It's not that I meant to watch him so intently.

No, not at all.

I meant to glance at him and look away. But God, how could I? 

His hair colour was new, I noticed. He got it cut too. It was floppy, medium length, and the most interesting shade of ash brown that was almost grey in the right lighting.

It suited him. But then again, he'd always looked good in anything.

He leaned forward, hair falling to cover his furrowed eyebrows as he read much too intently. The edge of his lower lip was caught between his teeth and I couldn't help but notice how gorgeous he looked when he was focused.

His dark eyes shone, just a little. Just enough to notice.

His long legs folded themselves under the much-too-short-for-him library table as he slumped forward on the plastic chair that looked almost child sized when used by him, resting his elbows on the pale wood as he gripped the book tightly.

I noticed how he dressed differently now, too.

His usual blue jeans and sweater were exchanged for something a bit more mature; black jeans with rips at the knees, and a white button down shirt. His light brown boots clicked together as he wiggled his feet, a habit he'd always done when fully immersed in something.

It must be a good book.

I wondered what it was that he was reading for a moment. He used to love books about adventure. I wondered if he still did.

I wondered, also, if he still listened to hip hop music for fun and r&b when he was trying to sleep. I wondered if he still loved music the way he did. The way I did, too.

I noticed he hadn't smiled yet. Not once. And he used to smile all the time, amused by his own thoughts. He used to be known for his smile. So where could that smile be now?

I noticed how his eyes seemed different. They shone, as always, but they were slightly glazed over. He looked tired. His skin even more pale than it had been before. He looked like porcelain.

Fair, smooth, perfect... fragile.

Suddenly my mind wandered to the places any sane person's mind would have been the whole time.

What was he doing here?

In the past, about three years prior, he had always come here. He always sat in the same seat he was sitting in today, with a coffee in one hand and an adventure novel in the other, his headphones playing gentle beats that didn't seem like they found themselves too important; I liked that. 

I met him here, in the third aisle on the left, when he helped me reach a book on the top shelf that I couldn't get to. I remember how he inspected it and laughed at my height and how he invited me to sit with him. The seat across from his seat became mine.

We made an unspoken ritual of meeting in front of the coffee shop. I would buy an iced americano, he'd buy a hot one. Then we would find our books and sit in our respective seats, and read until I knew I would be yelled at for being out past my curfew. We hardly ever spoke, but it was a nice kind of silent. The kind that didn't make too much of a big deal of itself. 

I remember one day, he made a habit of slipping one of his earbuds across the table, and I made a habit of listening to all his favourite songs, which then became my favourite songs, too.

He told me once that he composed one of the songs he was playing for me. He really loved music. And because of him, I did, too.

He eventually made a playlist of all our favourite songs, and we listened to them on repeat every single day. I never got tired of them, and neither did he.

One day, I remember, we followed our routine and after about an hour of sitting in silence, he slid a CD across the table wordlessly, before flipping a page. He burned his playlist onto it, and on the front cover, in black marker and messy handwriting, he wrote "Ours".

From that day forward, I was in a spiral. Upward or downward, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that I was spinning.

He sometimes brought me things like stuffed animals or his sweaters that he thought I would like.

And some days, he would come in with a single white rose. I always took them home and added them to a vase. 

Those days, he would kiss my forehead before I left.

The last day, though, he came in with a bundle of tiny blue flowers. They were unconventional, I thought, which was what made them all the more beautiful. Before I left that night, wordlessly as always, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him.

He whispered a "goodbye," and kissed my lips gently. 

He didn't come back the next day.

Not that day, not the day after, not again.

That's when I realized the spiral was downwards.

I made a new habit since then. I would go and sit where I did when he was there, and I would stay until the librarian told me I couldn't any more. Then I would go home, and put on his sweaters, which were much too big on me, and listen to "Ours" until I stopped crying. 

He ruined all of my favourite songs.

Today was one of the days that I felt more platonic. 

I didn't care today if it was "Ours" or "His" or "Mine". I didn't care about the songs that haunted the deepest parts of my brain. I didn't care if I didn't get the book I would've gotten if he was there again.

The only thing I cared about was if he showed up or not.

And today, he did.

And I had no idea what to do with myself.

And I felt a whole new kind of dizzy.

And I tugged at the sleeves of my - or his, rather - over sized sweater.

And for once, the silence made a big deal out of itself, and I didn't like it one bit.

I found myself wandering like a lost puppy over to my old seat, iced coffee and book in hand as always.

I sat where I did before, and I could feel his eyes on me. I silently flipped the pages of my book until he slipped his earbud across the table. I placed it in my ear and listened to a song I had never heard before. It wasn't on the playlist. But now, it was my favourite too.

"I made this," he whispered after listening to it three times on loop.

"You composed?" I asked.

He smiled gently and nodded.

"And sang. Do you like it?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, before returning to my book.

The song was about us. I knew it. It was about cold coffee and sweaters and flowers and even if it didn't say so, it was about the silence that didn't make too much of a big deal about itself.

Regardless, that's not all I was thinking about. I was wondering why he didn't explain where he had been for the past couple years. I was wondering how he remembered me. I was wondering why he left me.

And I guess he knew that.

"I went overseas," he said, after another hour of reading. The song now was one I recognized. One on "Ours".

"And," he continued, not looking up once, "I met with some producers and entertainment companies. I got signed there." 

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice barely audible and breaking with each word.

"I needed inspiration again," He smiled gently at me.

I nodded. We sat silently for another hour.

"Did you like the flowers?" he asked.

I nodded, my eyes not meeting his.

"Did you keep them?"

Another nod. After all these years, I couldn't throw them out. Even after the bright blue faded into a crisp black, I couldn't let them go.

"Good. Do you know what kind they were?" 

I shook my head.

"Forget me nots;" he stated, "Legend has it, a knight was going to give them to his lady when he fell into a river. Since his armour was heavy, he sunk. But right before he drowned, he threw them to her, yelling 'forget me not,'". 

I nodded again.

He gripped my hands over the table, his long fingers easily wrapping themselves over my small ones.

My heart sped up and I felt the good kind of dizzy.

I looked up at him. The glaze in his eyes was replaced with something else.

Something that caused my breath to hitch in my throat. Something that made my heart hammer against my ribs as if it was begging to be released. Something I missed when he was gone.

"Apparently, the holder of these will never forget the ones they love," he intertwined his fingers with mine,

"They worked for you, too, right?"

I tilted my head.

"Before I gave them to you, I picked one and kept it in my pocket, see?" He released my left hand to grab a small blackened flower from his pocket.

"I remembered you." I stated. 

I never forgot.

He smiled that signature smile of his. The one that had my stomach doing somersaults.

"I remembered you, too."

We sat like that, fingers intertwined, staring at each other, in silence, for minutes.

"I'm sorry," he said, suddenly.

I shrugged.

"Its okay," I lied through my teeth.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay," another lie.

"Did you listen to the songs?"

"Sometimes," strike three.

He looked at me in a way that made me know he could see right through me.

"Did you miss me?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. I nodded.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

I laughed in spite of myself.

"You already said that."

"You don't believe me."

I shrugged.

"I will soon," I replied.

His eyes were helpless.

"I need you to now."

I nodded.

"I forgive you."

We sat in silence again. I took the time to memorize each of his features as his gaze scanned mine.

"Why did you keep coming here?"

He asked.

"Oh, um, I..." I trailed off, looking around.

He chuckled. My whole body felt warm.

"You missed me~" He singsonged. I rolled my eyes.

"I bet I missed you more." He said, smirking.

No. 

No way was that possible.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, "and just consider my side for a moment. I made a whole album overseas. All about you."

I smiled to myself.

"That's not even the worst part. Guess what it's called?" He asked.

"What?" I replied in the same tone.

He pulled out a CD and slid it across the table. The cover was white with black writing that resembled his penmanship. I read the title: "Ours".

I laughed wholeheartedly.

"That's so cheesy," I replied.

He nodded and laughed along.

"I know."

When the laughter died down, I checked the time. I had to go.

I stood up and got ready to leave and he stood, too.

He kissed my lips gently and I felt him place something in each of my hands.

"Pick your poison," he whispered against my lips before leaving me standing alone, dumbfounded.

I looked at my hands.

There was a plane ticket with tomorrow's date in my right.

And in my left, there was a single tiny blue flower.

 

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A little something I wrote about a year and a half ago. Posting this now to make up for the shortness of my chapters in my multichaptered fic, Watch Over Me. I hope you guys enjoyed it~