From England, With Love

Unexpected Item in the Baggage Area

I pull my hand back, and look up.

My gaze meets deep brown eyes, framed by thick lashes. There's panic written all over them. I glance away, not looking at the rest of her. It would be rude to be caught staring. At least, I assume it's a 'her' – the eyes were so soft.

"Sorry," I mutter, noticing her hand hesitating to reach for the coins so I quickly scoop them up and hold my palm out.

"T-Thank you."

Oh. This is no girl.

I quite literally stand corrected as we both get up from the floor; he's definitely a boy, his nervous voice gave it away. But he's... very feminine? No, that's not it. Girlish? That's definitely not it either, he's too tall. Taller than me, even. Thin.

Gentle? Maybe that's the word I'm looking for.

He's not English, I can figure at least that much out on my own. He has brown hair, sort of like a chestnut kind of colour only more golden, somehow, and a very smooth face, pink lips... they look soft. He's pale too, kind of fragile looking.

Why am I observing him so closely?

"You're welcome," I reply, dragging myself from my thoughts as he takes the coins from me, the icy skin brushing against my palm. His fingers are soft, too.

I uncomfortably hover as I pay for my items, and quickly shove my food into my bag before ripping the receipt from the machine. I turn, and see him still scanning his purchases; a small bottle of iced coffee and a cereal bar. He scans them very methodically, I notice, as he carefully slides the bottle over the scanner and gently sets it into the bagging area (with two hands, for extra care). The corner of my mouth flicks up. It's oddly amusing, like it's rehearsed. He does the same with the cereal bar, however, after he sets it down with the bottle, the machine tells him there's an error. He stands there, clearly unsure of what to do.

This happened to me a few days ago, so without really thinking, I lean across him and pick it up, press 'back' on the screen and rescan it for him.

I turn my head toward him, about to reassure him that this apparently happens all the time, when I realise that our faces are extremely close and his eyes are completely focused on me. I pause for a moment. This is awkward. His cheeks are pink. I can feel his breath. Can I smell soap?

Is he cold or is he blushing? I can't tell. It's probably the cold. But the heating is on in here?

I step back, subconsciously reaching to hold my bag strap.

'Play it cool, Ae.'

"Oh, uh, the machines play up a lot. Don't worry about it," I tell him with a faint laugh. He clutches his food tightly. Am I making him nervous? Maybe I was too forward.

"Thank you for your help," he replies, quietly but politely. He bows his head slightly, too. What's the need for such formality? I wait for a moment, in case he says anything else. He doesn't, and I can tell he wants to go – he's shuffling from foot to foot as though preparing himself to run away.

"See you around," I say, trying to sound as cheerful as possible, flashing him a smile before turning on my heel and heading straight for the exit, my brows furrowed and my pace urgent.

'What the hell was that!? That was so awkward! Who even was he, he's like some kind of character in a book, with his perfect manner's and cute face.'

By now I have left the supermarket and am halfway down the road, rubbing the back of my head in utter confusion.

Wait, hang on.