Didn't want an empty account. No idea where this is going... but I have some ideas.
First
The sharp air slipped its way into my shivering chest. I dragged a little more oxygen in, the air heating within my lean frame, waiting, then trying to find an escape through my throat again. My feet scraped along the soggy concrete below me, my legs tense from the roads I had been wandering at such a peculiar time. I had been walking for hours and my body hadn't forgotten about it. If I didn't have a destination in mind, I might have collapsed then and there. The thought of her kept me motivated.
I smiled as I walked towards the brick lain house I had been searching for. There were lights illuminating the windows and creating a subtle glow onto the street, which was customary for this house at 11 PM. With the last few ounces of energy I had left in my weakened muscles, I scraped my feet up the footpath to the dark brown door and knocked it with my fist three times. For a while there was only the sound of a television running, a faint laughter being projected throughout the hollow residence. Leaning against the bricks, I let myself doubt for a moment but smiled once again when I heard footsteps in the hallway.
The door swung open and I couldn't help but grin at her face, which always carried a warmly lit smirk, without the assistance from the light inside. Her head jerked back, gesturing me inside and I followed her into the kitchen where I sat on a moss green bar stool, frayed from years of 'wear n' tear'. She began preparing a cup of tea while humming a familiar tune, which made me feel warm. As the hot mug was pushed in front of me, I shivered.
"Why 11 PM... Why when I'm half asleep?" I murmured, lifting the mug to my mouth and slowly tasting the hot drink on my tongue, letting the flavours sink in.
"Because you're funnier when you're tired..." she smiled and turned towards the TV which was showing a strange Japanese game show that she always loved watching for reasons I never explored. There were a few bottles of beer in front of the television, one half empty with a small glass beside it.
"Drinking?" I queried.
"It's no fun waiting when you're sober," she mumbled then turned to face me. "Why..." she trailed off and waited for a moment, as if she was trying to choose what to say to me. Eventually he just turned back to the television, pretending she said nothing. A prolonged moment later, she decided to cut the silence.
"You're always so awkward when you're over here... when we're out you seem to loosen up, but here you just seem to get wound tighter. What's with that?"
"I think you'll find it's not where I am; it's who I'm with." As I spoke, I looked at my hands, trying to hide from the characteristic stare she gave whenever she was eager to understand me. I began to trace the lines on my palm, trying to avoid confessing anything deeper. I had shocked her with my response, because she didn't say anything for a long while after that.
"Your hair looks lovely and… pink today," I muttered, my hand reflexing back to my neck. I didn't understand this reflex, but it happened frequently. I didn't try to control it too much. She seemed to be amused at my ridiculous attempt towards a compliment, because she giggled.
"You're looking a rather nice shade cobalt yourself," she stuttered and my cheeks instantly warmed. Shit, I wasn't trying to flirt. My gaze stayed low. If I looked at her now, she'd probably have a fit from the joy. Sometimes, Amy was far too erratic.