Tapping her pen against the table, she looks outside the window. A cup of tea–ceylon black with two sugar cubs–resting on the table, among scattered papers and books. Once a while she stretches on her seat, sighs deeply and grabs her phone; smiling and giggling while she quickly types. Her laptop– covered in metal bands stickers–is closed beside her books; a rarity because her eyes are usually on her laptop screen.
Most nights, she stumbles into the cafe; right on that table where she pouts looking at the darkness outside. Exhaling quietly, rubbing her eyes–dark and fatigued–waiting for the waitress to approach. She rarely asks for anything else than her beloved tea for a drink, but sometimes she asks for a latte; for tuna sandwich and strawberry cheesecake.
Today is different.
Instead of sitting and looking at the moonlight, it's bright and lit outside from the light of the morning sun. Her smile is different, soft as she types on her phone and eyes twinkle as she stares at the street. She hums under her breath, playing with a fork and the leftover maple syrup on the plate from breakfast.
And it is different.
No longer after she asks for another cup of tea, someone arrives to the cafe. Hair black against the pristine outfit. His mouth is thin, with sharp eyes beneath the glasses he wears. His appearance is surprising, as he is dark and walks confidently; impeccable in his manners. The man is such a contrast with the girl with brown boots, frilly pastel dress and black leather jacket; especially with that mess of hair and sunny smiles.
But then those lips quirk as he takes the sight of the girl, almost vibrating on her seat from excitement; and when his strides bring him closer, leather covered arms quickly sling over his shoulder as she bounces on her feet.
"It's such been a long time since I saw you!"
The man chuckles, patting her head. "Yes, nice to see you back."
She grins; disentangles her arms and sits back after she calls for a waiter. "You look tired, have you been working too hard?" She asks, eyes narrowing the dark bags under his eyes.
"Kind of," he sighs. "I guess I'm still not used to work."
The girl taps her fingers in wonder; waiting for the waiter to write a cup of earl grey tea and a plate of egg benedict. "I guess so, feels like we're still in university sometimes." Groaning, she clutches at her chest and throws her hand to the air. "And now, we're so old; weary and jaded in this goddamn harsh world; feeling empty and never be bold–not ever and anymore!"
That sends him to a laughing fit. "You–silly dramatic–" he draws a breath, trying to calm himself, "how I wonder could I go on without you?"
"'Course you couldn't," winking outrageously, she flips her hair back. "Now, tell me about the state of the earth–or maybe just your life."
He rolls his eyes. "Well," he pours tea from the pot, "It's not like you don't know anything. We do chat everyday, after all." Calmly he sips, one eyebrow raises at her.
"I know that. But it's different in person!"
Grinning as he cuts up his meal, he says, "If you must know, I saw a cat tripped on a wet floor this morning."
"The cat from 43B again?" At his nods, she laughs. "What's wrong with that cat, aren't they supposed to be graceful?"
"That cat doesn't have any graceful genes in his body," he says. "But hey, so are you."
"Shut up!" She grumbles. He keeps smirking at her pout. "Maybe I should ask that cat to make a group of uncoordinated beings with me."
"That you should," the man nods in agreement, and she snorts at his reply.
The girl hums while waiting for her companion to finish his breakfast, occasionally sips her tea and steals his fruit salad.
"So, how's Misha and Dean last night?" He asks.
Smiling, she turns her head. "I had so much fun last night! Dean is now a Fallen, and Misha is trying hard to find a way to bring him back!"
"You love to torture your characters so much."
"I don't!" She says heatedly. "Well… Maybe a little…" She whispers to herself. "But! A little bit angst is what everyone needs, after all!" The man looks dubious. "It is!"
"Whatever you say, Your Highness."
"Of course, beloved peasant," she replies and the man chokes. "I have a hard time to write the action part though." The girl stirs her tea absentmindedly. "I don't know if it's any good…"
"It'll be good," he assures. "After all, no one fought as much as you did in school."
"Hey! I thought we've promised to never talk about it again!"
The man laughs. "Sorry, but it's hilarious." He slings his arm around her shoulders. "Sometimes I wonder how someone as clumsy as you could fight so much."
"It's a mystery to me too," she admits. Leaning on his shoulder she looks outside, reminiscing. "It's been so long, isn't it? We're so old right now."
"We're not old."
"Feels like it."
"I guess so," he shrugs. "Old, yet young. Jaded, yet an optimist. It's a paradox."
"Being those without aims; still living yet aren't alive," she muses, "And we–just a speck of dust, in this existence of the universe."
They fall into silence. Each deep in their own minds, but leaning on each other.
"We're old, so we should go right now," the man says, finishing his cup in one swallow. "Ready for Star Trek, My Lady of Old Fandom?"
Laughing, she stands and takes her purse. "Of course, My Lad. Please lead the way," she smiles, hooking her arm on his.
"Absolutely, Your Highness," he smiles back.
They walk away from the cafe she loves to be in. Smiles on their faces, as they passionately talk about the movie they're going to watch. After all, it's been a long time since they're in each other's presence; no matter how long they usually chat on their phones.
And sometimes, she walks into the cafe at nights; or in the mornings waiting for him. Because she does miss to be with him and so does he.