The first thing I noticed on the blonde-haired, young-looking boy sitting at another table across the cafeteria and turning the pages of a thick book; the first thing I noticed on his face, that had delicate and fine features, thin and pretty; the first thing I noticed, was the colour of his eyes. A bright, vivid, almost unnatural blue. It was strange, eerie, almost.

                I don’t really know why, out of all students sitting there then, it was him who I chose to gaze at. Maybe was it his face that attracted me, maybe was it something else in him, the fact that  he was sitting alone too, but didn’t look alone; somehow, unlike me, he managed to fill up the empty space, the empty seats next to him with an imaginary presence; in short, he looked like he was in his own world.

                The boy was reading, there was no doubt, but he seemed so absorbed in what he was reading that he had forgotten he ought to be eating his lunch, which had resulted in him holding his fork in front of his mouth, unmoving, as if suspended in mid-air; the little piece of food on it looked like it was waiting to be eaten, but the blonde boy was ignoring it, too focused on the most-likely-to-be-fascinating story that must be taking place before his eyes.

                It was impressive indeed, especially to me, as I had always had trouble perceiving what the magic of books consisted in. I didn’t like reading. However, I started to find myself attracted to words and stories around my early twenties, although I hadn’t really read anything properly before that. Anyway, the fact that he was reading and seemed so engrossed in it attracted me because I didn’t understand how he could do so.

                The way the food at the end of his fork kept hanging miserably quickly disgusted me and I ended up pushing my plate aside. After a while, I started, childishly, to wait for the moment the little potato would fall from the blonde boy’s fork and hit something on its way down. Like his book, for example. Hopefully it would stain it. My so-called game could have been considered sadistic, but I enjoyed it and after all, I had nothing else to do.

                But the boy seemed to have noticed the imminent danger and after glancing at the potato, he raised his fork to his mouth slowly, while his eyes never left his book, and managed to put it into his mouth. Then he turned a page. For a minute or two, both the potato and the fork remained there pitifully – and he wasn’t even holding the fork, that was only held back by his lips – until he pulled said fork out. This time, without the potato. Slowly, he began to chew.

                I don’t even know myself why I kept staring at him like that. There wasn’t anything interesting in him. He was reading, and eating a little. But he had managed to catch my attention. I liked to observe him, that’s all. Though, after a moment, he seemed to have felt my eyes on him, and he looked around, searching for whoever had been staring at him.

                I quickly nose-dived into my own plate, hiding among the rice, the chicken and my own potatoes. I didn’t like the feeling of having been caught, even if the blonde boy may not have known I had been the one staring at him. This thought reassured me, and little by little I sat up straight. But when I timidly glanced towards the chair that the boy had been occupying, I didn’t see him. He was gone. He, his potatoes and his book, were gone.

                I was puzzled. A little disappointed, I turned back towards my meal, but instead of it and the empty seat in front of me, I saw the blonde boy, arms crossed on the table and with two blue orbs aimed at me. I started, politely, to give him notice that I was surprised by his sudden and quite rude intrusion into my bubble.

                “Why were you staring at me?” he asked, resting his head on his arms and smiling in a friendly way. I looked at him for a few seconds, then I shrugged silently. His voice was soft, I liked it, even if I didn’t want to admit it. He had a short giggle and briefly, his eyelids covered his blue pupils. “I’m Luhan,” he introduced himself. I took his hand and shaked it awkwardly, because I had never shaked anyone’s hand and I thought this was very unusual, especially at school.

                “Sehun,” I replied. He smiled again, this time even more happily. His eyes were starting to bother me. His hair too. Why was he blonde and why did he have blue eyes, actually? He didn’t look European or American. And he had an obvious – albeit very faint – Chinese accent. I don’t really know why, but I started to glare at his eyes.

                “I wear lenses,” he explained, answering my silent question. He had a mischievous smile. Of course, lenses. I should have known that. For a while, we remained silent, and even if this time I did it more discreetely, I looked at his face again. Now that I could see him more closely, I noticed that he had a little scar on his right cheek. Without thinking, I made a sort of list of the small details of his face. “Hey, what class are you in?” he asked suddenly.

                “2B,” I answered simply. He nodded politely. I had mixed feelings about him. On the one hand, he seemed rather friendly and nice – and moreover he was one of the rare people having sat down at the same table as me – but on the other hand, his kind smile was starting to make me nervous. He was intimidating, to me.

                “Ah, I’m in 1A,” he replied. I had the decency not to raise an eyebrow at this. Even if he was supposed to be one year older than me, he didn’t look like he was. A little maliciously, I distorted his features in my head to make him appear even more childlike. He had round, smooth cheeks. Round eyes, and a round face. Everything in him was round, curvy, soft. “I’m from the art club. I mean, we draw, we paint, we write sometimes, stuff like that. Would you like to join?” he offered out of the blue.

                I had to say that I was more annoyed than interested. How could he be asking me such a thing? “Do you want me to?” I heard myself answer, or rather ask. Luhan burst out laughing. It was the first laugh I heard escape from his throat, and to be honest, it was surely one of the most memorable ones I’ve ever earned from him. It sounded bright, cheerful, and not forced at all, as if it was a dove flying off from the bottom of his lungs and spreading its wings in the air.

                I didn’t laugh, I didn’t smile either, but it made the corner of my lips twitch slightly. Why was Luhan laughing? He seemed to be laughing at me, and my paranoïd nature didn’t like it. After a minute or two that I spent wondering why and that he surely spent laughing his whole body off while thinking about me and my stupid questions, I suppose.

                “If I want you to?” he said, wiping imaginary tears after having managed to stop laughing. I frowned slightly, because people who are overly-dramatic like this, who pretend to laugh ten times harder than the others and to cry ten times more than the others, tended – and still tend –  to annoy me. He smiled. “I don’t want to force you. But yes, I’d like you to join. I’d be happy if you did. Please, join,” he finished. Now he was imploring.

                “I’m sorry, but why should I join your club?” I asked as politely as I could without sounding offensive or suspicious. “We’ve just met, and anyway I’m not good at art. I can’t draw, I can’t paint and I can’t write.” With that, I sounded bad at everything, and that’s why I quickly added, “I can dance, though. But I already belong to the dance club, you see.”

                “So what?” Luhan replied, tilting his head to the side and slightly backwards, as if he wanted to show me he was the one leading the conversation. “You can belong to several clubs if you want to. It isn’t forbidden. And don’t worry about the fact that you can’t draw. Someone will teach you. And maybe you will find unsuspected artistic abilities in you!” he said joyfully. I couldn’t help but smile a little.

                “And when are the meetings?” I asked, pretending to be interested in what he was saying. However, even if I feel a little embarrassed today to admit I had such a rude thought, the only thing I was thinking about back then was when the school bell would ring and allow me to go away from Luhan and his forced recruitment. Said Luhan grinned at me.

                “Everyday after school, from around four to half past six. Though you can arrive and leave whenever you want. Does that suit you?” he asked with a slightly mocking grin, leaning forwards to get closer to my face. Apparently. “Come on, I’m sure it’s fine. You’ll just have to come to our room in a few days and we’ll give you a registration form.” He was obviously not waiting for me to say anthing, as he rose from his seat smoothly and flashed a wide beam. “Do you mind if I – ” he said, and without any word from me, he grabbed my glass of water and drank it whole.

                “That’s my glass,” I tried to object, but my poor attempt at making him stop drinking failed, as when he put the glass back on the table, it was empty. With a wink, Luhan wiped his mouth. He picked up his book and as if he had suddenly recalled he ought to be polite, he had the correctness to bow and say goodbye before walking away. I followed him with my eyes as he stepped out of the cafeteria.

When I looked down at the table and my plate again, I saw a small piece of teared white paper with words and figures scribbled on it. The ink was blue and had run slightly around the corners.

                Luhan – 213 977 5462 – Call me! ^_^

                If he had dropped the little paper with his number on it on purpose before leaving, I hadn’t noticed him do so. My first reaction was to tighten my fingers around the white paper in order to crush it into a ball, but when I looked at the little smiling emoticon, I stopped. I don’t know why that thing prevented me from destroying Luhan’s note, but it did, and instead of throwing the note into the nearest trashbin, I stuffed it into my pocket. The bell rang and I got up.

                When I found myself feeling bored in class, about half an hour later, my thoughts naturally wandered to Luhan and his annoying blue lenses. And to the art club that he seemed to be wanting me to join. I smiled in spite of myself when I felt the little piece of paper under my fingers as I mechanically dipped my hand into my pocket. It may have been a little childish from me, but it was the very first time someone gave me their number, and it managed to make me feel arrogantly proud.

                Discreetely, I pulled the paper out of my pocket and I looked at it under my table, as if it were a treasure whose value I was starting to understand. If Luhan had given me his number and written Call me! next to it, it could only mean that he was interested in me, at least a tiny bit, I thought practically – I wasn’t being proud or anything of that sort, but just objective, as much as I could be. And if he was interested in me, it couldn’t be a bad thing.

                And maybe – probably – was it that last thought that decided me to join the art club.

A/N: It's the very first time I write a fanfiction using the first person. I hope it isn't too strange!

Tell me whether you liked it please.

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