𝙂𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙠 𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙𝙮

8.

8. Faster than expected

The man stepped into the light, the metal buttons on his shirt glistening as he walked closer to where I sat. I was too entranced by the way he walk, the way he looked. I felt my heart race against my chest, feeling the beating of a drum as I walked through a battle field of frozen faces and warped bodies. I didn't feel frightened, and I didn't try and move as the man sat down on the piano bench beside me, his hand lightly tapping the keys as I stared at him. He really was a handsome man.

The red of his suit made his icy-blue eye shine brighter than I thought they should, the other whiter than snow, the small quirk of his smirk at my speechlessness was a pathway to a gruesome looking scar that cut straight through his right eye. I followed the scar that ran vertically from the base of his brow to the corner of his lip, trying to form a story to match. I followed the curve of his jaw with my eyes to the pointed ears that escaped a beautiful sea of pink hair, it seemed natural. I traced the scars along the mans face, the scar on his neck that wrapped around it. I blushed slightly as I glance at his profile. He seemed focused on the keys, but every now and then, he would glance my way just as I looked away, a few times we met gazes. His other eye, resembling the bluest of oceans, and holding just as many secrets, cut back to the piano he played. It was a soft tune, but followed the same genre as my own. A sadder, lonely tune that the widows of the world knew very well in their hearts. The lovely, lonely piano had heard many a like this.

"I could ask you the same thing.." He whispered softly, his voice a low rumble next to my ear. He continued to play the slightly out of tune piano that sat in front of us, his fingers working magic on the keys, I didn't realize the rings that adorned them. I didn't remember the question I had asked him, I was far too occupied with studying this man. I watched the man play, trying to match the tune to a name, but my mind was invaded by him. We had just met and I already couldn't get him out of my mind.

"Who are you," I whispered back, hands folded up in my lap as he played, I hadn't heard this song before. I had learned almost every song there was to learn, and yet I had never heard this one. The soft dips and dramatic flare thrown in made it sound like an original, but the rhythm felt familiar in my bones.

"They call me The Blade, but you may call me Techno." The man replied, still focusing on the piano. My lips parted as he closed the song suddenly, almost like the melody was unfinished, like a book that was missing the best pages. It was rather abrupt, but so were most things in this life. Techno looked at me with a flame in his eyes that burned brighter than any lantern in sight. Even though he seemed to be blind in his right eye, it still had a flame.

This was a man poets would write about.

"What do they call you?" He asked, moving his blazer jacket to sit more comfortably on his shoulders, his eyes never leaving my own. I felt my cheeks heat up when I realized I didn't answer, and quickly scrambled to respond, but I end up choking on my own words and staring into my lap.

A hand under my chin forces me to look up, and I do. It's hard to resists when you can't even comprehend what's going on around you. Techno stares into my (e/c) eyes, looking through the collapsing shades for the answer I couldn't quite get out. I felt my mind answer him, but my mouth never moved.

"You seem nervous.." I was. Very nervous.

"I-" I swallow. "I am not." There was no reason to lie, yet I find myself doing so. Techno simply hums in response, letting his hand fall as he stood. He stretched his arms out, his body flexing slightly as he fixed the cuffs of his suit shirt, rings catching the light of the moon as he did. I watched his hands slowly be dropped into the pockets of his pants, and a soft smile spreading across his lips.