She wears layer upon layer of clothing, as if she can just guess that in a dark corner of your mind, you'd love to peel them all away. It's odd, because you never even knew that corner existed before her, and now that it's made itself known, it's been rather persistent in its flickering fantasies. You can see her waterproof coat, her worn sweater, her t-shirt that's just a bit too tight for you to focus on anything having to do with whatever Mr. Banner is prattling about…stop. It's all so incredibly clear on this rainy day in this high school biology classroom.

She wears her hair down around her face so that it hides her eyes whenever she chooses; it's as if she's all too aware that they're what you long to see. It's true. You want to see those eyes even more than you want to see whatever is under those layers of fabric, and that's frightening for you, because these longings are far too dangerous for you both.

She stretches her arms above her head and fidgets in her chair, like she knows it'll get that remaining sliver of your attention that was so desperately trying to come up with something, anything, to distract your wondering eyes. She'll never know where your eyes linger; the movement is much too swift. But she deserves so much more than a peeping tom, so that stretching drives you even further up the wall.

She glances at you, and then turns quickly away, although it doesn't matter how fast she tries to move; you've seen her in slow motion. She does this like she's perfectly able to read your mind, all the way to that far corner that's so full of explicit and embarrassing secrets; that's so full of her.

She curls long and bony fingers around her pen, brings it to her mouth, sucks. It's like she knows it turns you on, knows you hate to think about this tightening in your chest, because it's such a juvenile way to behave. Then again, perhaps this youthful sin isn't so bad. You've found that despite your gentlemanly pretenses, you like this feeling quite a lot. It's a new and exciting sensation, and it's been such a dreadfully long time since your body's felt anything real, let alone new.

She looks away from you, apparently listening to the lecture, and embarrassed to have seen you watching her. Your noble side hates to admit it, but your self control has lapsed yet again, and you've been openly staring for just a fraction of a second too long. The burning in the back of your throat isn't so intense today, since you're so distracted with certain other burning feelings. God, it's like she does all this on purpose, just to get a reaction from you.

She can't really be as oblivious as she seems to be while she diligently takes notes. She can't really be so unaffected. Or it is just you that feels like your long-dormant heart is about to explode right out of your chest?

As if she's just realized her effect, she finally turns to give you a real look, rather than just one of her many timid and fleeting glances. Her mouth curves into the most exquisite little half-smile that you so desperately wish you could unlock.

With all her layers, movements, and expressions, you fall just a little bit harder, a little bit faster. She has to know her own power, but you suppose she doesn't because the longer you hold her gaze, the more evident the mouthwatering blush on her cheeks becomes. It's this that forces you to break the eye contact, because not only do you now feel like an idiot for embarrassing her once more, but the rush of blood to her face causes your hands to clench while the venom in your throat begins to saturate your mouth and mind.

She seems to know all your secret desires without even knowing what she does to you. You've tried thousands of times to get into her head, yet you can't help but be glad to at least have the excuse to study her. You can't believe you're even considering this, but you absolutely adore the way she makes you cringe, how she makes you more than slightly uncomfortable with her every twitch and movement.

You suppose you'll have to stop this falling sometime, but you hope to God you're wrong.