Chapter 1 -
I was always 'the quiet one'. The 'smart one'. The 'loner'.
Nobody expected much from someone like me. I worked in my brother's computer shop, fixing circut boards and rewiring plug sockets. But I had dreams too. I wanted to become an artist, to inspire hundreds, to be known. I wasn't bad either, or so I'd been told by my teachers.
But nobody knew who I was.
Maybe I should start at the beginning - you don't know who I am yet either, after all.
My name is Sabrael. And joking aside, I like my name. Sabrael was an angel,the guardian of the first heaven. My name is the only thing that my mum gave me before she abandoned me.
I'm a seventeen year old, 5 foot 9, white British gentleman. I have muscle, but I'm skinny and always buy my clothes a size too big, so nobody really notices. My hair is black,and I don't do anything with it, so it's always sticking out at odd angles. I wear glasses when I work, because everything gets just a little bit blurry if I don't.
I'm also gay.
I like to sit on the bleachers during the summer, when I'm doing my essays, because the sunlight dapples the page. Well... That's the excuse I have in mind for if
anyone ever asks why I'm there. But in truth... I do less work out there than I do whilst I'm working in the store. If the football team aren't practicing, I tend to sketch, or to whittle
something. But if they are... I have far betterthings to look at. Namely the often-shirtless sex God. His name was Archer. But everyone called him Hunter.
That name haunted me, followed me around like a lonely hound. So did his eyes. Oh my... Those eyes were amazing. The brightest blue, shining and intellegent.
And today, the sun was shining, hot and heavy on my back. I could feel the sweat beginning to break out down my spine, theLouisiana heat humid around me. I couldn't
get used to this... I'd been in the states for four months, and the heat was still horrible. 27 degrees celcius in April. That was just wrong.
I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling my unevenly-distributed spikes starting to wilt. It was officially too hot to wear a jacket. Bummer.
Glancing around myself, I slowly began to unzip my hoodie, swallowing nervously. I have a phobia of people seeing my figure. Sliding my arms from the sleeves, I felt goosebumps raise on my pale skin, more through anxiety than cold - the latter of which I certainly wasn't. My fingers knotted uncertainly in my lap for a moment, feeling eyes on me, until after a few seconds I gathered the courage to glance upward.
My heaven, my angel incarnate, was staring at me. Was... admiring me? No... That's foolish. A man like him could never be interested in a nobody like me.
But those crystalline blue eyes were trailing over my shoulders, down my biceps, over the curve of my elbow... Then stopping in suprise, and shooting up to look at my face. I felt my cheeks flame, and looked down quickly, humiliated and sickened by myself. I could feel him looking at me, watching, and I knew exactly where his eyes were focused - I could feel it, like heat from a laser, prickling my skin until the sensation became so uncomfortably intense that I curled my arms against my abdomen foolishly, reading from the sociology textbook in my lap.
It took ten minutes for me to feel his gaze shift from me - and a further fifteen for the rapid beat of my heart to soothe itself. For once, I didn't look up at all throughout the football practice, even though I knew they'd taken their shirts off. I was terrified to look - in case he saw me looking.
I heard the practice end, and glanced up to get my one glimpse of the sweating, shirtless beauty before he left.
But it's never that easy.
He was walking toward me, wiping his sweat-sheened chest with his cast-off shirt.
I looked down quickly, heart hammering violently as he sat on the bleachers one row beneath me.
Oh, shi- ... He smells really good...
I scolded myself internally and fidgeted, aiming myunfocused eyes at the textbook.
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