@groazei asked: they held no interest in speaking, the fresh night simply being used as a way to walk away boring times of the today. however, someone caught their attention, solely by noticing they had caught the stranger's eye as well. an arch of their brow and alucard would speak. "some things are better left unsaid."
Night falls, and already he longs for the sun. The absence of rays on his skin leaves his mood fickle; A bittersweet longing that rises just as the reds and pinks fade into a blackened sky. It was a daily occurrence, and after twenty-four years, one would think he’d get used to it. But he hasn’t. And Aleksy is certain he never could.
The air is warm when he steps out from the darkened bookshop, jingling his keys before locking the doors shut. The ex-spartan didn’t mind the nightshift, though, he’d much prefer mourning the loss of his love in private- dramatic, he knows, as the sun will rise again tomorrow. His apartment was walking distance away, and as he drops the keys back into his pocket, something red catches his eye. It’s barely noticeable, only semi-illuminated by the dimming light above the shop’s door. Aleksy thinks he’s imagining things when his gaze flickers, his fists tighten, and he sucks in a quiet, startled breath. Whoever ( whatever ) it was, Aleksy hadn’t even sensed their presence. A first, and the brunette could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Looking at this stranger hidden in the shadows set his nerves on fire, the warning signals go off in his brain and a hot flash of anger ( by his lack of awareness? His fear? Aleksy wasn’t sure ) coursed through his chest before it calmed.
There was something discomforting when they looked at him. Stifling, and awkward. Aleksy felt like he couldn’t move in his own skin, and the side of his neck began to cramp. That anger was back, and Aleksy adjusted the strap of his bag in hopes it would loosen himself up. It did not. Lilac gaze flickered downwards, scowl deepening as he finally found the cause, and he considers his options. Does he follow the soft words of advice and remain silent? Or does he break the moment of stilled unpleasantness?
Again, he looks up, meeting their leer with a raised brow. “Tsk-” his tongue prods the inside of his cheek, and Aleksy points directly towards the strangers boots. Determined, and shoveling any lingering hesitation and fear beneath his hotly attitude. “You’re stepping on my Daffodils.” He could feel the delicate little flowers, their ache by the odd way they bent and desperation to live. “Move it.”
