Keep Me Believing

Prologue

Keep Me Believing

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Prologue

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"Hurry up Matty! We're gonna miss it!"

The subtle breeze of early winter wafts against them, a puff of flakes cascading in the threshold of   the underpass,  tangling in the long locks of her  jasmine scented hair and bleeding into her warm laughter. Warm like the molasses cookies they just snatched from their favorite little bistro right by the capitol building,  Warm like  how it feels like snuggled into the quilts the shelter  sometimes provided on arrival, and the way it feels when they hold each other's hand as a constant reminder of how the other is always right there.  Warm like ' the exact antithesis of this city of all sharply renowned architecture where lofty men with pressed suits, and ladies with freshly curled hair, briskly walk without sparing a second glance to anything of the slightest inconvenience.

"I'm hurrying!" Mateo wants to yell out in defense, pointing out how Rosalyn has always been more of the sprinter in their duo and that he's doing the best that he can—but then she slinks their hands together, and it gives him enough of a push to jump off the tarmac alongside her, and  through the rapidly shutting doors.

"Us one, subway zero!" Rosalyn preens as the pair sprawl—all long limbs in crooked angles—on to the nearest set of chairs that aren't occupied by suit clad folks—ones who are obviously important and rich and have no time at all to deal with a couple of raucous teens flailing around in their sanctuary.

"I can't believe we almost missed our route cause you wanted that stupid hair band," Mateo grouses.

"OH come on  sour patch," Rosalyn pokes his pouty cheek with a nail almost bitten raw. "Every girl in our year has one."

"You're better than all those girls," he sniffs, not understanding Rosalyn's insatiable   craving to be inducted into the gaggle of tube sock wearing, gossip ridden girls with pasted smiles and dreams of being married to some faceless doctor and running their own high tea every third Sunday of the month. Matteo knows for a fact that Rosalyn has so much more to offer the world, and she deserves so much more than all her wildest imaginations.

"Awwww, you're cute," she croons before smacking an exasperated kiss onto his cheek—but the ridiculous nature of it doesn't stop the heat from rushing to his ears.

"I don't even know why I put up with you," Matteo huffs—pretending as if he's not being completely obvious with how smitten he is on her and all her stupid splendidness.

"Oh you love me really," she jeers while stretching their interlocked fingers. "Who else can warn you if you're committing some horrendous fopaux?"

He snorts with indignation. "I don't know, Mrs. Crawley over on fifth seems to really be fond of me. I bet she wouldn't let me embarrass myself."

"Hmm, true true. But Mrs. Crawley wouldn't share her froyo with you."

"Probably for the best," he counters. "I need to get back in shape before baseball season starts, or coach is gonna have my ass."

"Come now Matty," Rosalyn simpers with hooded eyes—and honestly Matteo's dick really needs to get the memo that even if she's making come hither eyes like that, it's wholly inappropriate to have a half hard junior in the middle of a full train cart. "I'd still love ya if you were so fat that you get stuck in the middle of a bathtub just like good old Taft, as Mr. McKinley oh so loves to remind us about every history class."

"That's never been proven you know—just rumors." He responds by rote, just like he always does whenever he finds something particularly interesting. It's a tick he's never been able to get rid of completely, something that Rosalyn claims is her favorite attribute of his. "Showing off that a nerd can be hot too."