coup de foudre | jercy

four: a second new york

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he rambles. or, almost—he quickly backtracks on his phrases, jerks out of the sudden trance the yellow lights and foggy windows have dragged him into. guilty, he apologises for each tangent he nearly runs off on, once, then twice, then a third, a sheepish grin creeping on his face with every sorry.

i never understood that. apologising for speaking. i'm sometimes stuck doing the opposite—these past few years, conceding to old friends that, sure, i'm quieter than they remember, even if it doesn't feel like i've changed once in my life.

so i don't really get percy apologising for speaking too much.

he trails off again. the fourth apology from him tonight, albeit light-hearted. part of me wants to tell him to stop apologising; that there's something about the manner he speaks in, that voice of his that melts the air apart, it'd be hard for someone to not endear, even if they tried. i try focusing on his words and ignoring the light acne scars scattered beneath his right cheekbone, a constellation imprinted on the side of his face.

"well..." the hints of a smile licks at his face. "i heard you came to the café again," he says. "that you asked for me?"

i should've seen that coming—it's completely my fault that i don't. still, it catches me off-guard. his eyebrows are slightly raised, indicating his question, but for some reason, i hesitate to give the same excuse i gave his friend.

it's a disconcerting hesitation. as if wouldn't be the easy type of talking i'm used to—the simple duet of a mild lie and a mild voice. looking through the woven threads of frost splayed on the window, then back at percy, i wonder if he could guess my answer. maybe he knows it better than me. i suspect it in the slight lift of his lips, the brightness in his eyes that wait for me to catch up.

"i don't know why. just... curious." he waits, in case there's anything more for me to say. thing is, curious doesn't put it quite so—and if so, what had i been curious of? rather obviously, i'm not inclined to tell a stranger that the thought of him has been whispering in my head all week. "does there have to be a reason?"

"'course not! i don't know a reason for half the things i do."

"yeah." i like that word, yeah. it's an easy way to sink back into the silence. my father would hate it when i was a kid—the moment i wanted a discussion to stop, i would bring out that word like a golden shield, uttering the chant again and again and again until he finally left.

percy taps his fingers against his thigh, starting to hum a vaguely familiar tune. almost an overlay to the bus's rhythmic buzzing. wordlessly, he catches himself, and stops. the bus continues without him.

do i really want this conversation to stop?

"is it just you and your sister? or any other siblings?"

he looks surprised that i asked him. his mouth splits into a slanted grin, giving him dimples—lines along his cheek, imprints of crumpled paper on his chin—as a certain energetic interest splashes over his face.

"just the two of us," he admits, "though we're half-siblings—same mom, different dad. no hard feelings, but my step-dad's considerably cooler." he says the last part with a small tongue-in-cheek expression that creases his chin a second time. i return his humour best as i can, and he turns it back on me: "what about you?"

again, something i should've expected but forgot to think of.

"um." i'm suddenly hesitant. my family isn't bad—i just don't speak of them. never personally. "i have an older sister."