Fragile Little Things ✓

05 killjoy

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song: cigarrette daydreams - cage the elephant

HE PROCEEDED to shift his gaze in a slow, deliberate sweep over me. His eyes were thundercloud grey, and his once guiltless inspection erased when it landed on my ice cream.

Specifically, the ice cream labelled in big black letters with INDIGO.

His arms were folded around something, and when my gaze lowered, I realized what it was.

An extra-large bag of marshmallows labelled, also, in big black letters with… you guessed it—INDIGO.

He’d been about to throw one into his mouth when he paused midway to stare at me. I lowered my gaze, staring fixatedly at the rings on his right hand.

There were three, and the one on his forefinger glittered in the dim light. All three of the rings seemed to bleed into the ink patterns on his hand in a way that was undeniably attractive.

Bad idea. I looked back up at him, swallowing.

Realisation seemed to dawn on him, and he closed his mouth, sighing as he lowered the bag, a slight blush to his cheeks.

I couldn’t believe it.

This was the guy I’d been watching—admittedly creepily, for weeks, and he landed right in front of me after…almost sleeping with my roommate? And he stole my marshmallows?

I didn’t know how to feel.

I swallowed as I realized we’d been standing in the elevator for a while, with neither of us making an effort to press a button. I sighed, reaching for the Level G button.

But he reached for it at the same time, his hand brushing against mine.

I flinched away like it burned.

Then I realized how much of an idiot I looked, and inwardly cursed.

I glanced up to find his expression blank, save for the slightest suggestion of a smile on his lips.

Did he find something funny?

A flicker of annoyance shot down my temple, and when the doors to the elevator finally opened, I found myself fast-walking out, eager to get away.

“Wait.”

I stopped. It was strange hearing that voice. Because this time…he was talking to me. I turned, slowly, meeting his gaze as he stepped out of the elevator. His long stride reminded me how tall he was, and it made me want to look away.

“This is yours.” He held out the bag of marshmallows, cheeks warming. “Sorry.”

I found myself lifting a hand, fumbling for words. “You-you can keep it.”

The corners of his lips tilted upward—again, the mere suggestion of a smile. “I owe you something, then.”

“No, it’s alright, really.”

He tilted his head, studying my face like he lost something in it. After a moment’s pause, he said, “What are you doing out here?”

Was he actually trying to make small talk? Maybe he felt guilty about the marshmallows. I shrugged. “I wanted some fresh air.”

I licked my lips, more engrossed in the ice cream in my hands than ever, when the stranger’s silver gaze landed on something behind me. I turned, noticing a pair of older men a few feet away. One was smoking, and both were staring at me.