Ignited [z.m]

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Hey guys, sorry for the previous chapter being so short, I just felt like it should be kept like that and a continuation to it wouldn't make sense.

As always please vote, comment and do enjoy one of my favorite chapters. All the love x

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|Anastasia |

The bitter Bradford air nipped at my skin as my feet carried me towards my well known destination, my tattered black hoodie being drawn closer to my body with every step I took.

Every night has played out this way ever since I first moved into this fogged up town, and every night, I felt more empowered and more driven to find out what lurks within the dark shadows of every corner.

A warm liquid seeped through what was once a dry, black shirt cascading down my body, making it damp. I automatically felt my face contort into a cringe at the unpleasant sensation. I looked up, only to meet the same mesmerizing eyes I had the pleasure of coldly greeting only hours ago.

I racked my train of thoughts for any rational phrase I could use, but when I opened my mouth to speak, not a single word was emitted. I imagined what I'd look like to any citizen passing by; a true idiot. Due to the strain in my muscles, it was clear to me that my jaw had dropped at least an inch, which in turn only signaled that my mouth was left agape.

The heated drink was left to remain insignificant to me due to the tropical feel that gave its odor such intensity. Its texture was unpleasant, yes, but it's exotic aroma outweighed all the negative aspects that clutched oh-so-dearly onto my shirt.

"And what name do you give this horrible creation of yours?" I bitterly spat at the rather decent looking lad.

"It's called Ignited," he began.

"And it is warm to ensure that any toxins and bacteria have been denatured-"

"And who I said I valued this irrelevant information, inked canvas?" The name I happened to just give him slipped from the loose grip that held my lips together before I had even managed to register the definition hidden within them. It was too late to take it back, and honestly, I wouldn't have been able to take my words back, having been further interrupted by inked canvas.

"Oh, right, yes, of course," his words were muffled by his irregular breaths that came out more ragged as seconds passed by.

"I didn't mean to waste your time, I just thought this information might be of use to you," crystal clear beads of sweat began to roll down the creases in his forehead, and he slowly lifted a shaky arm to eliminate them. "I don't know why I assumed that. Do forgive me."

It became clear to me that he was going through an attack of some sort. What category it belonged to or how severe it was proved to be beyond me.

A swirl of foreign emotions took home in my body as I extended a hand and placed it on his cladded shoulder. Only then did I take notice of his lustrous leather jacket. It felt rough between my fingers- a great contrast to my usual hoodie.

"Are you alright?" This show of concern did not resemble me in anyway whatsoever, and only then was I forced to take notice of his hazel orbs. It seemed that through them, everything you despised was found lovable, and everything you loved found magical.

"No, I mean yes, yes, I'm alright," it was apparent that he was getting more flustered by the second; his face was painted with colors of bewilderment.

"Why do you look so perplexed?" I wasn't used to being in situations like this. Yes, I had been the cause of someone's suffering several times, be it a gash on the leg or a bruise on an eye, but I had never been the other end of an encounter like this, nor had I first handedly experienced what I assumed to be a panic attack.

Something about the way this man stood, with a posture so perfect and his limbs aligned set a fire in me. I didn't know if it was the light the only moon we've ever known granted us that enhanced his face from the angle he stood on, or if it was the way his eyes grew darker with every worry he's had to carry upon his broad shoulders. It could have been the polished silver ring he wore on the middle finger of his right hand, gleaming with every move his hand made, but I felt the absolute need to form and hand an apology of some sort to this man.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," I struggled. This was not my forte. "We could get you another drink?"

He visibly relaxed, and I was yet again abandoned with my endless train of thoughts. Why did his shoulders loosen up, and why did I not notice their stiffness? Why did I not notice the tense atmosphere than encased him? And more importantly, why did I feel the need to help?Despite the several minutes spent attempting to calm him from his uncalled for attack and regaining his eased out self, his eyes still flashed with worry, drowned with fear, and oddly enough, still smiled with kindness.

This had me determined to find out or about inked canvas (or whatever the name printed on his certificate spelled).

I was intrigued by his indescribable behavior, put together self, and thoughtful nature. I was intent on finding out his story, and the thought of it alone, petrified me to excessive amounts.