Watcher

Birds chirped around a young woman, her steps light and uneven as she tossed seeds around the grass surrounding her. From a bench, Lana watched with a smile, her headphones firmly positioned on her head, sunglasses covering her eyes. It was a habit, at this point, borne accidentally out of the routine she had adopted nearly two years ago. Walk. Sit. Soak in the sun. Find five good things to look at. To watch. To appreciate. A little ritual to get her out of the house. To get her out of her head. The young woman, whom Lana had taken to thinking about as Finch, had quickly taken over the list of beautiful things Lana could appreciate.

One. Long dark hair in thick coils, pushed behind Finch’s ears with a worn old bandana. Some days ribbons nestled among the curls, sometimes strings of tinsel or obviously cheap hair dye. With frizz or smooth, shining lustrously with product or left wild and untamed. All versions of Finch’s hair were worth noticing, worth appreciating.

Two. A mole on her left elbow. The dark hair along her arms highlighted it, the dark patch on tanned skin just another detail on the tapestry of her skin. Skin that glowed in the sun, deep and warm.

Three. Dark eyes that watched the world with permanent amusement. When Finch smiled over at Lana, at the not-quite stranger on the bench, Lana swore she saw gold in them. Even the gods above would be envious of those eyes, but to be basked in the warmth of their gaze filled Lana with a heady warmth, chasing out all comprehendible thoughts.

Four. The scar on her chin. It wasn’t always visible, partially hidden by the dimples of Finch’s ever-present smile, but it was humanizing. A reminder to Lana of the fragility of beauty, of the gentle press of the world against their skin. She wanted to run her thumb over it, to press her lips to the edge of it and learn how it had come to be. What excitement had led to it? What life did Finch leave beyond the confines of the park, of the birds who worshipped her for the sake of being fed?

Five. It was always hardest to finish the list, to wrap up everything in a tidy bow. No list so short could ever truly encapsulate the beauty of the moment. Every day it was different. Every day it depended on what Finch was doing. Feeding the birds, dancing along to music with her headphones, laying on the grass with a book open on her chest…Every piece of her was demonstrated in what she loved. What she wore. How she presented herself.

“You know I don’t bite, right?” Lana twitched, hands immediately clammy with sweat as the voice broke through her stupor. “You have been watching me, haven’t you?” Finch plopped herself on the bench besides Lana, her skirt billowing up in a cloud of fabric before settling down over her knees.

Lana responded only in the shameful wringing of her hands, opening her mouth and closing it again like a fish trying to breathe outside of water. The laughter that bubbled out of Finch’s mouth was enough to chase away rational anxieties over having been caught staring.

“Number five,” Lana whispered, against her best judgement. Heat flushed her face, blood rushing to her brain as it scrambled to put something more coherent into the air.

“What?” The laughter disappeared, eyebrows furrowing with lines wrinkling the space between those eyes.

“Your laugh,”

“My laugh is number five? Of what?”

“It’s,” Lana blinked rapidly, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She had to explain, somehow. Otherwise, she was just a creepy observer who was obsessed with numbers. “It’s a thing I do. To get out of my own head. Find five things that are,” she searched for a word that didn’t betray the fluttering of butterflies in her chest, “lovely.” It wasn’t the word she would have liked to use, beautiful or enchanting would have been a little better to justify a laugh such as Finch’s. Lovely was no lie, though.

“Oh.”

Lana braced herself for criticism, for mockery, for the inevitable shame that would follow from someone who didn’t have to work to be outside their own brain. From someone who could experience the world and all it had to offer without effort.

“What are the other four things?” Instead of mockery, there was only curiosity. A head tilted with wide eyes watching the watcher.

“You.”

It tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it, hands slapping over Lana’s traitorous mouth a second too late.

“I mean, not in a stalker way or a weird way! You just looked so happy, and so free and the birds seemed to really like you. I mean, it’s something out of a fairy tale. You're like a princess but no, not a princess! Just like one, in that you are very pretty and animals like you and. I should shut up, really. I should have stopped talking a long time ago, I’m sorry.” Lana’s fingers splayed over her sunglasses, shoulders caving in as though she could shrink out of being alive. Finch blinked, taken aback as she chuckled.

“You know, you don’t look so bad yourself, Watcher.” Finch wiggled her eyebrows as the pathetically curled figure beside her, her smile broad and bright. Amused while Lana was enchanted. Finch reached a hand out, curling her fingers around Lana’s wrist and slowly tugging their hands down.

“I’m sorry…” Lana repeated limply, staring at the hands around her wrist. She was all too aware of the bones pressed against skin, of the little pieces of skin picked apart around each of her nails.

“What, for watching me instead of just talking to me for weeks?” Finch laughed again, this time bolder. She squeezed Lana’s wrists before moving her hands to intertwine their fingers. The two women stilled, warmth oozing over from the watched to the watcher. Their palms pressed together, sparks dancing up each arm. Lana had hardly been subtle— it hadn’t really occurred to her to try— but still she felt the twist of guilt at having been caught.

“I don’t talk to people very much. New ones, at least,” she offered by way of apology, raising her chin in a meager attempt to meet Finch’s eyes. The sunglasses, hopefully, hid the smattering of tears that she fought to suppress. “Especially not pretty strangers in the park.” It was a very weak joke, with even worse delivery, but Finch nodded appreciatively.

“Oh, yeah. I’m terrifying!” Finch bared her teeth, wrinkling her nose and curling her lips in the best imitation of a monster. Softly, Lana giggled, feeling a small amount of sense returning to her brain. Finch froze, eyes very obviously ducking down to Lana’s mouth. Color shaded her cheeks as she teased her own lip between her teeth. “Can I be embarrassingly honest about something?”

“Yes?”

Finch’s eyes glittered with gold as she pulled her hands away from Lana’s. The disappointment that followed was immense, but immediately chased away by the gentle brush of Finch’s fingers against her cheek. Finch leaned forward, the soft curls of her hair tickling Lana’s face as she brought her lips close to Lana’s ear. In a whisper, meant only for the woman sitting next to her and not another soul, she spoke.

“I’ve been watching you, too.”