Besides that, I kept looking at them through the reflection. I could not look directly at him because we had this imaginary quarrel, made from the fact I was too much of a coward to continue the conversation I initiated in the first place. He always seemed very busy with his friends and his life. I would be obsessive, almost psychotic if I continuously looked at him. Sometimes I couldn’ t look away. He had beautiful eyes and good bone structure. He reminded me of someone who reminded me of Nicholas Hoult, who reminded me of Ed Skrein, whom I had the biggest crush on. I could look at his expressions without looking at the other half of the bus, especially when we passed by thick dark green leaves, even hedges, tall and green.
He also refused to look to the back of him, and I would know because I was looking at him through the glass. We had a mutual agreement not to acknowledge each other.
I wasn’ t looking at him throughout. I couldn’ t even if I wanted to. The bus was still moving, and not all places had hedges, and outside, however bleak it was, had interesting enough landmarks. So, I looked ahead, and to my left, but rarely to my right.
This guy had this subtle gayness about him. He exuded this unexplainable sense of " he ' s into guys”. It was mostly in his body movements, the way he gestured to people, the way he walked. It did when I met him, which made it easier for me to talk to him. It was also in his speech, the way he dressed, and his eyes. Truth be told, I didn ' t want a romantic relationship with him or anything; he was gay to me. But I kept wondering what fun our friendship would be. We could have been bus besties. We could have been laughed like he and his friends were laughing now. I could have been a part of his little group.
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