Soul Harbour

0.27|when observing curious happenings|

0.27|from Sabah's recorder: when observing curious happenings|

You think I am a stalker? No, no, I am just a connoisseur of love, just an observer of curious happenings, you could say. Don't laugh, you wouldn't have a story if I wasn't like this!

So what if I was indeed less concerned about the order and more concerned about how Auburn kept on flipping a red pen between her fingers?

We were all coming to a moment. Something I had foreseen as a great moment, the moment.

The moment was slow in happening, not that I can call it a great moment after happened because, you see, it didn't happen the way I imagined it would.

There he was, watching the dance of her fingers, trying to control some sort of emotion that seeped across his features anyway.

"You look pale. Are you okay?" Auburn asked, lines of worry creasing over her face as she bent forward to place a palm over his forehead. Her hand shook slightly as realized how close they were despite the small round table separating them. Their eyes met and a pink stained each of their cheeks. Sheesh. 

He shook his head, leaned back and smiled a small smile but a smile nevertheless, "Just a headache from worrying over some possible bad news that my agent has hinted at but apart from that I'm okay."

I was interested now. He didn't usually lie. He didn't look okay; he looked horribly worried and nervous. Yes, even more so than usual.

Before Auburn could ask him what it was, he continued in a lighter tone, "How about you? Apart from bumping into me and nearly drilling a hole in my chest, what are you up to?"

For God's sake, stop changing the conversation so much!

Auburn looked relieved and glanced at me with a smirk, as if to convey that he hadn't heard our conversation. Which part was she worried about, I wondered?

"How was the away match?" she asked in turn.

"Good," he nodded, apparently happy at the change of subject. "The guys are amazing. You should see them play."

"I do see them play."

"Live," he added.

She rolled her eyes, "Fine, Mr. Famous Footballer." She sighed, "I wish my colleagues could be called amazing. The atmosphere in the staff room hasn't been that chilly but Gonzales definitely called me puta in a very vicious way today. Any ideas for Spanish swears I can reply with?"

Who the hell was this Gonzales and how dare she call Auburn puta? Were people not taught manners these days?

"No, but I can ask Sergio. He's good with Spanish swearing. I'm sure-" he broke off as his phone rang. His fingers wavered, as he debated whether to pick it up. "Sorry, I got to take this," he grimaced.

"Go ahead."

"Bjorn, how are you?--Yeah, I'm in Madrid now--Yes, yes.--Oh what's up then? Is he seriously transferring here?--Oh. Which team?--No, I don't care. Just curious.--...--Barcelona!? Oh God.--Yeah, thanks for letting me know. Goodbye."

"Anthony?"

I stopped at the way she said his name. Controlled, concerned, worried; just a door ajar from a scream.

His eyes were unfocused as he shook his fingers out of her hand and backed away the chair, its uncontrollable shriek echoing garishly across the place.

The murmurs of the two tables across the different ends of the restaurant dropped to a pin-drop aghast silence as Anthony breathlessly muttered something incomprehensible before bolting out.