𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓⁰²ʰᵉᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍˢ

ㅤㅤㅤ xiii ──midas' touch

luke
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What are you thinking of?

I'd never actually been asked that before and it took me aback to hear each word delicately escape her mouth. It was an instinct, a habit, I could tell. She didn't say it with much hesitance or difficulty, and I figured she probably asked people this.

Asari who asked people what was on their mind, Asari who liked red and wasn't religious, Asari with a hazel-eyed gaze staring you down as though she was counting each individual freckled misplaced about your face.

She paid attention to most things, I observed. It was either she was simply very aware or that she was on some fight or flight mode. Perhaps it was the awareness one gets when they're preparing themselves to flee.

She was always there. Always looking at everything, hearing everything, but always only looking and listening to and at you.

It confused me but made her all the more of a spectacle for me to think about.

It felt she was always on edge, always on some precipice - prepared to leap before she fell.

All this was some observation, of course. I didn't really know her as the way she wanted to be known. I didn't even know what she wanted to be known as.

But I think she's nice.

"What's that?" She asked, pointing at one page of my notebook.

Finally, she asked. I'd been hoping she would. I made sure to keep my notebook open, flip a page or two, write something random, just so she'd ask what I was doing or what the notebook was for.

I wasn't interested in telling her about the notebook, but rather talking to her and watching her listen to me.

She listened intently too, as though your words had grabbed her wrist and pinned her to you. There wouldn't be a doubt that her attention was elsewhere.

She was pointed at the poem I'd written a couple days before, lots of draft lines scratched on the sidelines, small doodles here and there, and a rather sultry confession to some fantasy love interest.

I had other things in my notebook too like grocery lists, to-do lists, thing to give Cade to do list, some and such. But interestingly, it seemed to be the poem that caught her eye.

"Oh, I wrote that," Yes. Who else would? Stupid answer. "It's a poem,"

She tilted her head to the left, a habit I'd observed she did when she was curious or interested in something. "What's it about?"

I turned the page towards her and she stuck out a finger to press the page down. "Not much. It's like a small story poem sort of thing - about this girl, Clementine, she paints and sees the world through a much better eye. She sees art in everything, and it's like -" I hummed, trying to find the right word for how to describe it all.

"Midas touch?" She offered, still reading the poem - or at least attempting, I wasn't sure if she could read through my horrible writing. "But sight version? And art version, too, I guess?"

I nodded, quite in awe by how casually she said that. "Yeah. Midas touch,"

She turned the notebook back to me and pressed her lips to a thin line. "Read it to me," She said.

I wasn't sure what to make of it. Read it to her? "Wh-what?"

She pulled an apologetic smile and withdrew her hands, tucking them into a folded arm pose. "Sorry. I just don't know how to read your handwriting,"