Teal.

Prologue.

It was a chance encounter that set off a chain of events, and caused the development of a strange relationship between two mistrusting people; one distant, offset girl, and one wronged, apprehensive man. She’ll tell him what he needs to hear, not what he wants, even if it bites and stings. He’ll watch and listen, catching the ticks and the cracks most miss with the blink of an eye. Their meeting wasn’t planned, one running, one happily at home.

It started with another girl, smiling silently as she crashed into his arms, warm lips pressing against his in the middle of the sidewalk. She had long legs, thick black hair and navy eyes that seemed endless. It was as he held the familiar warm figure that he it caught his eye, just over her shoulder.

He pulled back, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Go on inside, yeah? I’ll be right there. Something to deal with.”

Given the cold, Claire offered up no resistance, just an inquisitive glance as she lightly pecked his lips before sweeping by him and into his building, running her fingers along his chest as she went. He could focus then on what had caught his eye; what set of a slight trace of frustration.

On the crowded London street she was the only unmoving figure, the only one that in pure stillness could grab someone’s attention so sharply. In one hand she held a small black book, the other a pen that seemed to scribble viciously against the paper. Her large, bright eyes darted rapidly between the pad and him, unflinching even when it became apparent he had noticed her attention.

The paparazzi, he decided, were getting increasingly young—and brazen. His hands naturally made their way into his coat pockets as he stepped forward, brushing past the throngs of people on the crowded street and right up to her.

She looked up as he came to a halt before her, gray-green eyes unwavering. Her pen though, stopped moving as she reached up, plucking an ear bud from between her thick, auburn curls and letting it dangle at her side.

“So, which paper do you work for?” he asked levelly.

She gave a quirky smile, eyebrows going up slightly. “Paper?”

“Yes, darling. Which tabloid. I’ve noticed you watching Claire and I, so, care to tell me who asked you to come spy on us?” he explained.

“Do I sound like I belong to your tabloids?” she laughed, American accent becoming apparent. “Not a reporter, just a tourist.”

He paused, thinking for a moment. What did the lives of British TV stars matter to the American press? Honestly, they didn’t. Perhaps she wasn’t paparazzi, but that didn’t explain the notebook. He gave it a short nod. “So what’s this, then?”

“I said I wasn’t a reporter, not that I wasn’t a writer,” she said, shutting it. “My editor decided I needed a vacation, so here I am. And what did I find? Inspiration, thanks to you and your…girlfriend. It’s not every day you see such a striking couple.”

With her small bout of laughter, the girl seemed rather nonchalant, unfazed by the prospect of conversing with a stranger. Most people showed some traces of apprehension, uncertainty about what to say, or what not to say. It all seemed to roll off her as she spoke to him like a person, like an equal, not some demi-god as his fans tended to. Either she didn’t know who he was, or genuinely didn’t care. With a girl like her, it was honestly hard to tell.

“How long have you guys been together?” she asked, sticking her pen in her pocket.

He paused, crossing his arms as he watched her. Brazen was a very accurate initial assumption. “I’m sure the tabloids could tell you that.”

She shook her head a little, removing the curls from her line of sight. “I could honestly care less about the hottest celebrity gossip. And you’re actually famous, I’ll take it.”

“And you really are a tourist, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. But really, how long?”

“Two years, but what business is it of yours?” he inquired, tilting his head back, tone more curious than defensive.

“Ah.” she looked down, fiddling with the worn corner of her small black book. There was a moment’s silence, then, “I give you guys two weeks.”

The air was stale with the murmurs of the passing crowds as they stood facing one another on the sidewalk. What she said initially made him want to laugh, but the way she said it, the tone, the sincerity made him think twice. It was forlorn, yet somehow horribly blunt.

“Excuse me?” he recoiled a little, displeasure coating his face.

“Look, you remind me of someone I know, so all I’m going to tell you is to let it go; it won’t be worth it.”

“That’s a bit bold coming from a teenager,” he snapped.

She looked up at that, some trace of anger that mimicked his becoming apparent. “I’m twenty three, thank you.”

“Doesn’t matter.” he threw his arms open. “I’ve still got four years on you, and besides, who are you to judge someone else’s relationship?”

Her calm seemed to return as she eyed him up and down, crossing her arms over her chest with a heavy sigh, “Everyone deserves a warning, whether they ask for it or not. I was just trying to help. I’ve got to go; my friend should be here any minute. Goodbye.”

“Just like an American,” he scoffed as she turned. “No name, yet invasion of personal space and degradement of my relationship are a bloody alright thing to continue with.”

She turned back towards him, slowly. She said nothing, waiting. He gave her an expectant nod. She spoke then, one word. “Teal.”

“Julian Giles,” he replied.

“I didn’t ask, but thanks anyways.” she gave him a slight smile before turning away.

He watched her vanish into the crowds, never once looking back. He turned; the irritation she had left him with still nibbling away as he entered his building. Claire was waiting on him. Her arms were over her chest as she stepped forward.

“What was that about?”

“I thought it was paparazzi again.” he shrugged. “For once I was wrong.”

A frown became prominent as her blue eyes left his for a moment. “Whatever, let’s go upstairs, yeah?”

And so they did, with his arm around her waist and the American girl’s statement on his mind.

It was a week and a half later when the pictures hit the press; dated the day he had met the blunt American girl on the sidewalk. Pictures of Claire and John Delaynes kissing, above a picture of Claire and him engaging in the same activity. Beneath that, a small photograph of the confrontation between him and the girl appeared in the right hand corner; the one who had predicted the end with horrifying accuracy.
♠ ♠ ♠
Comment Swap: Please, for the love of all that is cute and dear to your heart, do not comment on the layout. I do not care how you feel about the layout, because I'm a bit selfish and honestly I design my layouts for my taste, and my taste alone. If you like it, fine. If you don't, fine. Just don't tell me. Because I'm not changing it.

If you're here for comment swap, comment on what actually matters, the story. Because again, I could truly care less about how you feel about my layout. Thanks.