on the edge of the stool.
Clara noticed, “This isn’t live, isn’t it?” She was afraid it would be and only because she knew she had to give one too.
“This is not “The Hour”, Professor Oswald,” he liked his lips, and took his glasses off to clean them with a little cleaning rag out of his pockets. When he was finished, he placed them back on his nose, “But we like to give the impression of it.” Clara believed to hear a hint of a mocking tone.
“She looks nervous,” Clara said. Knowing he could easily tell her over the microphone that it was not live and she just should relaxe.
“I told her to go to a training, but it didn’t really help,” he paused, and gave Clara a side look, whose eyes were still directed onto Nicola. When she felt his eyes on her, she turned her head and met Randall’s. Looking back to the studio he adds “Sometimes I ask myself how she got that job as the head of the art and literature department. She has the inevitable talent of …,”
“.. of picking the worst possible time to fuck things up,” Randall’s head shot around in such a surprising haste, that one of his muscles twitched.
Clara blushed immediately, her tongue now thick and heavy, she turned to him, pressing her lips together. His eyebrows came close together, making his look sharp and his expression stern - it made Clara feel bad about her swearing.
“Not the words I would have chosen,” it was the smallest smile Clara has ever seen, and yet a smile. “Sounds like one of these little “postcards for to go” in front of some restaurants restrooms.”
She blinked, while he shoved his hands into his pockets, watching Freddy asking Nicola some questions. Randall Brown, the man who appeared to her like he had stepped right out of the fifties, didn’t look like he went to this kind of restaurants. And it felt sudden to her, to actually think about a man, whom she had never met before, and his possible evening activities.
“You know that you are staring at me?” he pulled her out of her thoughts, without turning toward her.
‘Two times blushing in under five minutes, not bad, Clara.’ she cleared her throat, “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”
Freddy finished the interview and shook Nicola’s hand, then he waved over to Randall.
Before leaving he turned to Clara, “Lost? You don’t look like a woman who gets easily lost, ...Professor Oswald,.” He gave her exact three long seconds to think about. “Excuse me, I have to tell Nicola some words from a postcard. Freddy will take care of you in a moment.”
“A towel!” she blurred out and Randall stopped by the door. “It is from a towel, not a postcard, and… it’s still Clara.”
Freddy came to his side, glancing around between the two teachers, seeing Randall sending over a smirk toward Clara - an actual smile, that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, short, with closed lips, but honest. “A towel then.”
Freddy almost gaped at his teacher who walked over to Nicola, “Have you seen this?”
Clara blinked, “Seen what?”
“That smile.”
“Uhm.. yes,” she gestured, that she didn’t understand the problem with it. “So?”
Freddy smirked at her, “He never smiles.” With that he guided her toward a little room, so they could talk about the upcoming interview.
Clara gave Randall and Nicola a last look before she followed Freddy. Nicola looked disappointed and in distress, while Randall stood in front of her, talking, on hand in his pocket, the other slowly moving around in front of her.
She would have given a lot to hear his version of the towel quote.
Randall Brown / Clara Oswald - Fic - "Collide" - Now online
It has happened, I posted Chapter 1 of my new multi chapter fic about Randall and Clara. You can read it here or on Ao3. I advise Ao3, because there you find some longer notes about the story (no must read, just for basic information). I'll try to update weekly. Depends on my muse and my beta. Thanks here to fetchingsort.
If you like to follow the story you can follow the RandallXClara tag.
AO3 Link
Summary:
Clara Oswald, English Literature Professor and Randall Brown, the Head of PR and Communication work at the University of Glasgow. They have never met before, but then coincidence finally makes up its mind. See what happens when two people who couldn't be more different collide. Slow Burn. Romance. Doctor Who/The Hour - Whouffaldi (somehow)
How could one - who was not born here - even think to settle down here? In Scotland, where the wind blows sharp as a knife and the temperature was more moody than some teenager on a Monday morning.
Clara Oswald had no problem with Scotland itself - god beware, she only had a problem with the weather, and some grumpy old neighbours, who never missed a chance to tell her, that she simply was not made for this beautiful country - in other words, “Ya darn Blackpudlian, better go home!”.
She couldn’t remember another word out of their mouth, since she had moved into her flat in Glasgow.
“Why did I come here?” Clara muttered. “Ah, yeah, teaching. Here. Dead in a ditch. Great idea! Brilliant idea, Clara!”
She shook her head while approaching the stairs which led to the main entrance. She was not in the best mood. The bus she initially wanted to take simply didn’t show up, so she had to wait for the next one, and was now late. Let alone cold.
It was the first of October and for some reason it seemed the leaves had turned orange over night and the temperature had dropped at least a hundred degrees. Well, all that was her personal opinion - she was not a meteorologist, so she might was wrong about it.
It didn’t change the fact, that she was late and she was cold. Maybe she should go back to London, where she had teached before.
She was actually quite happy there - well, pleased. To be happy is always a big achievement. She had a nice tiny flat, a great job, no boyfriend and a stepmother who never missed a chance to point out to it. So it came, that she accepted - after two glass of wine - the offer from the Glaswegian University to teach English Literature one year ago. (There was maybe a considerable pay raise involved too.) Within four weeks she had packed all her stuff, had found a new flat in Glasgow and had made her goodbyes to friends and family - her greatest moment of pure rebellion. The only thing that made her hesitate in the end was her dad. And she felt terrible sorry for leaving him behind like this.
“Don’t you worry about me, sweetheart,” he had told her, with one of his warm smiles. “It’s Glasgow, not the end of the world.” For Clara, it literally was the end of the world.
After Blackpool, she had moved to London and after that, she had moved to Glasgow. Nothing in between, no travel to another country. Not even Irland or so. No, it was always this darn island. When she had turned 30, she had taken the book “101 Places to see” from the shelf and had placed it in the darkest box in the basement she could find. Now, she was almost 32 and at least once a month she woke up at night, having a dream about settling down in Glasgow - forever. She never had a worse nightmare in her life.
Maybe it was just one of these days, she thought.
“Clara!” she heard her name behind her, while climbing up the stairs.
“Danny!” Sweet little Danny Pink. He caught up to her, his bag around his shoulders and a paper cup of coffee in his hand.
They both had started working at the same time. His taught math, and she had been glad that she wasn’t the only new face. So they had connected quickly.
“You look unhappy,” he smirked while sipping from his coffee, Clara envied him for. There was no time to walk by her favourite cafe to get some, so she would need to take potluck with the nasty one from the break room.
“It is Monday morning, I am late, I am cold and I have no coffee,” she huffed. “I hate this town!”
“No, you don’t, you are just in a bad mood. I remember you praising it two weeks ago,” he offered her his half drunken coffee with a gesture and she happily took it from him. They both knew what the coffee from the break room would do to her. She would start to eat at least two of her students alive - with no regret.
“That was only because I had a good day,” she smirked.
Sweet Danny Pink. They had dated a few times, but nothing ever came off it. He was a good looking guy, former military man, smart, charming and he was good with kids - her stepmother would say, he was perfect.
After a couple of dates, and their first kiss, they had realized they didn’t “click”. So they stopped dating and started sharing some lunch and some dinners as friends, a half year later he finally found the courage to ask Sissy Cooper from the University administration office out for a date - since then they were together. Clara was happy for him, Sissy was the good heart of the administration office, and had a solution for everything. Adorable Coop, she called her.
“How is adorable Coop? You both had a nice weekend?” she asked while they both headed toward the post room to get their mail.
“We had a nice dinner, at Mancinis. Very good food, not that pricey, you should try it out one day.”
They both approached their mail compartment, two of 150. “Yeah, can’t imagine why I should do that. Hi, I am Clara Oswald, do you have a table for one, please? No, really, I have some self respect, Danny.”
Leaving the room, he sighed, “You know what I mean. No one said you should go alone. I am sure you will find someone. Glasgow has nice man, you know that, don’t you? There are not all like your neighbors.”
“Well, they are like 110, so they don’t count from market economy perspective,” she was not in the mood to talk about the fact, that she seemed unable to find someone capable of being a good boyfriend. She had dated a few men, but it was the same as with Danny, she couldn’t connect with them. “I’ll die old and grey and alone.”
“No, you won’t!” he slapped her softly with his letters. “You’ll find someone.”
“How do you know? It is easy talking for someone in a relationship,” Clara sorted through her mails, but decided she had no time to go through it and shoved them into her bag.
“Because you are intelligent, warm hearted and not that bad looking. Only three of the many aspects that frighten most men. I am sure when you stop searching, the right one will fall in front of your feet,” he gave her a quick hug, a wink and excused himself to his study hall.
“You are a good friend, Danny Pink!” she called after him, he turned around for a moment only to shoot her another grin and a thanking bow.
She emptied the paper cup, and headed toward her classroom. She was not really in the mood, but she had to give a lecture about Jane Eyre, its social criticism and morality.
---
After 90 minutes of lecture, Clara fell exhausted into her stool. Bejant/Bejantine were the worst. They asked way too many questions, not because they were interested, more because they feared to do something wrong. She knew of some professors, whom loved Bejant/Bejantine, because they kissed the ground the Professor walked on. Needy gameplayers, she called them. Personally she liked the Tertian, they had some kind of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, before they became Magistrand. At this point they finally listened to what she said and figured out, not to ask too many questions, which would set up boundaries for the works they had to hand in.*
It took her a minute to find her way back into the present, and she remembered her letters from the post office. Grabbing into her bag, she pulled out the pile and tried to sort them out. Most of them were memos from the principal, news and updates. Some student requests for an appointment and a new print of the Glasgow University Guardian. Clara shoved the papers, except the newspaper back into her bag and unfolded the Guardian. There, a letter, that had slipped between the newspaper, fell down to the ground. She followed its fall with her eyes, and prevented it from sliding under the table by stepping onto it with her boot.
“Gotcha!” leaning down, she noticed the odd handwriting on it. Usually all the letters were printed, even the addresses. Not this one. The front had her name on it, Professor Clara Oswald, English Literature, Art and Literature Department. She turned the small thing around and frowned at its addressor. Randall Brown. Office 7.043. Nothing more.
Clara lowered the letter into her lap and fixated on a chair in the last row of the classroom, trying to remember the name. Nothing. She didn’t know someone with the name. She shrugged it off, she couldn’t know everyone, the University was far too big. Opening and reading it, made her stumble.
‘Please make an appointment for your interview at the 8th, so we can brief you about topics and policy. Sincere regards, R. Brown’
“What?” Clara had no clue what this was about. What interview and who the hell was Randall Brown? She felt she had missed something important.
The call of her name yanked her out of her reflections, “Clara, there you are! I am looking for you ever since,” the woman approached her hastily.
“Nicola!” Clara trilled. Nicola Murray, the head of the Art and Literature department. In her forties, married, two kids, stressed out and always on the hop. She liked Nicola, at least some bits of her, she was very engaged, lovely but she had an aura of chaos around her. After a while Clara had recognized that she was always doing a good pace. She seemed to run from one appointment to the next. Danny suggested it was because of her short political career 10 years ago.
There were times Clara wanted to tell her to come down a little, breath, relax, chill out, like her students sometimes suggested behind her back, before she would die because of a heart attack, but she was her boss, and she had bigger problems as to tell a workaholic to chill out.
“I totally forgot to tell you about your interview,” she kneaded her fingers in distress. She didn’t liked to admit, that it was her fault, probably because it happened quite a lot.
Clara held up the letter, “what interview, Nicola?”
“For the GUST, the Glasgow University Student Television. The Department has to give some overviews over the single subjects. You go for English Literature.”
“Why me? Why not Glenn? He is here since, I don’t know 1983.”
“Are you kidding me? Glenn? Glenn looks like a salesman for suits from the 1980’s, not like an English Literature Professor,” she waved hectically.
Clara made a gesture with her mouth. She had a point, because Glenn not only looked like one, he also talked like one. “So it is me then? Since when do you know?”
Nicola made a grimace, that told her everything, “Forget it. Tell me at least, who is Randall Brown?”
That earned her an expression of disbelief, “You don’t know the Caledonian ghost of news?”
“The what?”
“Randall Brown is the Head of Public Relations. He is responsible for the Glasgow University Guardian and the Glasgow University Student Television, the GUG and the GUST.”
“He is a Professor?” Clara was confused.
“He is a journalist. Joined us three years ago, from London. He is a bit odd, but he is the best,” Nicola was already about to leave her alone again, by turning on her heels.
“Why did you call him a ghost?” Clara grabbed her bag and followed her.
Nicola smiled at her, with a bit too much pity as Clara found. “You told me, you don’t know him, and I assume you haven’t met him yet.”
“No, I can’t tell that I have.”
“See. That’s why we call him a ghost. You’ll see. I have to go now, they want an interview from me too, and I really have to change before that. Bye!” with that Nicola dashed out of the door and vanished in the floors of the University.
Clara smirked. Everytime she saw her, she remembered last year, when she came up with the idea to make a little public relations event in form of a neo expressionistic theme based garden party - in November. In Scotland. She was really convinced about the idea, till someone obviously had told her that the idea was totally bananas. Clara never really had bothered who it was, but had made a mental note to thank the man or the woman, when she, by small chance would ever meet the saviour. Peering down to the letter, she had a hunch.
“Office 7.043 it will be,” she whispered, still quarreling with the lack of good coffee in her veins and made her way up to meet some ghost.
Pov Louis:
Cheguei em casa, jogando a mochila no chão e me posicionando em frente ao espelho... “Louis Tomlinson, essa é sua noite!Você não pode deixa-la escapar...”.Suspiro, estou um trapo,mas não posso descansar agora, eu preciso.. deixar esse lugar apresentável.Me virei com a intenção de visualizar o quarto – DROGA! – está tudo de ponta cabeça, mal enxergo a cama – ok Lou, se acalme,vamos arrumar isso do melhor método – assim, soco tudo dentro do closet ,-sim eu tenho um closet .Meia hora depois, está tudo guardado,hm... mais tarde termino isso.E me jogando na cama adormeço feito pedra.
Xxx: Louis ! – alguém martela na porta – LOUIS ! – acordo com um pulo.
Louis: que é pai?
Pai: Está tudo bem? Tu nem almoçou ! – droga, é verdade.
Louis: Não estava com fome,depois desço comer algo..
Pai: e o que você está fazendo?
Louis: er... arrumando o quarto – ouço ele gargalhar
Pai: Aham, me avise quando terminar,pra mim tirar um foto desse momento raro!-bufo
Louis: E por que não vê agora? –abro a porta bruscamente, e o encontro de cenho franzido.
Pai: ora ora- disse adentrando – tudo isso pra sair do castigo?
Louis: o que? – ah, eu estava de castigo.
Pai: bom, acho que conseguiu, parabéns –e me estende a mão, quem ele pensa que sou? Colega de trabalho? Afe.
Louis: hm, obrigado. – me viro e sento na cama, pra me trocar. Ele sai. –Irritante.
Pov Você:
Sim, estou em casa.Ta, acalme-se, acalme-se...por favor , preciso parar de sorrir feito idiota! Mas eu vou na casa dele ! Se acalme ou vai estragar tudo! – entro em casa mesmo brigando com meu consciente, estou radiante !
Mãe: Humm alguém anda muito feliz... como foi a escola? – sorriu interessada.
Eu: huum, parece estar gostoso ! – tento mudar de assunto em vão.
Mãe: ande me conte... ! Vai sair com alguém hoje? – arg mãe !
Eu: Sim, vou sair... vou ajudar um amigo a estudar pra prova..mas SÓ ISSO ! – olho séria pra ela
Mãe: ainn minha filhaa ! – os olhos brilhando.Ah não. – é aquele que veio aqui da última vez? O...
Eu: Louis – sussurro
Mãe: isso !- ela debruçou –se pegando minha mão. – você gosta dele né? –me olha como se já soubesse a resposta.
Eu: er.. sim –minha voz quase não sai – sim eu gosto .
Mãe: então, por que esse sorriso triste? Vamos ! Quero ver você feliz! – sorriu torto.Pensei que fosse vir com aquele discurso de que sou muito nova, mas não.Ufa.Retribuo o sorriso e quando termino de comer, subo as escadas,afim de descansar um pouco.
Acordo no meio da tarde, com meu celular tocando... despertando-me ao som de “Best Song Ever” – Caramba eu realmente amo essa musica- me levanto e fico pulando e dançando desajeitadamente, até a música acabar- and we danced all night, to the Best song ever ♫ - Vejo meu reflexo no espelho.. descabelada, com uma regata e um shorts curto,o rosto inchado de dormir e apesar de tudo, um sorriso de orelha a orelha. – Dane-se como estou,vou passar a noite com Louis de novo! – pulo na cama, deixando minha alegria transparecer.Espero que não seja a única que faz isso,seria constrangedor se me vissem fazendo isso.Depois de um tempo de pulos, ofegante , vou tomar um banho pra escolher minha roupa.
Opto por um shorts preto de cós alto,meu cabelo preso num coque alto e despojado,all star preto,óculos quadrado estilo nerd e uma blusa com a bandeira da Inglaterra,larga e simples.Separo os cadernos.18;50.AI MEU DEUS, VOU PASSAR A NOITE COM ELE DE NOVO!Bom,se ele pediu minha ajuda,é porque fui bem da última vez...eu acho. Tenho 10 minutos pra me acalmar.Ou não. Já sei, vou escutar música, assim me distraio e não pago um belo mico nervosa.
Pov Louis:
Já tomei meu banho e li uma boa parte do livro “A última música” –pensando nela, claro..quer dizer, afinal foi ela quem me recomendou.É bem interessante até, talvez seja um assunto pra hoje á noite...- daqui a pouco.. DROGA! – olho as horas, 17hrs.Ufa,tenho tempo.Tomo um banho e começo a me arrumar apressado.O que vestir? – Seja você mesmo, seja você mesmo.-meu consciente insiste.Me olho no espelho.-Até que não é má idéia...ninguém resiste aos encantos de Tommo !- de relance, lembro dos foras que levei.Ah, esquece.Visto uma bermuda com a barra dobrada e não muito larga,meu Vans, arrumo o cabelo num topete, e visto uma regada despojada.-Musculos a vista, é isso aí Tomlinson !.Desço as escadas.
Xxx: Aonde pensa que vai? –arg, esqueci de avisá-lo.
Louis: Pensei que o castigo tivesse acabado – digo rispidamente e ele suspira.
Pai: ok,só quero me manter informado.
Louis: vou buscar uma ... er.. amiga. – inspiro – a gente vai estudar pra prova. –ele me olho quieto um instante.
Pai: tudo bem. –eu abro a porta – Espere ! – ele caminha até a mesa e me joga a chave do carro. –Dirija com cuidado ! – e pela primeira vez em tempos,abro um sorriso radiante pro meu pai .
Louis: pode deixar !
Desfilando pelas ruas da cidade, chego a casa de (s/n).As luzes do quarto de cima acesas, porém as cortinas fechadas.Desço do carro,e fito a janela.O som está alto e velho sua sombra pulando e dançando descontraída.Gargalho sozinho – ela é encantadora.Me focando na música, consigo identificar a música.É Up All Night.Humm,quem sabe né.Caminho até a porta rindo e toco a campainha. Sua mãe abre a porta, e me analisa sorrindo.
Mãe: Ah, Louis, olá ! Como está bonito- sorri simpática
Louis: oh, obrigado ! –digo envergonhado- (s/n) está? – quero sumir.
Mãe:ah sim,ela já desce – faz um sinal pro teto com a cabeça rindo,acho que quis mostrar o barulho que ela faz – (S/N) !! SEU AMIGO CHEGOU !- grita me assustando – quer entrar?
A música para,e ouço-a descer a escada com os cadernos. Ai meu Deus,como é linda.
Eu: não será necessário.. –diz abraçando a mãe – tchau !
Saímos de lá,quietos e ela se encaminha a calçada.
Louis: onde vai? –ela me olha confusa.
Eu: Ué, aonde mais? –aponto pro carro
Louis: estou com o possante hoje.. – dou de ombros sem graça. – quer dar uma volta?
Entramos no carro.
Louis: ah, e... oi
Eu: oi !- me olha confusa e gargalha em seguida.Ah que risada contagiante.- não vai ligar o carro?
Louis: eu só estava...admirando.. – paro de fita-la sem graça –você está muito bonita! E eu adorei seu show ! –digo apontando pra janela.
Eu: ai meu Deus você viu? – coloca a mão no rosto, como se tentasse se esconder.
Louis: ei ! –tiro a sua mão do rosto e a aperto. – Eu acho que você dança muito bem ! - sorrindo amarelo.
Pov você :
Ah meu Deus ! Ele me viu dançando ! Que vergonha ! – ta, se acalme.
Eu: obrigada – baixinho.Fito seus olhos azuis.Estamos próximos.Hora perfeita pra um beijo.
De repente o carro acelera.Nos assustando.
Louis: ah, desculpe.- diz parecendo envergonhado.E Lá se foi, mais um chance de beijo.
O sol claro da manhã batia em meu rosto, e meu pai “martelava “ a porta.
Pai: Acoorda ! vai se atrasar !
Louis: já vooou ! – aff
Me arrumei, terei de enfrentar mais um dia com ela, por que não deixo de pensar nela? Que merda ! – Desci emburrado.
Pai: huum –resmungou- vou aumentar pra um mês-disse se referindo ao meus castigo por conta da minha "falta de educação" ontem, tem coisa mais ridicula?
Louis: arg, Bom dia, bom trabalho , Tchau. – batendo a porta atrás de mim,eu e meu pai não temos diálogo , mas no fundo acho que é melhor assim.
Subi no ônibus e joguei minha mochila, no banco, não no fundo, mas no meio, onde ela costuma sentar.Então Zayn tacou uma bolinha em mim.
Zayn: Ei cara ! O que está fazendo?
Louis: Nem eu sei, mas tenho que fazer.
Harry: O que?
Louis: Olha, só me deixem ok?
Liam: ii, hoje a TPM atacou, deixem ele lá...
Nialler: bravinha, depois quero ter um papo contigo nega – disse fazendo todos rirem
Xxx: ué, mas o que foi Lou?
Louis: oi ? –me virei pra ver quem era
O ônibus parou- droga é ela.
Xxx: meu nome é Eleanor, prazer. – disse me dando um beijo no rosto assim que percebeu meu interesse em ver quem subia.- Então, será que rola eu me sentar aqui por favor?
Louis: desculpe, estou guarda....
Eleanor: oh obrigado .
Louis: o que?
Eleanor: Vejo você todo dia no ônibus e me perguntava quando viria falar comigo...
Louis: mas eu nem ti conheço ... – disse meio desconcertado
Eleanor: Há, sabia... –riu fino
Louis: sabia o que?
Eleanor: Timido.. você é tímido ! – deu um sorriso jogando seus cabelos grandes e castanhos pro lado. – por isso resolvi vir eu mesma...
Louis: ér... legal ti conhecer .. mas é que ... – ergui os olhos e logo me topei com a garota do moletom, ela estava subindo e vinha em direção a nós.- olha me desculpe, mas eu tenho que.. er..
Eleanor : ei, não vai me deixar aqui né? –disse agarrando em meu braço e ficando bem próxima.
Ela realmente era bonita, não havia notado isso antes, acho que estava muito preocupado, esperando...ela.Nisso ouvi uma voz lá do fundo- não é uma boa hora.
Louis: é que... – me levantei rapidamente e num tropeção, parei frente a frente com ela.
Niall : Huuuuum, Eleanor ein ? –como ele conseguiu ouvir?arg.
Zayn: Esse Louis...cada vez com uma... – todos riram.Olhei pra trás.
Louis: Calem a boca, af . –fuzilei-os
Liam: Ui, esqueceram que ele não está bem hoje?
Harry: Deixem-no em paz, ate eu já estou me irritando com vocês...
Niall:iii, olha ae, o casal perfeito... você e Lou já podem sair andando de mãos dadas.! –zombou
Liam: Chatos . –mostrou a língua
Louis: Vocês nos amam mesmo ein ? – gargalhei. Por mais idiotas que sejam, sempre me fazer rir.
Harry: claro, do jeito que sou gato...capaz de alguém não me amar?
Zayn: cofcof , ai meu rim ! – colocou a mão no cotovelo, fazendo todos rirem e eu me virei pra frente.
(s/n) estava parada de braços cruzados, como quem quer passar. Me distrai e nem percebi que ainda estávamos de pé.
Pov você :
O sol logo bateu em meu rosto- af, já é manhã, só queria mais alguns minutos – Alguns segundos depois me toquei de que meu celular tocava a um tempo já , o peguei pra ver as oras.
Eu: AI MEU DEUS! Estou atrasada ! – dei um pulo da cama. – será que vai começar tudo de novo?
Eu sempre me atrasava, e chegava toda bagunçada, resolvi mudar isso este ano, mas parece que não tenho jeito mesmo.Me troquei, mal penteei o cabelo e já estava em frente de casa. Cerca de alguns minutinhos o ônibus já estava lá.
Subi e já me vi de cara com Louis, - Omg ! Ele estava bem bonito e atrapalhado- Estava sentado com uma menina, mas ela que parecia o assediar, ao se levantar, os seus amigos já começaram a zuação e ficamos ali parados até ele se tocar de que bloqueava meu caminho.Estava prestes a sentar ali mesmo, pois minhas pernas bambeavam moles como se não houvessem ossos.
Eu: er.. Bom dia –sorri simpatica
Louis: ah oi (s/n) –olhou meio timido- posso falar com vocÊ?
Eu: er... agora? –fiz um gesto com a mão, como se mostrasse que ainda estavamos em pé.
Louis: oh não.. –ele riu meio sem graça e se sentou no banco .
Eleanor: oi. –olhou com cara de nojo,que garota mais escrota.
Eu:Olá –sorri como sempre, tento ser simpática com todos.
Louis: eu tenho que conversar com ela, poderia se virar pra frente?- olhando para a tal garota.Parecia meio irritado, mas não era motivo pra falar assim.
Eu: Louis ! –eu o repreendi.
Louis: por favor? –ele tentou consertas ,me olhando de relance.Eu não resisti e deixei-me rir.
Eleanor: af, combinamos depois de sair então ! –ela se levantou e foi com suas amiguinhas.
Louis: ufa. –suspirou
Eu: hum...então é isso?
Louis: isso o que? –respondeu confuso
Eu: me usou pra afastar ela?
Louis: não não, é que... – ele olhou pras suas mãos,estava nervoso, oras por que? - pensei que estivesse brava comigo....
Eu: sério? E pór que estaria? – disse desconfiada, o que ele fez?
Louis: é que ontem, você me olhou... de um jeito estranho sei La, e.. acho que fui grosso no estúdio, me desculpe.
Eu: oras,- me recordei daquilo, droga como sou burra, por que fiz aquilo? Bom, mas pelo menos ele ficou pensando em mim, eu sorri pro chão e resolvi descontrair o clima.- Louis pedindo desculpas?
Louis: sim, se eu fosse você aproveitava – então sorriu, daquele jeito que só ele sabe, me desconcertando,
Eu: bom, desculpe eu, por olhar daquele jeito, não estava brava.
Louis: Não? Er... ótimo. –seus olhos brilharam, depois enrubesceu- preciso da sua ajuda.
Eu: em que? –sorri simpática, não espera.. oh não, será que..
Louis: é que vai ter prova sexta feira e ...
Eu: queria que eu ti ajudasse?
Louis: é, não...sim, é isso ae.
Eu: oh, tudo bem.
Louis: mas na minha casa dessa vez.
Eu: o que?
Louis: te busca as 19hrs !-disse se levantando.
Eu: espera eu...
Louis: até ! – deu uma piscadela e foi pro fundo.
Legal, agora estou completamente confusa, parece que bate a cabeça com toda força contra um poste ... mas espera, WTF? Eu não entendo o Tommo, ele é muito bipolar, uma hora me evita- se bem que eu também tentei fazer isso –na outra me trata super bem, e no meu sonho é o cara mais ridículo do mundo, não sei mais em que acreditar...Eu achava , e ainda acho que sou muito pouco pra ele,tão perfeito nunca iria me querer, mas meu coração diz pra arriscar, e os sinais discordam de mim, e afinal, por que não arriscar? Nunca fiz isso e acho que não tem como piorar minha situação –mentira, os cães me amam...Foco ! Eu já sei,vou me deixar levar... hoje vou na casa dele...é...não pera, AI MEU DEUS !
Pov Louis:
Bom,não tenho nada a declarar, acho que meu dedos sem nenhuma unha, minhas pernas bambas e meu suor podem muito bem explicar como estou.Eu preciso de ajuda pra prova... mas mais do que isso, preciso de mais uma noite com ela, eu não consigo me distanciar, e quer saber? Dane-se ! Ela pode não me querer, mas ela ainda não disse isso, então não tem porque eu desistir, fim de história.
Passei a tarde trocando certos olhares discretos e sorrisos meigos com ela, tão linda... que chega a me deixar feliz –como alguém que ganha um kinder ovo, só pra ter noção- só tem um problema, por que né, CLARO, em toda oportunidade ou acontecimento bom que temos, TEM algo pra atrapalhar e no meu caso, é aquela tal de ... Eleanor? Isso, ela me irrita.
~le continuaaaaaa
Hora de ir embora, o sinal bateu, todos saíram desesperados querendo se livrar da escola logo.O ônibus estava parado lá em frente... me lembro de ontem, quando o vi ali sentado, e resolvi ir embora a pé, e mais inacreditável aconteceu, ele veio atrás de mim... sim, ele me acompanhou até perto de casa e disso nunca esquecerei.Foi um dia mágico, de conto de fadas...era como a Cinderela, tudo acabava a 00hrs, só que ela se deu bem na história...ja eu? Rá, eu voltei pro mundo real.Estou com raiva, não sei ao certo porque, deve ser por estar confusa, arg, ele me irrita, não quero ver seu rosto novamente – viro me,e saio andando... caminhar é bom, e estou precisando ficar sozinha. – Estralando os dedos, ando alguns metros, e olho pra trás – não, ele não vira (s/n) – Olho pras minhas mãos.um quarteirão se passou, olho pra trás – Deixe de ser idiota ! O Onibus já saiu ! – È, meu consciente está certo.Na frente da escola não há mais nada... è, ele não veio.
Pov Louis:
Sentado no fundão do ônibus, eu a vi ir embora -è, minhas pernas coçaram para descer do ônibus e correr atrás dela, confesso- ela me queria longe, e eu estava determinado a facilitar.A noite de ontem foi ótima, não posso mentir... mas é como um sonho, daqueles que são ótimos e você aproveita muito, até alguém te buscar, te acordar, pra realidade. Meu consciente me acordou – e eu o odeio por isso.
Pai: Está de castigo !
Louis: O que?
Pai: Pela sua falta de educação hoje de manhã.
Louis: Eu estava com presa.
Pai: Eu também estou, preciso trabalhar...
Louis: Af, sempre está...
Pai: a menos que mude minha idéia , o que acho impossível, ficará uma semana de castigo.
Louis: Pelo menos não é um mês- sussurrei pra mim mesmo
Pai: O que?
Louis: tchau
Pai: Como disse? – me lançando um olhar desafiador
Louis: Bom trabalho?
pai: obrigado.
Subi as escadas .
Louis: Imbecil ! – disse ainda baixo. Não quero mais tempo de castigo.
Joguei a mochila em cima da cama, me sentando – puxa, que dia tenso. – Peguei o caderno, e um papel caiu – devem ter entregado enquanto estava desligado- Prova de matemática, sexta-feira. – ah merda, só o que me faltava... – Quem vai me ajudar a estudar agora? - Garota do moletom... – Não, ela não quer, eu não quero ! – mentira, aah, vou dormir, é, quem sabe depois de descansado, eu pensei no que fazer.
Pov você:
Cheguei em casa e almocei. Minha mãe foi trabalhar e eu fiquei no maior silêncio.Subi as escadas, me deitei na cama, me abraçando ao meu cobertor pra sentir seu perfume novamente- sim, o perfume dele permanecia lá – era ótimo,realmente.Preciso sair hoje, preciso fazer alguma coisa...acho que vou dar uma volta.Sai fazendo uma bela caminhada, passei na sorveteria , me sentei na praça, queria relaxar um pouco e colocar a cabeça no lugar, mas só o que achava eram perguntas – por que sou assim? Por que Ele não gosta de mim? Porque está tão diferente? Ele parece tão lindo por dentro e tudo parecia ir tão bem e rápido , e de repente acabou... – arg, como odeio ficar assim.Me levantei determinada a ir pra outro lugar.. –biblioteca, isso ! – me encaminhei pra lá... Meus dedos se arrastavam sentindo a maciez dos livros enfileirados, 50 tons de cinza, Jogos vorazes, A Menina que roubava Livros... tinha de tudo... Mas uma capa me chamou atenção...peguei o livro para ler o título... “A ùltima música”, de onde conheço isso? - ah claro, a biblioteca da escola.. quando conversei com ele, droga, será que tudo vai me lembrar ao Lou agora? – Fui até a moça magra de óculos, e o retirei. – O tipo do gênero dos livros que o leitor gosta, pode revelar muito sobre ele – Quem sabe, a resposta para alguma das minhas perguntas não está nesse livro em Sr Tomlinson? .
A tarde já se despedia, e eu fui pra casa. Deite na cama, fuzilando o coitado do livro, sem coragem de ler, estava ansiosa –hesitei antes de pegar.Não quero ler, e se ele revelar um lado que não queira conhecer? Será que estarei invadindo sua privacidade novamente? Afinal, porque quero tanto saber dele e pra ele n sou ninguém? - soltei o livro, levando as mãos ao rosto. Olhos prontos para explodir em lágrimas,corri para o banheiro encarando o espelho...já estavam inchados, pedindo para que deixasse minhas emoções florescerem ... abri o armário... – por que será que as pessoas fazem isso? Até agora não vi sentido..será que diminui mesmo a dor? Descontar em mim mesma fisicamente, o sofrimento que vivo ? – minha visão embaçada não me evitou de pegar a gilete, levemente a passei sobre o pulso – arg, isso arde muito ! – senti-o penetrando na pele ... – aah não vou agüentar - Um corte, pronto, já chega – está ardendo muito ! – coloquei na água... bom, minha raiva diminuiu, talvez isso realmente funcione.. peguei a gilete novamente... agora o outro pulso....
Pov Louis :
Acordei quando já era de noite... estava com o uniforme e pingando de suor – eca, estou nojento. – me arrestei ao banheiro, e tomei uma chuverada quente e demorada.A água caia sobre meus cabelos, escorridos agora, fechei os olhos me perdendo em pensamentos... – o que é que eu devia me preocupar agora msm? Sinto que esqueci algo... – Ah, não importa. Estou de castigo, tenho que suportar meu pai, A garota do moletom me quer longe, e estou perdido em meio a conflitos com minha própria mente... acho que o melhor a fazer é dormir mesmo, porque fome é a última coisa que tenho agora...
~le continuaaaaaaaaaa~
Pov Louis:
O sinal bateu, aah finalmente, Aula de música !Como eu amo essa aula ! Sai em disparada da sala, e fui para a sala de música.O professor abriu um sorriso largo ao me ver, e eu retribui, me sentei no meio da sala, pra poder me ligar a aula,- claro que não me sentarei na primeira carteira, iria acabar com a minha reputação, além de revelar.. bom.- Todos entraram na sala aos poucos e se sentaram,o professor nos ensinou sobre o violão hoje.
Professor: Então, ele parece, mas não é tão difícil de se tocar... hum vamos ver... alguém aqui sabe?
Xxx: Eu sei ! – todos os olhos o fuzilaram, é claro que ele sabia. Ele não vive sem violão.
Professor: oras Nialler, vamos ver o que sabe fazer então...-disse para Niall , que se direcionou a frente da sala.
Meus olhos, o seguiram, me dando uma visão completa da sala.Nosso olhar se cruzou, os olhos dela ferviam, ela parecia brava, franzi o cenho e me virei pra frente. Ué o que eu fiz?- Depois de alguns minutos, de Niall tocando na sala e as meninas impressionantemente vidradas, o sinal bateu. Ótimo segunda aula, essa é a parte boa, o professor nos liberou para conversarmos sobre o tema- o que quase nunca era o assunto.
Calmamente me levantei, indo em direção ao piano, sim o piano, aquele instrumento de som tranqüilo e suave, que entram por nossas orelhas nos relaxando, e até despertando a vontade de chorar por nada, dentro de nós. Ele ficava dentro do pequeno estúdio, onde eu tinha permissão de acesso, ninguém podia me escutar, nem me ver, era só eu e a música.Passei os dedos pelas teclas levemente, me endireitei, e pus me a tocar. You are so Beautiful – Joe Coker. Essa era a melodia que saia de minha mãos... De repente um eco soou, e um barulho um tanto estranho me tirou do transi. Alguém me escutou, alguém ouviu minha musica – Droga. Me levantei ligeiramente, determinado a ver quem era, e dar-lhe uma bela bronca. – Onde se acha privacidade nessa escola? – abri a porta e dei de cara com ela, apertando vários botões desesperadamente, com o fone no ouvido. Garota do Moletom, vc não tem jeito.
Louis: o que está fazendo? – meu tom era suave, os lábios cerrados.
Eu: Oh, desculpe, eu apenas, pensei que pudesse.. é..
Louis: Me escutar tocar?- franzi o cenho – é mas não pode.
Eu: desculpe. –abaixou a cabeça – eu já vou.
Louis: espera ! – peguei sua mão, e um calor tomou conta de meu corpo, me causando arrepios – não conte a ninguem ok?
Eu: Nunca... – seus olhos brilharam e eu soltei sua mão, a porta bateu.
Sera que fui grosso demais com ela? Bom, mas ela me escutou tocando ! Arg, o que ela fazia aqui? Ela não me quer ! ... Não tem sentido.. ou, ela... pode usar isso contra mim, é...não pera, ela não faria isso, ela não. Peguei minha Mochila – chega de piano por hoje.
Pov VocÊ:
Nunca... essa palavra ecoou na minha mente por mais alguns minutos. Será que esta bravo? Me atrevi a atrapalhar seu momento de privacidade. O jeito como olhou pra mim, com a testa franzida – ele conseguia ser lindo até bravo- Mas sua voz era suave... Sr. Tomlinson, porque tão confuso? Bom, esqueça (s/n), ele não gosta de vc, não vai fazer diferença. Melhor que fique, assim poderam se afastar, e nós ficaremos felizes...Nós... – mentira. Ele ficará- Eu só ficaria feliz se “Nós” existisse.
Xxx: eei ! – seu dedos estalavam a minha frente – Ei, acorda. Sua amiga ta chamando !
Eu: Hã? – disse desconcertada
Amiga: Ai garota, você tem que parar com isso ! – me deu um tapinha – Você viu, como Liam está lindo hoje? Caraca, ele realmente se superou.-disse o analisando.
Me Virei pra ele, realmente estava gato, seu estilo sempre foi admirável. E apreciado por todas as garotas da escola, isso ae, Liam Payne, o maior mulherengo da escola, em termos mais simples, Galinha. Lembro-me, como ele era quieto, até se juntar a turminha de Louis, os populares ricaços,Lindos e perfeitos.Seu estilo melhorou, sua fala é rápida e determinada, é inteligente, e faz qualquer garota comer na sua mão, sua beleza e encanto são grandes armas a quem devemos nos defender de todas as formas, com uma simples piscada, você é pescada por ele,e ai? Rá, só resta disputar com as outras mil garotas, que o amam.
Eu: è,ele esta bonitinho ! – disse indiferente,deixando um sorrisinho escapar.
Amiga: HÁ HÁ HÁ besta! - emburrou – bonitinho é apelido pra ele...
Eu: devia ir falar com ele...
Amiga: Claro que não !
Eu: claro que sim, quem sabe não da certo... apesar de eu achar impossível... – gargalhei, oque fez ela me fuzilar e revirar os olhos. – brincadeiraa. Você sabe... – ele veio andando em nossa direção – é agora, vai, você consegue...
Amiga: Não da o que vou falar? Oh god
Eu: Qualquer coisa, diz oi, sei lá, pergunta como ele esta...
Amiga: Maas... hã, oi liam – disse baixinho
Liam: Olá ! –disse sem parecer prestar atenção.
Amiga: O que faz por aqui ? – ele olhou pra ela surpreso.
Liam: Estudando...?
Amiga: Ah, é que .. bom, eu achei.. a gente...-se enrolou toda
Liam: olha tenho que ir... depois a gente se fala... é..
Amiga: (n/a) !
Liam: Até mais (n/a) –disse com um sorriso encantador
Ela retribuiu o olhar com um sorriso torto, me fazendo rir.
Amiga: O que foi? –cruzou os braços
Eu: Nada- me recompus- bom começo.
Amiga: Bom começo? Eu perguntei o que ele fazia aqui? O que mais ele faria numa escola? Aaf
Eu: é, realmente um mico. – disse rindo e concordando
Amiga: idiota ! Você é culpada – riu tbm.
Eu: eu? Só tentei ajudar oras, você devia praticar..
Amiga: aoow falou ae, a pegadora...
Eu: Eu pratico ok ?
Amiga: prove. –me lançou um olhar desafiador. - Que tal ele?
Droga, Louis estava vindo em nossa direção, sua mochila jogada nas costas, os olhos direcionados ao chão, mas ainda sim, pareciam longes da realidade, ele vai sair da sala, droga por que ele tem que passar agora?
Eu: Ok, eu não pratico.
Amiga: eu sei que sim, deixa de ser covarde, me deve essa ! Vai ! –disse me dando um empurrãozinho.
Meus olhos encontraram os seus, fechei a cara, e me virei para o lado, me desviando dele. Merda, por que fechei o rosto dessa forma? Por que ele me deixa tão confusa. Olhei pra trás, e minha amiga me olhava, incrédula. Revirei os olhos.
Eu: Eu avisei. –disse indiferente.
As Aulas passaram, e nossos olhos as vezes se encontravam, além do flagra no estúdio, não conversamos o dia todo. Ele deve estar querendo se afastar o mais rápido possível...bom, pelo menos não estou atrapalhando seu plano, arg.
~le continuaaa~
