Paint You Wings // Ashton Irwin [au]

One

Emilia's POV

I'm not sure if it's just a general dislike of the college student body or just a hatred of stupid people; whichever it is, I am close to reaching over to the blonde girl adjacent to me, snatching the iPhone out of her hand, and throwing it across the library to end her conversation of wanting a reason to get whatever new iPhone is out. Instead, I decide to gather all my notes, shove them in my backpack and make haste to the library exit.

Idiot.

My first year at a university and it's already ten times worse than I expected. And it's only a few weeks into the semester. I knew what I was getting myself in to when I applied for a university, but I didn't expect this. After being in a community college for two years, I thought that the people would be much more...well, not stupid. However, in Lola's—the girl who literally just shouted her name in the dining hall—defense, she did strike up a brilliant idea that if she did body shots at this weekend's party at some frat house, she just might find, as she says, "my knight in shining armor." Good for you Lola.

As I make my way down to the Starbucks inside the Student Union, I continue my 'people watching' game and make note of all the idiots on campus. Yes, it may seem like a stuck up thing to do, but I'm anything but. I find humor in the stupid things people do or say. I also find humor in how the hell the football player sitting in the courtyard was able to get a full-scholarship after witnessing him make the most genuinely confused face that I have ever seen when asked to give his surname and with certainty, gives his first name.

When entering the crowded coffee house, my senses are instantly filled with the delicious scent of rich coffee beans, whipped cream, and caramel. I like to think the only reason students come here is to smell the expensive coffee that their heavy debt and slim wallets make impossible to afford. I take my place in line and wait patiently to order. I glance around at all the seasonal merchandise and my eyes lock on to a light-blue ceramic mug with two elephants holding each other's trunk, creating a heart shape.

It may be childish and an unnecessary addition to my kitchen cabinet, but I want it.

My best friend's words flow through my mind as I contemplate to buy this wonderful mug. "You're already twenty-one, Emilia. You have enough elephant themed objects. God knows how many stuffed elephant toys you have."

Forty-two, to be exact.  

Deciding against buying it, I take a step forward next in line. I give the barista my usual order, a green tea frappuccino, and take a seat at the open booth in the back of the shop. I take out my laptop and notebook from my backpack and begin working on a research assignment for my government class until my name is called. After thanking the barista, I spin on my heel only to be knocked off my feet after colliding into someone. My butt makes a loud thud when I hit the cold cement floor, and my green, cold beverage has spilled over my thin V-neck.

Of all the days, this would happen when I choose to wear white.   

"Shit, are you okay?" A male voice says, kneeling down to my level and apologizing profusely. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answer, not meeting his gaze. "Can you help me up?"

He extends his arm out and I don't hesitate to take his hand as he helps me off the floor. Once on my feet, I'm finally able to see the boy who unintentionally knocked me to the ground. He's tall that's for sure. Being at least a foot shorter than him doesn't help that I have to tilt my head up to look at him properly. His messy honey colored hair is thrown across his face with light curls sticking up in a few directions. He observes me with concerned, hazel eyes that I would have mistaken for green if I didn't see the brown and grey mixture surrounding his pupil.

"Are you sure you're okay?" A prominent accent escapes his lips. Definitely not English. Maybe Australian? "Your shirt," he says, pointing to my chest.

I glance down to see a giant light green stain from the remains of my drink now exposing my bra. "Crap," I mumble and cross my arms over my chest.

"Stay here. I'll be right back. Just wait here, please."

His eyes flicker between mine, silently pleading as he waits for my response. I agree with a nod and he promises to be back quickly before taking off out of the shop.

I rush to the restroom to try and clean myself up as best as I can. I feel a bit bad for the guy. He was so sincere with his apologies and genuinely looked like this incident was entirely his fault. I have no idea where he went but there is no way I can go the rest of the day with a wet shirt. As I continue to wipe off the excess tea and dry my shirt with the cheap brown paper towels, a knock at the door halts my actions.

Before I can respond his voice comes through the door. "Um...Girl That I Spilled Her Drink On?" he calls. "I brought you something to change into."

I open the door slightly, just enough to peek my head through. I don't need him to see my bra again, or anyone for that matter. I already gave a show once and I'd rather not give an encore. He holds out a maroon t-shirt with 'Denver University' written across the chest. I glance at the shirt and back up at him. I chuckle and grab the shirt from his hands, giving him a quick thanks before shutting the door.

"Girl That I Spilled Her Drink On? I really am sorry," he apologizes again.

"Guy Who Spilled My Drink On Me? It's okay," I assure as I pull my wet shirt over my head and replace it with the one he brought me. "You don't have to keep apologizing. Just don't do it again." With the constant apologies and his act of kindness of bringing me a shirt to change in, even if it is a lame university shirt, it is really okay.

He chuckles, but it almost sounds like it's mixed with a giggle. Do guys even giggle? "I know," he says. "I just feel really bad. And I ruined your shirt."

When I come out of the bathroom, he leans against the wall near the door, anxiously fidgeting until he sees me. His curls are slightly flattened, as though he has been running his fingers through his hair repeatedly.

"Thank you," I say, "for bringing me this shirt."

He smiles, revealing the dimples in his cheeks. "It was no problem."

Returning his smile, I walk past him and back to my booth. As I am about to sit down, I hear feet shuffling behind me. I turn to see the boy with a wide grin spread across his face.

Why is he following me?

I forgave him.

Go away.

"I didn't catch your name," he says, lengthening his strides to match mine. "It would be rude if I continued to call you Girl That I Spilled Her Drink On, don't you think?"

I shrug. "I guess, but I don't really give my name to strangers who spill drinks on me."     

"Ashton." He holds his hand out for me to shake.

I stare down at his hand for a moment as if it was a foreign object before looking up to his face again. "Emilia," I say, firmly grasping his hand.

He gives me a big toothy grin and chuckles again. "Now, I'm just a person who spills drinks on you."