it’s a quarter past eleven when ashe parts with the main street, slender form and skeptical eyes met with a murky, dim alleyway. one step into the proximity and her heel is already sinking into a puddle of soiled water. the asphalt’s lined with the carcasses of burnt cigarettes, loose trash, and used-things-she-doesn’t-give-another glance, but there’s a male’s shadow lingering at the end in all his dubious grandeur and the affinity she has with numbers helps in this. so she begins; she begins counting as she walks in dead silence. for what she can’t see, she must hear. seven exits: two on the left,
[ s t e p ] three on the right, and one at each end of the alley,
[ s t e p ]
alternative exits being each of the four fire escapes. on the left building,
[ s t e p ] —— a noise from the rear.
there are thirty-two windows, and the opposing side, sixty. few characters in each, however all appear like harmless civilians.
[ s t e — stop. ] she can feel the pair of hands the moment the edges of the stranger’s nails drag across the skin her narrow waist, soon she’s tugged into someone’s grasp. her hand clenches around the other’s wrist, halfway through twisting his arm when she hears him stammering an, “Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else. I didn’t mean to hug you!” ashe’s expression is deadpan, practically filled with disbelief as she releases her death grip. “what?”
“ja— jade..” it is spoken more as if he’s questioning it rather than being sure, trailing off into a quiet murmur of her name. at first he’s certain he knows her, the walking figure at but a distance in front of him, but certainty becomes uncertainty all too quickly, which then becomes curiosity that may be crippling at a time like this. darkness sweeps over the city in what feels like an impending tragedy to the cautious. the cautious, who fear the night because the night is owned by trouble. it is owned by locked doors and curfews as well as lonesome streets and dreaded alleyways. this place is the embodiment of all they fear, of all that he would fear if by now he wasn’t used to it. besides. he doesn’t have time to be afraid of it. not when his mind is twisting rapidly in thoughts that only revolve around her; whoever she was that appeared to fall into the classification of the unafraid.
his first instinct is to approach soundlessly, trailing behind her in slow, but thick steps that allow him to get close quickly while still going unnoticed. the space between the two diminishes, and the closer he gets, the deeper the subtle pounding within his chest begins to grow, the more painful it becomes. he’s panicking. he’s reached his objective and he’s not sure what to do next, and suddenly he’s cursing his spontaneous stalking.
and suddenly his mind stops in it’s intrigued rotation,
and suddenly his eyes are wide open, his arms are wide open,
and suddenly, he is falling. his arms are flung around her waist, and she is wrapped in his embrace, and it is all so sudden.
what is even more unforeseen than this stumble forward is the searing pain that follows. his upper body is thrown forward, tiers parted in the allowance of a low groan and the clenching of his teeth. he’s given himself two options, neither of which involve telling the truth, and he quickly chooses one of them which ends in his poor excuse, and what he makes out to be her confusion. though it seems to work, seeing as now he can feel his arm left in a numb and bitter after-effect, and he wastes no time in comforting it with a rubbing palm. “what do you mean what, it’s just what i told you i thought you were someone else.” he tries to throw his words in a way that would be stinging, drenched in attitude and incredulity, but he finds himself quickly throwing himself at he words in an attempt to make them softer, fearful of another near-breaking of his arm.
he’s quick to lose the furrow in his brow as well when his head turns to face her and he is caught in a second of breathtaking captivation, welcomed to a set of plush and almost heart-shaped lips and eyes like a chocolate sea. he’s almost sure he could drown in them. the second he snaps out of his stunned condition he pulls a smile, head tilt to the side in an attempt at looking ‘cool’ in it’s stupid definition. “i must say though, not too mad at this mistake,” his gaze lowers in examination of every single aspect of her, and then it raises again. “you’re absolutely gorgeous. like a scary kind of gorgeous, like.. a ‘holy shit she could kill me, but i probably wouldn’t mind’ kinda gorgeous.” his hands quickly shoot up, both raising a stern index finger. “but that wasn’t an invitation. i need my life tonight.”
