He Had A Freaking Moustache Once.

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When was it the first time they met?

Oh yeah, that extreme Frisbee championship during Pre-Law. It was like, five years ago, right? And she didn’t even see him if it was not for her friends kept mentioning his nickname.

Sergeant.

“What did you call him?” she asked, squinting at the direct sunlight above their heads. It was only ten in the morning and the heat was already this fucking sizzling.

“Sergeant,” her friend told her again, eyes were fixed on the teams getting prepared on the field. Sergeant was there, and he was warming up with his team mates. She was wondering why he was given that nickname, when she took another good look at him as he was climbing the spectators’ seats next to the field to get his drinking bottle from his friend.

Moustache. A fucking moustache.

“Oh, Sergeant…” she said spontaneously as he walked in front of her, and he turned around, puzzled.

“Yes?”

“Ah, no. Nothing. Hi.” She said awkwardly, and her friend laughed. He was still puzzled but he smiled anyways, and asked for her name. Glad that he took the hi normally and rather friendly, she told him her name and he said what a boyish name it is for a girl.

She can’t really remember when they really became friends, though. Probably when he friended her on Facebook and she accepted it. Everyone was friend with everyone there, anyways. And knowing someone from your own programme really helped her a lot by then.

Being in the same circle of friends, they met regularly during dinners and lunches, sometimes breakfast if she wasn’t too lazy to walk to the cafeteria on holidays. Either he’s joining her, or she’s joining him. He is fun to be around, and he loves telling stories; ideas. She loves ideas, and people with ideas attract her. So he kept on talking, and she kept on listening.

And no, no she wasn’t having a crush on him yet by then. Because he was still the Sergeant, and she was still in love crushing on someone else (who never shout or curse, and she never see this guy getting angry).