❝ sunkissed ❞

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chapter o1.
─ made warm
or brown
by the sun.

Intimacy is about safety. It's the soft serenity that washes over you at the sound of their voice. It's the feeling of being sunkissed with every time your eyes meet. It's the gentle stir of ecstasy with them performing their usual routine in the backdrop.

It's the reality of having someone so understanding that words are no longer needed.

— ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ —

I shifted in my seat, fidgeting with the helm of my shirt. Conversation flowed around in waves, but my ears were glued to the sound of the rhythmic tapping of his feet again the marble flooring; he wasn't as comfortable as he seemed.

A few dire seconds passed, before he rose from his seat. The passing wind hit his face, blowing his succulent bangs out of his eyes as they came to rest on me. A small wrinkle appeared beneath them, and I noted he was smiling; even if it did not reach his eyes, it softened his face.

"Anata no yōna hito wa mezurashīdesu." 

I wanted to say something, but no words came out. My throat felt constricted as the meaning of his words sank in. Heat rushed to my face, but my hands refused to work up the courage to cover my cheeks. Oh, how much I despised being so timid?

As if sensing the emotional tantrum within me, the boy gave me one last grin before sprinting out of the classroom doors.

My heart squirmed. I wanted him to stay, for whatever warmth he offered with his mere presence, but there it was again, the very same hint of glassy eyes as he exited the scene, walking out of life before life showed him any trace of happiness.

❝ people like you are rare. ❞

My heart raced.

It did when his auburn orbs met my observant ones, two heads across but a passion seemingly shared.

Now it was skipping significant beats.

The moment had long since passed, but my hands were sweaty, my cheeks flushed.

No matter how hard I tried to tear away the picture, the delusional situation of having held his eye for a split second, from my mind, I just could not; but in time, I would.

His smile; as suave as one could be. The way he blew out his wispy bangs out of his eyes, or the way he gave off tonnes of nervousness whenever a question was posed, by a mere rhythmic tapping of his feet. There was just some quality within him that was alluring.

Dangerously alluring, I noted down.

Was it the mysterious air he carried with every step? Or the glossy eyes each time we'd exchange glances? Or the strange, but intimate, familiarity I felt every time he was around, close or afar.

Whatever it was, it was hard to resist.

But I had to.

I had declined his friend request, and thrown the same into the can of all the unbothered requests people send in games just because you play so well.

Not because I played this gamble of life well. Rather, because he was a pro at it and I a loser.

That's what I made it out, with how I was cast the bizarre looks with every step I took and he the heart-eyes with every movement he did.

The contrasts were clear, crystal clear even.

We were perfect strangers.

"And then you must write down whatever they give you to work on. Did you get me?"

I blinked, then nodded, registering the sentence in my head. The brown-haired lady pushed the book into my hands, the very same sentence written down sloppily across the page in black ink.

"Will be that enough. . . Mama?"

The lady, who was supposed to be my mother, repeated my action of puzzlement, and I briefly wondered if this condition ran through the bloodline.

But there was a tinge of masked melancholy held within her blues that I lacked.

"Yeah. It'll be good, for you."

I bobbed my head again, liking the feeling of my soft blonde hair tickling the side of my cheeks. Pink tinged my face when she eyed me in befuddlement.

"I-I my like hair."

Her lips wavered, the same glossy eyes that everyone were giving me recurring in her expression. Had I told something wrong? Why does everyone who talks to me wear that visage?

To my astonishment, the woman reached forward and patted latted my head lightly. "You have your father's hair, sweetie."

The smile was back, but it was feigned.

How I knew it was, was out of my vision of thoughts. For a person with a condition that was hard to name, I was observant. Or at least, that's what I could tell myself to feel better.

"I observant, right? Mama?" I enquired, leaning into her warm touch. "I'm observant... right, Mama?"

She gave another soft sigh, before caressing my cheek. Her touch felt warm, her smile familiar. I should remember this. But with every gesture, she slipped away. Did she feel the same?

As if sensing my thoughts, Mama spoke, "You are extremely observant, Serena, and I'm really proud of you."