Hearing Anna

ii.vi

THE SUN DESCENDS SLOWLY, perching on an invisible branch of some huge tree on the horizon. as we walk through the city, i don't wonder if he knows where he's leading me, if he's just aimlessly wandering until he can find a place for us to go. i don't wonder because i don't care where we're going, i care that he's smiling like mad and that his eyes are glittering in the dusk's light.

with a light hand, i imagine painting the scene with soft oranges and deep purples, painting his eyes with a million shades of intrigue. not brown because of the way the light fractures the colour, but instead navy blue and a little yellow.

"where are we going?" i dare to ask. his grin becomes a smirk for a half second.

"shh, you'll see." his voice is soft, a pastel in the painting, and so pretty in its tense quietness.

up the block is more light, inking away and away, but not before i can capture it and store it in my pockets.

his oxfords click on the pavement, click click clicking quickly, determinedly, as he leads on. he's got this fiery look on his face, one filled with a substance i'm unfamiliar with.

a cold breeze rushes over us, sending my teeth into a chatter. he gives me a worried glance, hesitates for a split second, and decides to slow down a bit, coming in a bit closer to my side.

"you good?"

"just a bit cold."

he pulls his hand from his pocket, wrapping his arm behind my back in attempt to give me some warmth. i'm not sure whether to shy away from the embrace or think of it only as warmth being provided, a nonromantic gesture.

"thanks," i get out.

he responds with a cheeky grin, then suddenly ducks us into an open set of glass doors.

a rush of heat passes over me so soon as we enter. quickly, my eyes adjust, and a smile creeps onto my lips. elliot guides the both of us toward a miniature table, but the chairs are more like settees. i sink into the leather cushion opposite him.

the sounds of the pub clash and clang around us. no one's drunk quite yet - that's really an after-sunset occurrence.

"a pub, eh?" i say, this time sans teeth-chattering.

"do you like it?" light from the vast front window pours in, illuminating the left half of his face with the colours of fire. there's hope in his voice.

"we'll see." i smirk.

"how to impress anna beasley," he muses, "should be a feat unto itself."

i laugh. a waiter intrudes before i can make another teasing remark. "what can i get you this evenin'?"

"we'll both have a pint of scotch ale," i say before elliot can protest. "some glasses of water would be right good, 's well."

the waiter nods and disappears as quickly as he had come.

"what brought you to london, thomas?"

i get nothing from his expression. "i've been a dual citizen of france" - the 'a' in the country's name, i realise, he pronounces as a mixture of a heavy 'ah' and wide 'oh' sound - "and the u.k. since my dad decided to reappear here when i was twelve. see, he was a dual citizen of thailand and the u.k. all his life, then had me with my mum, who's a citizen of france. i was born in france, then my dad sort of left for a while . . ." he shakes his head, almost refusing to go on. "doesn't matter. point is, i'm able to go to school here for free.

"what brought you to london, beasley?"

i smile wanly. the waiter sets the pints and glasses on the table, never to be seen again.

"ask me again when i'm tipsy." i lift my glass for a little 'cheers', and he follows suit.

he hardly downs his first gulp of the brown ale.

"that's some wild shit, beasley."

"you get used to it."

"it's okay, but still kinda gross."

"better than whiskey. that stuff burns."

he grins at me goofily, like he has some secret to tell me. instead of saying it, he lifts the drink to his lips again.