lovesnotmyforte
iris clarke found elijah hewon irritating, perplexing. he found her interesting, enticing. that was how it started.
iris already knew who he was. everyone did. elijah hewson: the boy with the famous father and the sharp cheekbones, the singer in that band that was starting to play local pubs. he had that soft kind of fame that clung to him like smoke - not overwhelming, but present enough to shift the mood of a room. when he introduced himself, he mumbled. when he sat down in the chair next to her, he smelled like rain and cigarettes.
iris didn't care. or told herself she didn't.
she was the kind of girl who memorized poems for comfort, who underlined sylvia plath and circled metaphors like they were talismans. she liked things neat, quiet, definable. elijah was none of those things. he was noise and movement and half formed thoughts scribbled in the back his school books.