Unrequited, II

The flashing cursor blindly urged him to type something, but nothing was coming to Declan. At least, nothing that the recipient would understand.

He shook his head absently, picked up the iPhone and quickly responded to Leila:

Bring Chinese tonight. Lo Mein, not Chow. XXOO.

Any bystander would think that Declan was taking to his girlfriend, but Leila was a very lovely and faithful girl friend. You guys are...Pluto-nomic, is what Aunt Caitlin would say. Pretty much everyone got the gist.

As he hit send, Declan's finger brushed up against the scar along his thumb. He set the phone down and traced the scar, following it down to nearly his elbow. Declan lost count after the the cast came off how many times people queried about it. The running joke was a cat did this to him. It wasn't a lie; it was a bitter truth that Declan could not forget.

He could feel the wind whipping through his reddish locks, the arms wrapped around him, the warmth of another pressed upon his cheek, a whisper...

The keyboard suddenly leapt simultaneously along with the vintage wooden chair. It's antique hinges and springs creaked in protest, the seat swiveling round and round, no longer hindered by a seated person.