Elise

She was a fleeting presence in his life, showing up unannounced and disappearing without notice. He never knew when or where he'd find her, or if he'd ever find her again once he let her go, but that was the appeal of Elise. She wasn't a constant, but she constantly turned up in her favourite red jumper with the white lettering on the front that swallowed up her figure. She wore it the very first time he met her in September on a cool autumn evening in Munich.

Es tut mir leid.

It was a phrase he would become very used to saying around her and she'd always give him that look with her sparkling blue eyes that said, "Do stop apologising, Holger."

She had been rubbing those eyes, which were her plain face's saving grace, with her knuckles, smearing mascara over her eyelids and leaving black streaks on her fingers. When she lowered her hand back to her side, it accidentally brushed against his and he instantly pulled away upon contact, muttering a quick and hushed, "I'm sorry." to the homely girl.

He didn't know how she had gotten so close. He was certain there were at least five feet between them when she introduced herself ten minutes prior. Although, he really didn't take notice of her. She came up no taller than his shoulder and she didn't look a day over fifteen. She had cheeks that suggested she just had her wisdom teeth removed and puffed up lips that pulled back into nearly nothing to show her gums and tea stained teeth when she smiled at him. He wished she'd stop doing that.

"It's fine," she told him with that discoloured grin. "It was my fault."

She glanced away and tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear in an attempt to hide the embarrassment creeping onto her cheeks. They were turning a red to match the rest of her, from the chipped varnish on her bitten down fingernails, to the colouring on her lips that only enhanced her less than white teeth, right down to the tie in her lifeless hair that held her long French braid together. It all matched the well faded jumper she wore that hung loosely on her body and folded in a way that made it hard to read the words written on the front, even if he knew them so well they were practically engraved into his heart.

He noticed the black smudge across her knuckles. "You've got —" He cleared his throat to bring her attention back to him. "On your hand." He pointed to the line of mascara she had unintentionally transferred to her fingers.

Her blue eyes met his briefly before she turned her gaze to where he was pointing. "Oh." She sounded sheepish as she rubbed it off on her jeans and she didn't bother to look at him as she mumbled, "Thank you."

She didn't capture his attention, she didn't leave a lasting impression, and he didn't even remember her name by the end of the conversation when she left with her father speaking a language to each other that sounded familiar and foreign to him at the same time. He didn't give her another thought when he went home. Elise was just some girl he met on a cool autumn evening in September and he never expected to see her again until she showed up back in Munich five months later on his birthday.