He was watching her.
He was watching her.
She tried to act nonchalant, as if she hadn’t noticed the intensity of his gaze, standing there, draped against the wall as he smoked a cigarette. A pagan god, stark in savage beauty even with the hideous sweater-coat he wore and that aged tie.
Watching her, a slight crease between his brows as if he was trying to figure her out, as if he’d never seen anything like her. She wondered if he would walk over to her, and instantly panicked about what she would say to him, what would she do? Should she pretend she didn’t know him? Should she let on that she’d seen all of his movies?
She ran a hand over her hair, standing straighter.
It didn’t matter.
Because he was watching her.
Fin.
A/N: shout out to @sobeautifullyobsessed for encouraging me