May [H.S]

15 •

Magnolia
•••

Il pleut des cordes.

Sweat exudes off my body, cold to the touch, my muscles burn from the intensity it just endured. The contrast of the frigid, dry rink to the humid outdoors is the equivalent of knives to tender skin. I engulf myself deeper into the fuzzy warmth of my sweatshirt, sucking my legs up into the fabric. Sighing in annoyance, my patience dissipates as cars fly past me, flicking tiny drops of rain all over the place.

I could do what a normal human being would do and wait inside, though something about the walls in there makes me feel claustrophobic. And the outside, as cold as it may be grants a sort of serenity, which I desperately need after a day like today. Being seriously hungover and nearly pushed out a window– it's no surprise I had to blow off some steam at the rink. Drowning out everything but the pressing thoughts that matter, I compete in the big leagues soon, and Harry will be the least of my worries.

If any kind of relationship between us lasts that long. He isn't exactly the most fun person to be around. Hell, unless falling stories to your imminent death is your kink.

The streetlights fight against the looming fog, tackling the condensation– orange-hued beams splay among the parking lot. Piercing the gloominess, rain pitters down, softer than this morning. As the seconds pass the darkness consumes any illumination around me, and I can't help but let my frustration overcome me.

I fumble into my gym bag next to me, finding a dingy pack of cigarettes with my shaky fingers. Naturally, the cigarette finds its rightful place between my lips, shielding it from the seldom wind, I hone in on the flame crisping the end. The simmering burn that travels down my throat mends the hole in my conscious mind.

I push myself to my feet, blowing the smoke away from me is no use as it comes back with the breeze, wafting the scent in my face. Grumbling in frustration, I flinch as I look up and catch sight of the person quietly standing next to me.

"Your ride flakin' on you too?" Puffing on it, I nod my head to the hooded figure, their attention catches. A rosy face with scatter freckles looks my way, nearly stunned it's me standing next to them. Surely neither of us saw the other standing here, the rain and the moody surrounding was beyond enough to gather our attention.

She picks at the raven hairs peeking out of her hood, flicking her eyes to my feet before she speaks, "Yeah, my car won't start, and guess the roads are bad? Dunno." I nod softly, seeing the clear evidence of exhaustion on her face.

"I'm sure my ride won't mind dropping you off?" Pursing my lips as the question remains, Cypress shakes her head, politely declining, "It's okay," She hums.

Turning back to the fog-consumed rain, I inhale the smoke deeply, finding that my eyes stray to her out of habit. She minds her business, yet I can't, it's strange seeing her at the rink after Regionals, sure she was here every now and then, but each time it felt like I was staring at a fish out of water. I couldn't imagine being banned from comps and still having the motivation to keep up skating.

I narrow my eyes at her frame, asking her in a quick gesture if she wants to share the cigarette, which is mostly a joke considering I'm my years of knowing her she's never touched any kind of substance. To my surprise she agrees, pinching out her painted pink nails. A sheen of amusement breaks out on my face as she coughs, inhaling way too much.

"How's Styles?" Cypress screws her face, handing back the cigarette, I look at her blankly. "I heard he was back in town." She follows up quickly, continuing to pick at her hair. An absent-minded tick I happen to catch onto.