Entangled Strings (Under-revision)

Ⅲ

"Well, a little bit..." I scratched my head in a skittish manner. He then held onto my wrist then pulled me into a run. I haven't the slightest clue where we're going but I didn't care less, almost tripping from running

He stopped at an old cream Italian-style three-story building with its bell tower. Exhibiting creative ostentation, a joyous use of polychromy, and sinuous curves. Or something like that, as I've said, I'm not an architectural student, but I do know when something is pretty.

It might be an old office back when I was still not here. Upfront is a huge worn-out entrance. Opening it felt so harsh on the ears. We were entranced by a fancy-looking stairway, towards a timber door with various ornaments that made it look more vivid.

The sofas and other furniture like slabs were covered with icky dusty plain white textile. Even the luring classic grand wooden stair that was seated on the center of the first phase of the establishment was also stained with muck. We ascended using the said plane before we were able to reach the utmost level.

And oh my gilly golly gosh! I loved the vibes from up here. It felt so fresh, too unrealistic. I was busy and enthusiastically ideating the extravagant outlook of the city lights with the presence of the moon when I heard a fake cough as if calling for one's attention. Then I turn to seek a more scrutinizing work of art, my idol was there, looking all handsome.

"Is the oversee fine by you?" he asked out of nowhere while his dark brooding eyes were on me

I gazed at the luminous astral bodies across the starry night.

"Do you really need to ask that? It certainly is!" I said in a giddy manner. "I love this place already!" I exclaimed tactlessly, "Thanks to you, Mr. Pirouette."

What a nice place to stop by. I'll be glad to go here, again if ever I had the time to do so.

"Stop with the formalities I have a name, nit-wit." He ordered.

"Coming from someone who called me 'nit-wit'." I mocked by using the tone he used to say that word.

"What the? I don't even sound like that!" He halted then continued to defend his sleeves.

"I didn't say that but oh well, of course you did, Mr. Reagan." I returned, kiddingly.

"No, I didn't," he refused profusely as he sulked up to his heart's content. "Stop. Just stop with the 'Mister' thingy."

"Alright, alright you win, I surrender, Reagan." Waving the invisible white flag, I raised my hand as a whiff of loss.

"It's Daren," pissed-off, he somewhat corrected coldly and was accompanied by a conceited snicker.

That's when it hit me, Daren is a combination of his names. Does that mean he wants me to call him like that? Does that mean we are now closer?

'Meh. Close is such a big word for just that. I'm just over-reacting.' I battled my mind as I heaved a sigh.

I probably judged him incorrectly. How do I put it? He was warm on his own way. I really had comfort talking to him even in this way.

I, then let my mind wander at its desire as the cold breeze blows my luscious ebony black hair, same as the trees' swaying. Nothing, to say no more, I let the wind touch my face as if kissing me to sleep.

It was not that bad to have him beside me, and with that attitude of his. Stargazing with my idol? That was a huge opportunity but might have been better without his bad temper, his always furrowed brows, creased forehead, irritated expression, his clenching jaw, his menacing yet beautiful dark eyes, his almost yawning mouth when looking at my being, the oh-so-normal me. My marbles grazed on his man-bun, 't was surely an addition to his looks.

"What about your nightmare? Do you often have that kind of dream?" I opened a topic that seemed like digging a grave for myself.

He looked thorned whether he'd answer or not. "Yes," he replied in a serious tone.

"Would you like to share what it was like?"

"Is Psychology finally kicking in your system?" he kid.

"I can't believe that you can joke." I turned to him to see his reaction. "So, what was it about?" Seeking for the view, my gaze went back to the sky.

"My son of a bitch father."

"Why do I feel no hatred despite your harsh words?" I felt him tensed a bit but composed himself quickly.

"I don't know what you're speaking of." He looked away when I gave a side glance at his position.

"You know? I also get terrifying visions. It always involves the same lass. She would chase after a Chevy Chevelle."

"Oh, a girl that knows cars," he said with a smirk.

"Not much. I just researched way too much about that particular vehicle. What else can I do? That has been in my head for year's and I don't know why."

"Who was the girl, though? What happened after that?" he asked, eyeing me.

"You won't even want to know but everytime that I see that dream, I wake up in tears." I confessed. "Don't be afraid to let it out, but I won't pry anymore for the night."

Our feet passed by the empty hallways as we exit the enchanting abandoned building with all of its dust that did not even ruin the beauty of its premises.

"NOT TOO BAD. Who knows the future? It might be your best being unfolded. Butterflies will doubtlessly swarm on your pitiful stomachs," the unheard voice of kismet signaled.