From The Corner Of His Eye の小説・ストーリー

She broke off as she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes grew wide as she looked toward the other side of the room. “And he’s over there!”

Slowly, she saw a glint surface at the corner of his eye. "Turn around, Hill" he instructed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him smile, finally digging into his food. Geez, I thought, suppressing a grin. That was… something.

He just kept his eyes on the road, his hands pretty steady on the wheel and his posture straight. I watched him through the mirror. His jaw was tight, clean-shaven. The veins on his forearms rose with every turn, every shift. His knuckles flexed just slightly on the wheel. I crossed my legs slowly, the slit of my dress parting higher up my thigh. I didn’t do it for balance. He noticed. His eyes flicked to the mirror, then quickly back to the road. But not before I saw the way the corner of his mouth tightened and his nostrils flared.

Just paused mid-word. His pen hovered above the paper. Then, slowly, he turned his head... just enough to see me from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t a challenge. Just... there. Like: I see you. I always did. I looked away fast. Too fast. Stared hard at the corner of my desk like it had answers written in the wood grain. The air felt thicker. He didn’t look at me again. But he didn’t have to.

I love our new room. Then out of the corner of my eye I see him in the tree line, looking directly at me, with that smirk.

His eyes narrowed. "It's you?" He unconsciously murmured.

I'm not sure he can even see the small change I have noticed myself. The pain of standing this vulnerable and naked in front of him has my tears welling over, and I can't stop them. Averting my eyes, I look to the side instead and want nothing else but to pick up the towel again, but I'm glued to my spot. Just waiting it out, whatever he is up to. The slowest seconds go by while I'm only focusing on breathing, trying to block out what's happening, but I'm not able to when I hear him move and look at him in the corner of my eye.

He swept his eyes across the room once, taking a slow, comprehensive inventory. And then his gaze reached me. It held for less than two seconds. Maybe less than one. But it held. And in that fraction of a moment I watched recognition cross his face — that brief, specific flicker of someone who has been watching for something and has just found it — before it was replaced by something else. Something cooler. More deliberate. One eyebrow lifted. Just slightly. Just enough. The corner of his mouth moved. Not a smile. Not quite. Something harder than that, and more specific: a challenge.

Atlas. He stood at the far end of the corridor, leaning casually against the wall as if he had all the time in the world. But his eyes betrayed him. They weren’t casual at all. They were locked on me, sharp and unblinking, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.