Panorama

Wisps of desolation fanning on autumn wind, lost in a labyrinth of its own thoughts. Theo took a nosedive in the direction of a moment yet to be woven by fate's hands.

Warm lights seep through frosted windows, placidly curious to see. Inviting— when ambience itself longs for solace and tranquillity, invitation is but a distant memory, slumbering in the embosom of…arms.

Lamps unlit stand in a row, streets softly humming in whispered symphony of life— sterile, colourless life nestled within the tapestry of distorted memories.

Theo finds himself drawn…completely drawn. Subtle aromas of freshly ground coffee and tender embrace of soft jazz caress two pairs of weathered eyes.

Grey. Dull. Tired. A tableu of forgotten moments tenant Theo's grey, boring eyes. Sweet dull melodies, why then, resonate Lorenzo's heartbeats measured by maestro. It lies in the harmony— the harmony of two complete not-so-stranger-like strangers.

Why hadn't Lorenzo's face become too close to Theo until now? An ethereal visage beneath the waltzing glow of flickering candles. Lorenzo's countenance is a portrait drawn of quiet grace, kissed by the brushstrokes of ferocity. Eyes, the colour of morphed panther.

"Noé…"

Theo's eyes telling tales of burdened clouds greet Lorenzo's unawakened eyes— "We have met before!"

Zoey can no longer ignore the increasing absurdity, "Theo, let's go," arm no more willing to refrain from steal the brunette's fitting sentience.

Lorenzo's palm rhymes with Theo's, claws brutally dipped in the brunette's rustling skin, "That's the first thing you tell to a complete stranger just after stumbling into their arms?" Venom sanctions Lorenzo's murmurs curtained behind gritted teeth, an ominous chorus of the noises unheard and the unknown stranger's vibrating cellphone. "Aren't you embarrassed? Let me tell you, usually at times like these, an individual is expected to be embarrassed! Maybe learn to behave?"

"Who do you think you are to talk to him like that, Mr.?" Zoey aims an eyebrow. This complete stranger, is one of a kind.

Words are not required in this hallowed space— no, it is the quitietude that speaks volumes, the quititude is a smile, Theo's smile… "If we have met before, how are we strangers?" An intricate tale of melancholy.

In a world that spins heedlessly, Lorenzo remains fixed in the oasis he had concocted, inch by inch, "Have we? That was an accident at best. I hope such loathsome accidents do not reoccur!" Presence melding into ill humour, Lorenzo pirouettes the younger bloke's being on a cold, travertine floor— "This is exactly where you belong! Stay!"

In a fleeting sweep, Lorenzo's fickle wrist is momentarily owned by Theo, "Maybe…if you ever have some time, spend it with me. And you will see, I am not as bad as you think?"

Lorenzo storms off, notwithstanding, mum, leaving a gust of wind behind, although…

"YOU! HOW DARE–" Indignation and worry crease Zoey's forehead, writing the glabellar lines, "Some people doesn't have an ounce of respect for people around them!" He rushes to the brunette's side, sitting on one of his knees. "Theo, are you–"

Patrons nearby turn their heads, gasping at the disruption of their tranquil noon.

"I'm fine, Zoey. Please don't get acted up, it's nothing," Theo alleviates; Zoey's trepidation being one of a kind . . . Zoey. Is. Shaking. "Zoey?" Now sobered from the incidents that had taken place, Theo's heart leaps, beholding his custodian's sight, "Zoey? Wh- what's wrong? What has happened? Are you…are you alright?"

"Theo," words crashing in ragged breaths, Zoey allows the hand of the other man in his own, letting out frequent grunts, "Bl- blood! Theo, blood! What happened!? Why is there blood?!"

"Zoey! Calm down," attuned to Zoey's consternation against blood, The brunette is cradling the back of his elder, "I'm fine, Zoey! I'm fine. Don't worry. Chief of Rudeness had blood on his palms. Don't worry…"

***

"What do you want?"

Betraying none of the emotions that roil in the pot named heart, Lorenzo's strong jawline is unyielding. To those astute enough to notice, this ravenette's expression is not plainly mundane, particles of chagrin steeping.

One hand, keeping a sleek, black smartphone steadfast to his right ear, the device poised precariously against his cheek, seemingly supporting an exorbitant amount of strain.

"Have you finished talking? Can I hang up now?" A restraint exhale escapes him, an inconclusive attempt at expelling the frustration.

Temporarily distracted by the rhythmic ebb and flow of tourists and city dwellers passing by. The typical unmannered man's, usually so precise movements are becoming languid, tapping restlessly against his own thigh, Lorenzo stems off from an outdoor staircase that leads to the rooftop.

"Haven't I warned you? Do not pester me, because I'm not going to marry!! And definitely not someone whom YOU choose!" Semblance of interests, if any is eclipsed by the relentless beckoning of the phone called Lorenzo is trapped with— those two dull eyes, preserving dewdrops of silver pet Lorenzo's perished dreams, deceased hopes…are they really the only semblance of interest left for Lorenzo now?

Impatience ignites, Lorenzo veers around, ascending through the staircase, heaving his footsteps. A conversation begins to drag on, shackling him to the chains of his circumstances, "I will not marry Emilia, dad!! Mark my words!" Menacing growl deflates.

One step. "It's still my own resolve. Don't turn it into a bet, it will not end well," Lorenzo is aware, he will have to allow himself the modicum of freedom— a freedom which is shadowed; shadowed to the same degree Lorenzo's footsteps on this exterior staircase are.

Two steps. The man's grip of the phone tightens, "You know what Emilia did today? She brought me exactly to the restaurant I avoided all these years. The cafe which used to be my and Noé's refuge."

Three steps. "Emilia says she will harm you if I don't marry her," a strength far removed from Lorenzo's current reality, twisted hunch laden with muted anger, "Who cares about you? If Emilia does anything to you…that will the best thing happening to me but…" revealing glimpses of smoldering, "I need the truth. Without you, I can't reach the truth. So, you need to be well 'preserved'."

Four steps. "And you know what, Mr. Andros? Whoever comes in between me and the truth, I will–"

Moment equals to decisive, Lorenzo pivots on his heels, sight coming in direct contact, hovering with the woman named Emilia. Emilia lingering precariously on the periphery of the staircase's balustrade, her descent becoming an imminent inevitability, her fall now reposes solely on the ravenette's deliberation. "Wouldn't think twice before completely eliminating them!"

***

"Zoey, look at the panorama!"