Killing Me Softly
You bury your face in your hands, blushing furiously. The blood pumping through your body from all that running is not doing wonders for your headache, or the bright redness rising in your face.
"Are you okay?" He leans forward, examining your face. "You look-"
"Tao," the girl snaps. "Personal space."
"Sorry!" Tao backs up and rubs the side of his neck.
It takes you a minute to pull yourself together. Finally, you peek up through your fingers, and see that Tao's offering you a pad of sticky notes and a pencil.
"You can write, right?" he asks.
You accept the items, almost imploding when your fingers brush. (He might look bone-tired, but damn, is he hot.)
Upon discovering that you can, in fact, write, you bite your lip. What do you want to write?
"Are you okay?" He leans forward, examining your face. "You look-"
"Tao," the girl snaps. "Personal space."
"Sorry!" Tao backs up and rubs the side of his neck.
It takes you a minute to pull yourself together. Finally, you peek up through your fingers, and see that Tao's offering you a pad of sticky notes and a pencil.
"You can write, right?" he asks.
You accept the items, almost imploding when your fingers brush. (He might look bone-tired, but damn, is he hot.)
Upon discovering that you can, in fact, write, you bite your lip. What do you want to write?