The Gray Case

twenty-one

He is suffocated in his own breath as he makes an entrance in the dead-silent office.

Eyes dim and cheeks tainted oxblood, he is closed in his fear yet he is open, gaping and ready—almost ready to speak. It's clear that he has something to say but then again, the time isn't the best.

He is running from something and no, she doesn't assume this because of his uneven breathing, the sweat dripping slowly from his forehead and the strands of hair falling on it—rebellious and lonely. She is used to seeing him in this state, on the field he is an even more disrupt version of the one that's in front of her right now.

She assumes it because of the way he flinches and his eyes shoot up in realization when she understands that there's more to it than just a friendly visit at the police station. But he steps back—his mind steps back, his tongue retracts along with his words which for now, are mute and paralyzed.

"You have something to say, don't you?"

Robertson is probably used to this, unexpected visits and having to understand before confirming, but he knows there's something up just by looking in his hazel colored eyes.

Alexander's concentration or lack of it, is on him. He fights to say something before the detective is once again a step ahead of him and when he looks down at his watch realization hits him.

"I need to go. I have a case to investigate on," he says. She stands up and both of them, Maya and Alexander, are unable to say what they're about to because the detective raises his hands and their mouth shuts, just like that. He sighs.

"You can come too. Just let my team and I work properly and follow us with your car."

His tone is resigned and hushed, his movements are too as he picks up the keys on his table, grabs his coat from the chair on which he was sitting on just a few moments ago and storms out of the room followed by a team of men in uniforms behind him who were already waiting in the lobby.

No words are needed and they both comply and agree on going with Maya's car, using their eyes only as the signature to their brief contract.

The sky isn't unique, or maybe it is, it always is. But today isn't its time to be that way or to be seen as what it really is. Their bodies, hearts and minds are far too distracting.

Grey and blue is on top of them, the sun is dimming and opaque is now their shade, their souls' tints becoming of the world.

Their world is now locked in a car and nothing really exists anymore, not to him, anyway. His gaze is far away, maybe somewhere up in the sky, between thin clouds and thick, heavy, oh so heavy air.

He leans onto the tiny bit of hope for something she doesn't know about yet. Maybe she will never know because he is afraid and his quietness-she knows-doesn't come from a peaceful place.

That's how it was the first time they met. Alexander on the passenger's seat, Maya behind the steering wheel with responsibility on her shoulders because then, like now, he was so, so small.

That time he was drunk; this time he is lucid and conscious but still, something is eating him up inside the same way it did the first time they were one, together.

He is always so light and carefree that under the shadows of the world's truths, it doesn't look or feel like him anymore and she realizes, just right now, that what she feels when he looks at him may be too much, but at the same time it's so heartbreakingly real.

"What made you go there running? What's going on, Alex? Please, talk to me."

They are now on the road behind police cars. Her focus should be on what's in front of her, but her eye can't tear itself away from him.