lazy afternoon

There was something about him that was striking. He lay there in the sun, asleep, so he wouldn’t notice me watching him. Something in the sharp angles of his jumbled limbs, in the grimace that wrinkled his forehead. Maybe he was just thinking with his eyes closed. Maybe he was having a nightmare. There was something almost predatory in the tenseness of his limbs, like he could jump up any moment.
He stretched; I looked away. I didn’t want to be caught staring. I glanced back and he smiled, tilting his head, looking right at me, his eyes completely black.