Shes there.
He can feel it. And he knows it.
She knows it too.
Her eyes, the very fragments of sun-glistening emeralds, fastened into her irises and causing a beautiful gaze to cast from her pupils towards the hunched over figure on the pavement. Pavement? No, this was an alleyway. There was the pavement, over there. And yet he did not acknowledge it, fingers curling against the dusty, dirty ground, cobbles beneath only one as he dug his nails down and breathed.
Breathe. Gently now, you don't want to hurt yourself again.
His spine is a mass of shivers, quivering at every inch of his body, hands shaking as they reluctantly subside to letting go of the alleyways ground, musty dirt coating his palms, but he doesn't care. It'll be gone with a dust of the hands, and he knows that.
He knows a lot of things.
But not everything.
He does still know shes there though, because his head is tilting back, neck burying itself in the collar of his jacket, the hood just a little bit out of reach for the mass of ebony hair that had entwined itself so much it looked as though the teeth of a comb had never broken it and tamed it to a gentle wave of locks. His carmine eyes are as dangerously sharp as hers, and hes doing as she says, breathing slower, smoother, allowing the oxygen to flood his lungs again. Eyes meet and he bows his head a little, as though signalling he was okay.
And in that instant, she was gone.
He got to his feet, wiping his lip with the pad of this thumb in order to mop up the trickling blood. It was everywhere, or so it felt, as though he'd been punctured in all of his organs and had become a great flood of blood. But it was only his nose, to his knowledge, which, apparently, hadn't been broken. But the punch had been strong enough to induce a double nosebleed.
He'd been lucky to get out of that scrape.
His eyes flicker up to meet the low buzzing sign above him, flashing on and off with either a shitty funding on electricity or simply an attempted effect that obviously held no appeal due to how tacky it looked. It was adorned around its entrance doors by those who were awaiting company, a lift, perhaps just out for a smoke.
A smoke. The mere thought and recollection of his surroundings brought that into reality, and he coughed to stir away the putrid burning cigarettes seepings away from him. Stupid fucks, smoking so close to him. Not that they knew he was there, but he couldn't help himself. Fingers pushing himself to his feet, thumbs running across his collar to his hood and pulling it up and over his head. It would be stupid to stay here any longer than he had to. He'd gained enough consciousness in his mind to know to move away and head back to his home.
He couldn't even remember why he'd been there in the first place.
Oh well.
The solitary walk to the apartment was as dismal as ever, hands clutched to his chest to hold his jacket together. He'd broken the zipper, but he couldn't remember when or how. Nothing really stuck onto his mind right now other than the thought of home, of warm beds, of hot water, of silence.
As he ducked into the side path towards the block of flats, emerald eyes once again followed him.
Nothing more followed him.