Youth [h.s.]

Chapter Four: Blackstar.

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"Something happened on the day he died
Spirit rose a metre then stepped aside
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried-"

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She kept taking glances to where he was sitting, the chewed up end of a black inked pen between his lips and pinched between his teeth as he stares down at the worn out brown leather journal on his lap. Normally she'd stalk up to the table and ask the customer to put their feet down, absolutely fed up with scrubbing mud off the couch cushions, but this was different. She felt the responsibility to guard him from being disturbed, the concentration in his dark furrowed brows needed not to be raised nor the steady rhythm of his breathing she's been counting to for the past five minutes as she scribbles on her hand words that flicker like lighter sparks in her lonesome mind.

"AJ, give table 3 their orders." Kayla came up with a huff, writing down in her pad aggressively. "You'd think a little cleavage would boost up my tips but no. Only stupid phone numbers. Want them?"

"Yeah, uh, yes Kayla." She replies distractedly, moving her neck around Kayla's body so she could keep an eye on him. He hasn't moved since 8 a.m. other than bringing his pen to his cheek, where the dimple caves in when he smiles even the slightest.

"Here," Kayla's loud voice snaps her back from the unfamiliar trance. "You alright?"

  "Yeah.. Just tired."

"Bale give you a wild night, huh? Lucky girl." Kayla winks, blonde braid nearly slapping her in the face as she turns curtly to walk away, skip in her step as always. Kayla was a woman with a lot to say but not much to offer when it comes to what she prefers in an individual, a friend, a person. She loves the youthfulness Kayla carries with her, her poise, her demention but quite frankly she is just much too ignorant and reckless for her preference. Power to her but she's just simply not her cup of tea. She sighs, glancing at the man once more, studying his features fom afar rather than up close as she would've much prefered to be in breathing distance of him, smell that musculine clean cologne that clouded her every sense once more.

She shakes her head, unable to shake away the thoughts and words that crowded her whirlwind of a mind. She was a cyclone, a walking whirling cyclone that made its way to table 3 with an iced coffee and hot chai tea. The ochre couch he's been perched on is right across from the table she was serving. She became very self-conscious though she meant not to be. Strands of brunette hair fall onto her flushed face as they made inventible eye contact with each other, waves of green and blue clashing against their own density in a beautiful innocent collision.

His black pen drops, the feeling returning to the pit of his abdomen. He's been sitting for hours in the coffee shop, his pen barely used when not caught between his teeth in his habit to chew. He's had his journal for less than a year but it's binding scraped, brittle, and worn out as is its owner. The paper was tinted with his thoughts, his wishes, his dreams, and his interests. More so, his little brown moccasin journal was used for documenting not only his life but his whirlwind of a concealed mind. He felt like a deer caught in headlights, her lighthouse eyes bore into his, the blue consuming him as she catches him staring at her. Does she know he came in at 8am just to feel this... Whatever this is he has around her? She blinks suddenly after a few moments, her eyes widening as if she just now sees him. It eases him. It eases them because she has been in a trance also and not only him. She turns and greets her customer, talking quietly and smiling kindly. She jots down a couple of things in her notepad but the customer doesn't seem to be ordering anything from his point of view. His brows furrow but downcasts his eyes from her, unable to think properly.