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sometimes, she wonders why she keeps on going to that small shelter in the middle of the garden every time the air smells of pre-rain, every time the clouds hung closer in the sky, every time the day seemed to be washed with a grayish blue tint.
this friend of hers — she still doesn't know his name. and he still didn't know hers.
but every time, as she comes to this small place, that has her heart always, she finds relief in the fact that he too keeps on coming here.
they're good friends. they share meals that she brought with her while often talking about small insignificant details of their lives (although she admits it's a little vague when it comes to him). she draws and paints, and he reads a different book every time.
sometimes, they exchange interests.
today, she is teaching him how to paint with watercolours, a paint that he says he's unfamiliar with.
he says they use acrylics more where he's from.
"when you begin, it is best you do it thin for first layer. once it dries, you can add a more detailed and darker layer on top."
"like this?", he asked quietly after he painted a blue flower.
she hummed approvingly, and smiled.
yesterday, he lent her a book he likes a lot and she was very invested to every surprising scene.
"no way the author just killed my favorite!", she gasped, then continued to ramble about how they could've let him live, how this character was having the most wonderful character development until they unnecessarily killed him off for the main character's spotlight.
she was upset about it and still is. he was just happy to hear her talk so loosely with him now.
loki loved annotating his books. there were notes on the book at confusing cliffhanger parts, stating things like 'irritating', 'what was the reason?', 'infuriating', and 'better not be a plot hole'. he drew tiny flowers and birds doodles and once drew a full scenery of a sunset from a balcony on an empty page.
she admired those tiny notes and drawings and treasured the memory of them in her mind well.
right now, they let the painting dry on the other seat. you see, instead of sitting across from each other, this time he has moved to her side and they find it much better that way.
they're drinking tea from her thermos bottle. she brought two paper cups that she asked for in a local coffeeshop, and poured the tea in each for the both of them.
she watched him carefully as he talked about his mother, kind and gentle he described her as, also beautiful and loving. her attention fully fixated at him, at the tilt of his jaw from this angle, at the perfectly carved cheekbone that framed him, at his long, lush eyelashes.
nothing could come to mind when she tried to find a word to describe him, to describe how it felt being this close to someone so majestic, so ethereal.
"staring, now are we?", his voice whispered in a teasing tone, as his head turned ever so slightly to face her.
her face warmed immensely, caught in the act, "i'm sorry."
"don't be.", he laughed lightly.
it's truly a shame that no one had probably told him how attractive his laugh is.
impulsively, she lifted her hand and gently but full of certainty, brushed her fingers against his cheek.
he stilled, but didn't say a thing. no, there were no words from his pale pink lips, because truthfully, he was at loss of it.
her fingertips only skimmed the surface, her touch barely felt if not for the trail of warmth that she left behind.
she traced his jaw, and his cheekbone, stopped before she touched his lips.
her eyes, deep and pretty, met his own bright and glittering ones.
"i'm sorry.", she said again with a stunned look, confusion evident in her slight frown. she didn't know why she did what she did, but she knew that it felt right.
he shook his head softly, "don't be."
author's note:
i seriously don't want to go back to school :/ but alas, tomorrow is only in a few hours.
