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Description

He burst into class just as the late bell rang - thin, square black-framed glasses hung crookedly on his nose. The unseemly amount of books he was carrying in his arms look about ready to topple, and take him with them. He flashed the teacher an apologetic smile that was half insincere. The boy rushed to the only available seat left - the one right in front of me. He sat the books down with care and then plopped himself down far less carefully. He smelled like cinnamon and mint - ink and books. Captivating to say the very least. He bent his torso to rummage for something in his bag - his hair the color of café con leche falling in disarray around his face. His hair wasn't particularly long but neither was it short. It was just messy enough that you could tell other things preoccupied his time in the mornings. When he looked back up at me I could see that he had a very handsome face. All strong lines and sharp edges - but the light brown freckles that lay splattered across his cheeks and nose added a soft edge to the harsh. It curbed what could've been considered 'harsh' into something that lingered over the fine line of 'adorable' and 'sexy'. He spared a glance up at me and his eyes, oh his eyes - they were of the palest green I could have ever imagined but there were hints of brown in his eyes too - twinkling under the shifting light like stars or small smiles.

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He was all lanky limbs and fumbling words - his hands wringing one another to death as he attempted (and failed) to talk to one of the 'pretty' girls at school. He looked so out of place amongst the rest of her crew - they were all dressed in fancy, expensive clothing that likely had been made in Italy, or someplace just as grand. But Adam? He was dressed in a graphic-t, plain jeans and worn converses that did nothing to hide the length of his limbs or how awkward he felt in his skin. I knew a hint of his southern accent was probably leaking through now - making him sound that much more boyish but that much more charming. He was so insecure about himself but didn't realize how beautiful he was.

Him with all of his awkward silences and sudden scientific outbursts. Him with the forever hungry eyes and the lopsided smile. Him with ink-stained hands and little gray notebooks that had worn edges from him rubbing them so often. Oh how I loved this boy - awkward angles and all. I loved his tentatively masculine face and I loved his words. I loved how he smelled - of old books, mint and a hint of wilderness. I loved his accent and the way that he was always questioning, always looking, always moving. Adam, my sweet Adam Eros Gallo was such a goddamn fox and he didn't even realize it.

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He's gotten surer of himself over the years. He walks with his shoulders throw back, just ever so slightly - as if he's seen some popular guy do it and is trying it on to see if it fits him too. He's all slow charm and smokey words now with lopsided smiles that turn my knees to mush. He finally grew into his face and is masculine all the right ways. He's still lanky, but he's accustomed to it now. He's built on that and the boy has arms like no one's business. He got contacts; so now everyone can see just how damn beautiful he is. His café con leche hair is a little shorter now, given just enough of a trim so that it says 'man' and not 'boy'. He stil smells of old books and mint but there's an undertone of man now - something raw and feral.

Description

He burst into class just as the late bell rang - thin, square black-framed glasses hung crookedly on his nose. The unseemly amount of books he was carrying in his arms look about ready to topple, and take him with them. He flashed the teacher an apologetic smile that was half insincere. The boy rushed to the only available seat left - the one right in front of me. He sat the books down with care and then plopped himself down far less carefully. He smelled like cinnamon and mint - ink and books. Captivating to say the very least. He bent his torso to rummage for something in his bag - his hair the color of café con leche falling in disarray around his face. His hair wasn't particularly long but neither was it short. It was just messy enough that you could tell other things preoccupied his time in the mornings. When he looked back up at me I could see that he had a very handsome face. All strong lines and sharp edges - but the light brown freckles that lay splattered across his cheeks and nose added a soft edge to the harsh. It curbed what could've been considered 'harsh' into something that lingered over the fine line of 'adorable' and 'sexy'. He spared a glance up at me and his eyes, oh his eyes - they were of the palest green I could have ever imagined but there were hints of brown in his eyes too - twinkling under the shifting light like stars or small smiles.

-

He was all lanky limbs and fumbling words - his hands wringing one another to death as he attempted (and failed) to talk to one of the 'pretty' girls at school. He looked so out of place amongst the rest of her crew - they were all dressed in fancy, expensive clothing that likely had been made in Italy, or someplace just as grand. But Adam? He was dressed in a graphic-t, plain jeans and worn converses that did nothing to hide the length of his limbs or how awkward he felt in his skin. I knew a hint of his southern accent was probably leaking through now - making him sound that much more boyish but that much more charming. He was so insecure about himself but didn't realize how beautiful he was.

Him with all of his awkward silences and sudden scientific outbursts. Him with the forever hungry eyes and the lopsided smile. Him with ink-stained hands and little gray notebooks that had worn edges from him rubbing them so often. Oh how I loved this boy - awkward angles and all. I loved his tentatively masculine face and I loved his words. I loved how he smelled - of old books, mint and a hint of wilderness. I loved his accent and the way that he was always questioning, always looking, always moving. Adam, my sweet Adam Eros Gallo was such a goddamn fox and he didn't even realize it.

-

He's gotten surer of himself over the years. He walks with his shoulders throw back, just ever so slightly - as if he's seen some popular guy do it and is trying it on to see if it fits him too. He's all slow charm and smokey words now with lopsided smiles that turn my knees to mush. He finally grew into his face and is masculine all the right ways. He's still lanky, but he's accustomed to it now. He's built on that and the boy has arms like no one's business. He got contacts; so now everyone can see just how damn beautiful he is. His café con leche hair is a little shorter now, given just enough of a trim so that it says 'man' and not 'boy'. He stil smells of old books and mint but there's an undertone of man now - something raw and feral.