𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬 ➤ 𝑹. 𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒚

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

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"𝙄'𝙢 𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝"

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𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟗𝐭𝐡, 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋 dinged obnoxiously as Valerie stepped through the doors, a rush of cool air brushing against her russet skin, courtesy of the shop's air conditioning. She gazed promptly around the room, searching for a familiar mop of over-styled hair in the crowded store.

Not long after, she perked up, spotting her target poking his head gingerly out the back room. Right on time.

"Hey, loser." 

An innocent smile was sent in the boy's direction, an evident contrast to the discourteous greeting that escaped her lips. Steve rolled his eyes in response and reluctantly snatched the ice cream scoop from its designated spot on the counter.

"This day just gets better and better," he muttered, but there was a tilt to his lips that eased the girl's mind and without a second thought, she brushed off his comment.

"You're lucky you get to see me at all. I'm pretty popular," Valerie retorted, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Steve, who seemed to disagree with the statement. She ignored his expression, dismissing his antics once again before relaying her order, "Mint-choc, extra sprinkles."

He whipped it up quickly before handing it to her with a look of contempt, as if he weren't getting paid hourly for this. Valerie thanked him smugly as they both walked to a nearby booth, sitting down adjacent to each other. Well, she sat down, Steve on the other hand, decided to splay himself over the leather as if he owned the place. Typical Harrington-esque behaviour.

"Didn't you already take a lunch break?" she asked bemusedly, noting the time on her watch, it was past noon. Steve grinned at her cheekily, pointedly not responding as he took a bite of his sundae. That was about all the answer she needed.

Sighing, the girl copied him, smiling to herself as the sweet dessert settled on her tongue. Steve suddenly leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked over at her. They were a contrasting pair. 

Valerie was shorter than him, only barely reaching 5'4 and her skin was noticeably darker, a warm shade of bronze, courtesy of her Indonesian heritage. It complimented her dark brown curls, that were clipped to settle just below her chin. Steve on the other hand, was strikingly pale in comparison, his (over-styled) chestnut locks only emphasizing his lack of melanin. Yet, they were best friends.

The title of 'best friends' had been determined only less than a year ago, in the events of a poorly executed fight between himself and Billy Hargrove. Steve had been knocked near unconscious and Valerie had unceremoniously intervened, landing the final punch that sent the psychotic teen staggering, allowing enough time for Max to inject him with a sedative. 

The girl had saved him from a painful concussion and — due to her reluctant participation in a first aid training months prior — aided his wounds. It was safe to say the two hadn't strayed far apart ever since.

"So why exactly are you here? This makes three times in two days," Steve smirked, acting far too cocky in front of someone who'd seen him get absolutely decked in one punch not even a year prior.

The question was more directed at the fact that Valerie was eating in the store, usually her and Steve would meet somewhere else in the mall. He'd always turn up to their designated meeting spot with a stupidly wide grin and a take-home tub of ice cream that they'd demolish in minutes.