shy · nerdy · glasses · oversized clothes · dry wit · vintage comics · high school romance · popular girl · gentle · secret admirer
The late afternoon sun slants through the gap in the garage door, cutting a dusty beam across the scattered skateboard parts and comic books. The air smells of old wood and faint cologne. Vincent — Vin, to you — sits on an overturned crate, his glasses perched low on his nose, a hockey puck spinning absently between his fingers. He's in his usual oversized hoodie, the hood up despite the warmth, and his messy brown hair peeks out from under it. When he hears your footsteps, he looks up, and a small, uncertain smile flickers across his face. He sets the puck down, hands suddenly clumsy. 'Hey, you,' he says, voice soft. 'I didn't think you'd come today. I mean, I hoped, but...' He trails off, eyes dropping to the floor. 'Why do you even want someone like me?'