Tribulation [h.s]

25

Oh.

Oooooh.

He's hitting on her, isn't he? I think we both process what's happening simultaneously, and Candy ends up glancing with astonished eyes. All I do is shrug. "Um, sure," she huffs out an amused laugh, seeming just as thrown off as I am. However, I do find myself smiling a little when she goes along with his lighthearted flirting. "Allie, do you want one?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm all set." I still have a slight buzz from the wine I had earlier. "I'll wait here for you guys." I shoo her off with the wave of my hand because I don't want to tag along. I'm already third-wheeling, and I really don't want to sit and be subjected to watching Louis openly flirt with Candy over a drink.

She hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I smile. "Go have fun."

"Okay, I'll be quick!" She says before scampering off, leaving Louis to catch up with her.

Annnnd now I'm alone.

The good thing is, I can hear the cars again. They're still pretty far, but I can hear the powerful engines in the distance. The race will be over soon, at least, and hopefully, no one got hurt.

I see a tall, lean figure enter the pit from the corner of my eye shortly after Candy and Louis leave to grab a drink. He's all fair skin with dark, stormy eyes, a rugged spade-shaped beard, and bushy eyebrows; he has a strong jawline, nose and lip piercings, and tattoos. He's wearing dark jeans and a black hoodie that hides most of his face, but I can still distinguish some of his sharp features, such as his well-defined cheekbones and nose. When he stands about six feet away from me, I notice the earthy scent surrounding him.

His tattoos crawl his neck, and with the way they disappear under the neckline of his hoodie, I can imagine he's littered in ink. The tattoo that sticks out to me the most is the number twenty-five that's right below his jawbone in thick red and ebony ink.

I rock back and forth on my feet before sneaking another glance at him. "H-Hi?"

"Hi." He tilts his head just enough to glance at me. He's very monotonous when he speaks.

Oh, fuck. Why did I initiate a conversation? I suck at small talk. "Is uh, one of your friends racing?"

He's cold and emotionless when he nods once. "Somethin' like that."

"Who are you rooting for?" He remains quiet. "Okayyy then," I mumble and look down at my feet and kick a small pebble. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Surprisingly, his cold exterior breaks. He chuckles, but it seems a bit rueful. "What gave that away?"

"The accent. Your British?"

"Yes, I am," his voice is deep, but it's pleasant to listen to. I find myself wishing he'd take his hoodie off so I could get a better look at him under the city lights.

I don't usually do this – go out of my way to entertain mysterious strangers – but, when he looks at me, I see something in the browns of his eyes. I don't know who he is, and I'm not sure what it is that I see in him, but he just seems so-

"Familiar."

His eyebrows furrow. "What?"

"Oh, sorry!" I laugh nervously. "I just- you seem so familiar to me." I can't stop staring at him, and he seems just as caught in my eyes as I am with his. It's almost as if we're searching each other's souls for answers — answers we know we'll probably never find.

I've never met this man a day in my life, yet, I feel like I know him.

This is the worst case of déjà vu I've ever experienced.