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chapter fourteen, flâneur
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THERE'S A FRENCH PHRASE THAT DAPHNEcoined off of her grand-mère, one that's been on her mind a lot recently.
Flâneur. It's used to describe someone that simply strolls around, observing life and all of the surrounding world in a manner that's aimless but enjoyable. An idle person that relaxes into a nonchalant and unbothered lifestyle without any hassle — it just comes naturally. Devil may care. Unbothered. Daphne has always felt that this perfectly describes her cousin, Evan, which is why seeing him so inexplicably off makes her heart ache. Change usually sends a chill through her, but there's something even more morbid about the difference in him.
Evan looks like Hell, and that's her putting it nicely. He's gaunt, a worryingly pale husk of the boy he was a few weeks ago. Amaranthine craters bruise his under eyes, a galaxy of blue veins and insomniac's pomegranate piercing into his fair skin. There's a glassy film over his irises, as if he's staring at something that isn't there — caught up in his own little world with no way to reach him. An unlit cigarette hangs limply from his mouth, but the ash scorched on his jumper sleeve indicates that it isn't his first.
"Oh. You found me," he says when he spots her creeping up the stairs. He doesn't turn to face her. "Well done."
"I know you too well," she replies, folding her arms over her chest defensively. Her first guess had been the Astronomy Tower, and it appears that she guessed correctly.
"Have you got a light?" Evan asks hoarsely. "Don't tell me you've come to see me without bringing a light, cousin."
Daphne swings her legs over the side of the balcony, resting her chin upon the railing so that she can get a better look at the landscape. The rising sun only makes his pallid face more carved with shadow. She flicks open her ancient 'I Heart New York!' lighter begrudgingly. It always stung to use it, memories of their mother surfacing with the sparking flame. ( She'd brought it back from a business trip years ago. Daphne had to toughen up — she couldn't even handle a worthless souvenir without her mascara running. ) Evan eyes it sorrowfully but he lights his cig all the same, polluting the air with its wispy smoke.
