The more I think on it, the more likely I am to admit that this is probably all my fault. I could have chosen to continue with my walk, ignore all the traffic surrounding that little café, not satiate my curiosity towards the crowd and the soft lilt of an acoustic guitar floating from its direction; then we would have never met. If I had just kept walking, perhaps I could have spared myself from this whole… mess.
As amused as I am to be in it, of course. And I am amused, because these are the sorts of things that happen to blushing, doe-eyed babes in moves, with long lashes and pink lips, and perfect, flowing hair. Not to me, as I am, to every account, the very antithesis of that description (despite a certain Spaniard's attempt to convince me otherwise, the scoundrel). But I digress. The situation may be amusing, in a sort of "I simply cannot believe that I am the one this is happening to" sense, but given the choice, I think I would have rather avoided it.
Because there's no way all this can last and be real, right?
Wait. Were those his footsteps, or—
AN: I'm working on this little SpUK project. It was brainstormed with a friend of mine, but she's having me be the one to put it in action (with which I am perfectly fine).
Yes, I know this is just a silly little prologue. Chapter 1, which will be much longer, ought to be up by tomorrow.
I do think that this story will eventually need to have an "M" rating tacked on to it, but not for a little while.
And don't worry, there won't be an author's note like this at the end of every chapter.
