Looks Can Be Deceiving

Dylan exhales.

The smoke rising fast like steam before curling and dissipating into the frigid autumn air. The bitter sweet blanket of nicotine slowly seeps into his systems, coating some of his nerves in its tar forcing them to calm. He knows he should really quit. He should. It's plain ironic to be a biology student and still be smoking actual cigarettes. But he lets himself off this time. He needs this. Dear God, does he need this, because he is almost definitely, royally screwed. His lab report's due in 2 days and he's got no clue what he's doing with his data. If he fails this one, his average will be brought way down and then...yeah, he doesn't want to think too much about that. It's a miracle he managed to even get back into education, never mind get into a halfway decent University. And he barely made any friends in first year so there's no chance he can ask somebody on his course for help now. Fúck it. Whatever. Yeah, he should have known good things in his life don't last for long. If he believed in curses he'd say he's cursed but since he doesn't have that sort of belief, he just knows that it's just his shítty life.

"Hey Dylan."

Or maybe not...

He stamps out the cigarette, focusing onto the incredibly preppy brown girl before him. Yeah, he vaguely recognises her. But he has no idea of her name, all he knows is that she's possibly in his tutor group. Cute though, maybe he should turn up to those more often.

Seeing as he doesn't remember her name he goes with a head lift as a sign of acknowledgement.

"You came. To class I mean. That's awesome."
He gives her an odd look. It's not that awesome.
"Sure...if you say so."
Rather than being put off she beams wider at him, walking beside him into the building.
"I mean if you had a pick a class to come to, this was probably a good choice. I hear this lecturer can be a real díck and doesn't record."
He knew that already. It's exactly why he'd turned up to this one. Even though he may not always come to lectures, he catches up or at least he tries to by playing back their recordings.
"Yeah I heard that too."
"Oh hey, by the way, how's your report going? Ugh! I procrastinate writing the introduction so much."
Thank God! Maybe he's not so cursed after all.
"Honestly, not that great. I've got the introduction done and methods but that's about it. I'm stuck on the data analysis bit so I can't exactly do much more," he sighs.
Hopefully, this is the part where she offers to help. If she doesn't...well, he's not going to force her.
"Trade you? I help you on the data analysis and you make sure I get my introduction done?"
Dylan gives her a tilt of his lips. Perfect.
"Sounds good...mate."
She gives a snort of laughter, "you've totally forgot my name haven't you?"
Dylan's not one to blush, especially since most people take one look at his appearance and stay the hell away. What they do not do is tend to tease or embarrass him so of course this rarity causes a flash of read to lightly streak his pale cheeks.
"It's okay, it's Meera by the way. And I'm Room 36 in Block A of the Wilkin's building. Come over around like 4."
"Cool and er, thanks Meera."

Later that evening he meets her at her dorm room, which is surprisingly messy. It's the small things he notices that really give an insight to her personality and that seems to be bright technicolour. The fairy lights she has strung up are little stars, the pictures pinned all of people smiling and laughing and then there are the bizarre mugs around the room, some still with a little tea in.

"This is..." he trails off.

"Messy? I know, I know. I cleared the bed though! Unless...you prefer the desk?"
He shrugs, he's not too fused. Bed, desk, floor. He's not bothered, as long as it's never a hospital again.
She folds herself onto it, dragging her laptop up and a piece of paper. Following suit, Dylan toes off his shoes and hops on too, pulling out his own computer. As she leans against the headboard, he sits perpendicular to her leaning against the wall instead.
"So I have this sheet that basically takes you through it step by step from this person in the year above. It's not so hard now they've broken it down. Basically, you convert the absorbance to concentration, then use the Michaelis Menten equation to find the Vmax, convert it into the right units and multiply by Avagadro's constant to get the molecules of enzyme. Lastly from that you can just work out the kcat."

Dylan takes a moment to think about all that before nodding slowly. Okay, yeah, that makes sense.
"Thank you. I'd forgotten about Avagardo's constant and I don't think I'd converted the units correctly either."
"Of course, no problem," grins Meera, pushing up the large black framed glasses. He'd never seen her with those glasses on but they really suit her, definitely fitting with the whole hot, geek/nerd vibe she has going on.
He glances back down at the information sheet he's been handed, allowing her to get back to working too. A few minutes later as he hears her typing away he can't help but gaze back up, his eyes scanning her head to toe.

Of course she's dressed comfy casual in shorts, hoody and sleep socks. Her hair's haphazardly falling from its space bun things and her face is bare. It all works for her though. Really works for her. Damn, he wonders if she has a boyfriend. Does her boyfriend know he's here? Not relevant. Not fúcking relevant, Dylan.
Focus.

Yeah, his head drops back down to get back to his work.



Meera feels her attention wandering as she finishes about half of her introduction. God, she hates the introduction, having to troll through like a hundred papers to get a few sentences worth using in her report, it's the worst! It's nice to have someone here to keep her accountable though or she totally would have spent the whole night doing it, procrastinating most of the time and speed writing it just before bed. Although...maybe he's more of a distraction than any she could create herself. Yeah, he fits the bad boy stereotype to a T, at least in his appearance. The face piercings, the tattoos, the dark clothes; it would all be a bit much had Meera not seen it on Dylan. But take all that away and he'd still be drop dead gorgeous though. She reckons he's always got some Asian blood in him. She's half Indian herself but his is probably East Asian. Maybe, maybe not, is that racist to think? She's not sure. There would one way to easily find out however, she's too chicken to ask that. There is definitely one thing she's curious about though.

"I heard you went to prison for a bit."

Dylan certainly wasn't expecting the break in the silence. And since he wasn't expecting that he certainly wasn't prepared for that loaded question. He blinks those long lashes of his, mind jumpstarting to the sudden change in topic.

"Er..." he stumbles, not quite sure even how to answer that or if he wants to.

Thankfully she jumps straight back in, saving him from the drowning pool she pushed him into.
"Nevermind, I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to...Anyway. How about a cup of tea? I could use a break."
And just like that she has him fitting off a grin. His head ducks before he glances up, losing the fight to the smile and thankfully letting her off the hook.
"Yeah, sounds good. One sugar and splash of milk please."
The thought of supressing her smile doesn't even come to Meera, it's almost a permeant fixture on her face with how naturally and easily it appears. It also somehow just draws in its audience to her effortless radiance and Dylan is no different to its magnetic effect.

"Coming right up," she chirps, pushing aside her work onto the already cluttered desk and grabbing two mugs before going down to the kitchen.

At her departure, Dylan closes his own laptop. He's got his graphs done so it shouldn't take too long now to write up the results and discussion now that he actually has some things to talk about. With one weight off his shoulders he's more open to the curiosity creeping up on him about Meera. She has a few posters up but they're mostly cute motivational ones. Personally it makes him want to throw up but from the glimpses he's seen of her, fluffy, cute stuff like that seems fairly in-keeping with her character. Christ, she even has a stuffed little bunny on her shelf!
All in all, this girl is a total 180 to him for sure. In fact, she's the complete opposite of most of the girls he's ever hung out with, been friends with or even dated. Yeah, his last girlfriend was a part-time beautician and part-time stripper. Somehow he doubts that would even have been an option of a career path for Meera. Not that he's complaining. That girl had been hot as fúck and knew how to use her body in incredible, mind-blowing ways; unfortunately, she'd also come with a lot of issues. Then again, at that point he'd been a basket case too trying to crawl out of that dark pit. He's not exactly up in the sky, reaching for the stars yet however he is out of the hole, able to at least see those twinkling lights of possibility. That has been a journey in itself.

"Alright, major decision. Now, take your time and think hard. Fox mug or cat mug?"

Once again he's broken out of his self-deprecating state of mind by her humour. This time he doesn't even think to hide his small chuckle, hand reaching out for the fox mug randomly. She slips out of her carpet slippers and this time joins him against the wall.
"So I was kinda out of line asking you about prison but can I just say, your tattoos are majorly cool."

Dylan glances down at the portions on show. He'd saved up ages for the two sleeves of shaded artwork and he had often thought whether he'd regret them in upcoming years but so far no regrets. At least...not about the tats. He's a little surprised that she commented on them. Dylan has to admit that they do tend to draw in a lot of women, even ones he wouldn't have thought would be into body art, so actually, maybe he shouldn't be so shocked Meera's into it. She's just as much a woman as any other he's met. But he didn't get them for vanity reasons. The piercings...maybe but not the tats. They're...they're actually significant to him, like bits of his soul radiating out and exposing itself on him physically as he locks the rest away.

"Cheers," he flatly responds.
"Though I'm sure you didn't just get them because they look cool. Don't worry! I won't ask you the meaning or whatever behind them. Personal territory, I get it."
Does she though? Dylan's not too certain yet he's certain she doesn't mean to be pushy. Clearly she's just a curious kitty and he's frankly a little amused by it. Why him? Surely she's not trying to fall into the cliché of 'try to save a broken soul' bullshít.
"It's cool. But why'd you think I'd gone to prison?"

He's not exactly made enough friends at Uni to have rumours like that spreading around so where did she get that idea from?

"I don't know," shrugs Meera but Dylan's not convinced. She nervously takes a sip of her drink not meeting his gaze and that confirms it for him- Meera is a terrible liar.
He's fine with letting this slide though. It's not like it even matters whatever she's heard about him. Obviously she thinks good enough of him to help him out so it's not all bad.

"I didn't by the way," casually comments Dylan.

Meera's interest is definitely spiked now. Her instinct for digging paired with a heightened sense of curiosity doesn't always serve her well outside of work so she normally can get them both leashed and controlled but just something about Dylan makes them go barking mad. She's seen people sort of like him before; the types that are broody, emo-like with this infuriating need to draw down the mood of any room they enter purely for their pleasure, and so she hasn't exactly leapt at the chance to meet or befriend these people before. But Dylan's not like that. Her gut is just screaming at her that all that attire is part of him, yes but it's also a cover for a really sweet, genuine guy.
Then again, she may be trying to make him to be something he's not, projecting her own desires onto him though she strongly believes she's a good judge of character.

"Yeah, kinda crazy I guess."
"Well it's not that far-fetched. The law and I have an on-again-off again relationship. Worse than Rachel and Ross in fact."
Meera humours him with a tilt of her full lips but she's not done with the questions yet, not by a long shot. Every little scrap he's chucking her way makes her all the hungrier for the whole joint.

"What do you mean? And weed and underage drinking don't really count."

Technically they do but Dylan decides it's moot point. With a quiet exhale and a prolonged pause, Dylan take the path down the crossroads he's at that he very rarely takes. His foot lands heavily on it, no hesitation and that is an equally frightening and exciting sign. He has little time to analyse it though, his gaze focusing on the drawing pull of those molten brown orbs which anchor him as he begins.

"My parents had me when they were barely adults themselves, split almost as soon as I was born too. Mum moved back in with my nan and went to study nursing which meant I spent most of my time with my dad. He was a shít excuse for a man let alone a dad but of course I didn't know at the time. I looked up to him, wanted to be hard like him, classic hero worship. And he definitely took advantage of that. I was his delivery boy. I was 9 when they first caught me dealing the weed, they'd let me off with a warning as my dad put on the performance of a lifetime. There were a few more warnings after that but it was at the coke they finally saw through the bullshít.

As dad went to jail I was passed off to mum. It was a massive change from doing whatever the hell I wanted to having people who actually wanted me to do well. It was the best times of my life. It was all thanks to my mum and nan I managed to get half-decent GCSE marks and even get into college for A-levels."

He takes a pause reminiscing those days. He'd felt like he actually belonged to a real family back then. There'd been a warmth to the home even on those chilly winter days and it wasn't even anything big that made it that way. It was all the small things. How you'd ask anyone around if they wanted a cup of tea if you were making one, get together to watch Eastenders or even shout out hello throughout the house getting in. His heart aches for that and hopes desperately one day to have that and more.

"Why do I have a feeling there's more?" muses Meera.
Dylan glances away from her and shrugs his shoulders in a nonchalant way she's not convinced by. He pushes his empty mug onto the desk to join hers, then as he folds his knees up, he lays his elbows to rest on them, his gaze focused on the worn out hideous blue carpet.

"When I was just going into Year 13, mum went in for a check-up at the doctor for this cold and left with a diagnosis of stage 3C bréast cancer. Of course she was put on treatment but after 6 months it wasn't doing much and she progressed to stage 4. I missed my results day to watch my mum die."

Meera honestly doesn't know what to say so she says nothing. Her heartbreaks at that, she can't possibly imagine how absolutely terrible it must have been to go through that. It's pure instinct that has her scouting just an inch closer to him, her shoulder grazing his as she waits for him to carry on in his own time.

"I lost direction after that and things just seemed to...slip away. I didn't end up going to Uni, my aunt took nan away to live closer to her and since they all expected me to be off to Uni I was left there. So when my dad actually offered me a room, I took it. I lived with him on and off for 2 years. Life was a mess with me being mostly high from drugs or high from adrenaline, it was one fix after another and all pointless. I'd ended up in hospital once, someone had had the sense to call an ambulance and lying there in hospital, strung out, one of my mum's friends was working that day and seeing the look on her face-it had said it all. I'd hit rock bottom."

He gazes down at her hand on his bicep. The small, unblemished brown of her hand contrasting to his inked, pale skin. God, he feels absolutely ancient compared to her due more to his roller-coaster of a life than their actual ages.
He should go.

He should really go or who knows what might happen. He's clearly never had good self-control and all that he's built up is being severely tested sitting alone with Meera. Not that that's an excuse. Yes, she's unbelievably more beautiful up-close and personal but he's also a grown man who has a perfectly working moral compass.

"I should go. Er-listen thanks for helping me out-"

As Dylan tears forward in suddenly in a haste to leave, Meera has to be quick to overcome the whiplash of his actions. Her hand reach for his forearm, tightening their grip to have him notice enough to pause.
"Woah, hold on. You can't just dump then dash," she comments as he suppresses an unwilling smile at her quirky phrasing.

He slumps back and winces. Yeah, she's right about the emotional baggage dropping. Holy shít, what is wrong with him? That is a lot for a first meeting, for a first real conversation with this girl. As weak of a line as it sounds, the fact that she's just so easy to talk to, is the real truth of it. Or maybe it's because he's been wanting to just share that with someone at Uni. Just for someone to realise that yeah, he doesn't belong here. Who knows why, all Dylan knows is that he should have tried to contain at least some of that word vomit and not made things super weird between them. At least this time, it'll be someone avoiding him and not the other way around.

"You're right. I'm...I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have just.."
Her head tilts as she gazes back at him, " 'just', what? Said all that to me? Because honestly, I don't mind. Who hasn't done something in their past they've regretted? Who hasn't felt their parents have at some point fúcked them up a little? Yeah, maybe it's not all to the extent you've been through, but everybody's got their issues. As long as you're dealing with them healthily, then that's all that matters."
He blinks for a moment, wondering if clapping her for that 'go get 'em' speech would be undermining. Probably. Though she's not wrong.
"It's a bit much for a first-well, second conversation."
"Maybe," she muses and then shrugs, "but deep conversations and shít might be normal for us."

Dylan raises his pierced eyebrow and with a teasing grin asks, "there's an us?"

Instead of blushing or getting shy on him as he would have expected she simply laughs and gives him a friendly push.
"Mate, you just told me your whole life story. It'd be a bit of an anti-climax if we never spoke again after this."
He can't help but grin and nod in agreement. That would indeed be such a downer especially as he surprisingly feels more comfortable and relaxed with her than he's been with anyone in a long, long time.
"Alright, go on, your turn. It's only fair," he urges with a slight nudge back.
"Nah, it's all pretty boring. I grew up with both my parents, went to school, went to college, ended up here," she summarises before a devious glint crosses those big, round eyes, amplified by her glasses.
He curiosity is definitely spiked now and when she doesn't continue he has to ask, "what? There's something you wanna tell me, isn't there?"
Meera glances away, her lips pursing as she glances away and shakes her head causing some more tendrils to slip out.
"No, I can't," she giggles, "it's super personal."
Dylan rolls his eyes retorting, "more personal than sharing you were an ex-druggie?"
She bites her lip while really assessing him. He's completely serious about this though, he totally wants to know whatever wicked secret she has hidden under those layers of cute, geeky fluff.

Finally, she sighs and states, "fine, fine. But remember you asked for this, so don't go screaming about needing your memory rubbed out after this."
Now he wants to know more than ever. What the hell could this be? He swears if she's just messing with him and blurts out something subpar like she once kissed her friend's boyfriend or something, he's going to scream.
"I won't, I won't. Though I can't imagine what this massive secret is?"
"Shh just close your eyes and relax, okay," she hushes.

********************

This part is continued on my profile on Inkitt (under the same name). For more details look at the 'Foreword' at the start.

*********************

Meera exhales loudly. She's still a little in shock, her thoughts still jumbled and crumpled. She presumes he's gone to the bathroom, which is enough time for her to toss her clothes back on.
She's pulling her hair up into a ponytail when he re-enters and suddenly it's back to awkwardness.
Should she pretend this didn't happen? Can they be friends-or even, friendly- after that?

"Dyl-"
"Meer-"

The both stop.
Dylan's hand sweeping back one of the tendrils of her hair to behind her ear as he admits, "I'm not sure what to say with you."
"You didn't have any trouble before," she points out with a small smile.
He grins back, "before I didn't know how good it felt to be inside you or how fúcking amazing you are when you cóme."
Meera feels the blood rush to her cheeks and although her skin colouring won't allow that slight bit of embarrassment to show, she's still tongue tied by the emotion.
"What I mean though is...I wanna take you out."
There must be a wide, idiotic beam on her face right now but she doesn't care and instead nods, "okay."
"But-" her smile falls, "I already know there's something here which is why it's not a good idea."
That makes no sense to her at all and she was with him until then. Her confused expression must have said it all.
"Babe, look at me. Look at you. You think your family's going to be happy with me hanging around you?-"

Meera rolls her eyes and silences him with a kiss.

"No offence but that is the single most stupid thing I've heard. This is the 21st Century, Dylan and if you're worried about my parents being all strict and stuff, don't. I mean, my Indian mother married a white dude against her parents' wishes, I think rebelling is in my DNA."
His shoulders relax at that but he's acutely aware and determined not to be a bad influence in her life. He won't play into that stereotype and he'll be damned if he's the reason she looks back in how ever many years and blames him for leading her astray.
"Fine but I don't want them saying I corrupted their baby girl," he shrugs pulling back slightly and tossing on his t-shirt.
He catches her rolling her eyes and crossing her arms across her chest just before he tugs down the material.

"Do I really look that innocent?" she exasperates.

He considers her question for a moment,wondering whether she seriously wants him to answer that.

Risking it, he pulls her into his chestand bends down for a long kiss before honestly stating, "yes but now I knowyou, I know looks can be deceiving."