breather | s.m

8

note - I unpublished the last part because I kept on coming back to it and not liking it, at least not yet. It will probably be republished as a later chapter. I felt like I needed to build their story a little more first. Thanks <3 

| 8 | E I G H T |

The day crawls by in glimpses of the night it will be. It's cold, bitterly cold, digging itself into my lungs and unfurling with each breath. I shudder beneath my coat. My hands are somewhere inside, locked around each other, cheeks pinched pink, bleary-eyed. I feel numb.

You're outside, rolling back and forth on your feet, hands buried in your pockets. You're looking at something ahead.

'You didn't have to wait outside,' I say as I arrive. You glance down at me. A smile skims across your face.

'It's okay, I just got here,' you reply, and then you take my arm and we walk into the shop.

The stereotypical bell welcomes us, and it's warm inside, heat bubbling up and suffocating the room, blanketing everyone in a warm, buttery haze. I shrug off my coat, folding it over my arm. We take a seat as close as we can to a window, at this small wooden table with a cup of wildflowers in the middle. The watery winter sun bleeds over us through the frosted glass.

'What do you want?' You ask, and I tell you I'd like a mocha. You nod and go to order, and then I am alone at the table. I cross my ankles, my boots still heavy with the cold. I watch what I can of the world outside the table - I glimpse a fur hat, but then it's gone, swallowed by the frost. I rub my hands together. They're still cold.

You slip back into the seat opposite me, and you must notice me rubbing my hands, because you reach across and encase them in your own. 'Cold?' You ask, rubbing them between your palms. I nod a little, and you bring them up to your lips, blowing hot air into your hands, and onto mine. I give you a smile, and it's a little bashful.

'How have you been?' You ask, and you put my hands down, but you don't release them. I'm glad for this. They're still a little cold, and this is nice, anyway.

'Good,' I say. There's little to report - it's only been a few days since I last saw you, at our soccer match. 'I haven't done anything particularly interesting,' I admit. 'I did see a movie yesterday. It was pretty good.'

'Which movie?'

'Split,' I tell you. 'I never watch scary movies. But this one was more psychological. Very creepy. But good.'

'I'm probably the same,' you say. You remove one hand for a second to scratch your face, and then tuck it back over mine. I notice you've got some stubble. 'I like scary, though, but psychological thrillers are the favourite.' You seem to have an idea. 'Have you seen The Sixth Sense?' I shake my head no. You split into a grin. 'Oh, it's brilliant. We should watch it, later.'

'What, like, after coffee?'

You shrug. 'I didn't have any particular preference for 'later', but yeah, that'll do, if you want to?'

'Yeah, okay,' I tell you. I smile. 'Does this mean I'm meeting your friends-slash-roommates already?'

'I guess it does,' you say, and you laugh a little. 'I promise they won't be mean.' You stop, as if remembering something, and then curse. 'Shit, I totally forgot. I'm supposed to be going with Harry and the others to the trampoline park this afternoon for a video.' I don't know Harry. I assume he's one of your mates. You look up at me - you almost look hopeful. 'You could always come?'

'What? Just me, and all your mates?' I let out a breathy exhale. 'I think that could be a little awkward.'

'Bring Olive,' you suggest. 'Maybe then we can get to know each other a little better and she won't hate me so much.'

'She doesn't hate you,' I say again, 'she's just protective.'

'Either way. It's a good idea.'

I watch you for a moment. Your face, your eyes, your hair in the winter light. And this feels so right. I'm already comfortable around you. And I want you to kiss me, right then and there, and I think I can see you thinking the same thing. But there's people here. I bite my lip so I don't smile.

'Okay. Let's do it.'