Mirrors | Malum

3

*credit to artist who drew this!*

Michael

I was surprised I worked up the courage to talk to him, as he was far too intimidating for me to even jumble out a couple of words though. He never responded to my flirtatious efforts and just walked away. I felt confused and partially rejected, but it gave me preparation for the next day. I knew that if I were to step up my game, I'd have to fix the way I speak. Maybe sound more proper.

I was ready, dressed a bit nicer considering yesterday I only had a work uniform on. This time, I wore jeans that made my legs stand out and a black tee over that, along with my typical leather jacket. It just made me look nice and you can't blame a guy for wanting to seem like a bad boy.

He was there, sitting impatiently as he'd tap his foot against the pavement. I had never been so jealous of the floor before, wanting to be below him so I could feel his every movement, his every touch, which may seemingly appear as creepy but I couldn't help it. He was an angel walking on the earth and I was just a boy who was unable to grasp his attention long enough in order for him to show at least some interest.

He was sketching something in his notepad, a figure is what it looked like. The boy was finishing up his last minute touches, then he smiled in adoration when it was complete. I wanted to oh so badly see what it was he drew, but there was no way he'd let me in that easily.

"Hey gorgeous. How are you doing today?"

The boy sighed and gripped a hold of his journal tightly. He slid it behind him so I couldn't grab it and I was slightly offended at his gesture but I understood. We were as close as strangers.

"I'm fine."

It was the second time he spoke to me, at least I was making progress. It wasn't getting me anywhere, but he could tell I wasn't going to give up easily.

"That's good. So what's your name?"

The boy just shrugged as he glanced down at his hands. His nails were painted a light blue and he seemed to be picking at it. I didn't like that, as the color really complimented his skin.

I frowned the slightest bit, glancing from his face to his hands on repeat. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pick at your nails. The color looks nice on you."

He didn't say anything.

Was my compliment too much?

Oh god, I hope I don't scare him away.

The room filled with silence. Aside from heels clacking on the pavement and the occasional conversation being overheard by businessmen, it was silent. And I didn't like it.

"Why do you compliment me so much?"

"Because you deserve to be complimented."

He just shrugged again, then pulled out his journal. I was surprised at his actions, but he was actually handing it over to me, as if I was worthy of seeing his art.

I flipped through the pages, admiring every single drawing. The first one was interesting, a simple dream catcher being held in the palm of somebody's hand, the next being lips with the words "don't tell, it'll kill" written on them and the third was-

My breath hitched.

Me.

"Is this supposed to be me?"

The boy nodded shyly, his cheeks turning a crimson red color. Even I found that adorable.

Whats not to love about this boy?

"W-Why?"

He had shrugged, then pulled it away from me. It was almost as if he chose not to speak. He was also bipolar, one minute not being interested in a conversation and the next, willingly offering me his notepad.

What a strange, strange boy he is.

He picked up his beverage and stormed off again when seeing a young female step off of the train.

Was that his girlfriend?

Here comes the jealousy again, envying my soul. I should be happy for him. Someone as beautiful as he deserves to have a female to hold him when he wants to be held, one to kiss him when he's craving a delicate touch of lips against his own and one who can treat him right and afford to take him to expensive dinners because that's exactly what I can't do.

I shouldn't be jealous, but I saw him first. I was there before she was, and as dramatic as this sounds, he's mine. And nobody has the right to take him away from me, even if I'm just a stranger in his eyes.

-

A/N: oh Michael you couldn't be more wrong. This is a rather short chapter. Writers block is sort of getting to me tonight.

810 words.