Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my first FanFic. I'm not asking you to be gentle, I know I won't be. You may have noticed I'm a Smiths fan. I'll try not to make that a regular occurrence. Other than that, please read and enjoy. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

-GrassDitch

Stepping onto the path, it feels good to taste the air again. I've been cooped up in my 10ft by 8ft room for the past three days, contemplating what reaching this milestone means. It's the beginning of my final degree year, and as I set off from the doorstep I feel liberated by the chilled September sun on my skin and the crisp air, teetering on the edge of autumn as I teeter on the edge of adult life. It's funny, the things you take for granted as you grow up, only now have I begun to consider what it really means to step out into the world. Academia is a wonderful safety net, no matter what unexpected and strange turns my life has taken; it has always been there to fall back on. It's wonderful to be completely void of any real, life changing responsibility.

I pick up my pace as I leave the student area of the city and laugh at my optimism as a slight bounce creeps into my step. Just three years ago I would have snorted at the idea of portraying even the slightest form of enthusiasm. But things change, people change. I untangle my headphones and hang them around my neck, feeling the chill of the plastic send a shiver down my spine as it comes into contact with the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. I press play on my mp3, stopping on the street corner to light a cigarette and a smile stretches across my lips, cigarette drooping from my mouth as the sound of The Smiths seeps into my ears: "A dreaded sunny day and I meet you at the cemetery gates, Keats and Yeats are on your side, while Wilde is on mine." I've adored this band since I first heard the words "punctured bicycle" seep from the speakers in my mum's car when I was still in primary school. It does nothing but elevate my overly optimistic mood.

Eventually, I find myself outside my favourite cafe; I swear if my feet were given independent life they would still choose to bring me here. It's called "Leaves", and is the kind of establishment that boasts the sale of one hundred per cent hemp products and only fair trade beans. More importantly, it's the best coffee I've tasted this side of the Channel. I nod in approval of the ever changing canvases on the walls, the products of little known artists and sold for meagre prices, considering the time that is spent on each abstract expression. The cashier raises his head in acknowledgement as I approach the counter, "Hey Naomi, let me guess... A double espresso for your tired, essay wracked brain?"

"Not today, Mark, term's only just begun. But I was meaning to ask you, can I set up a tab for my dissertation or do I have to wait until I'm stressed and elbow deep in referencing?" I raise an eyebrow- it's an expression that I can never quite resist.

"You could have all the coffee you liked free of charge if you'd just set a date," he smirked in challenge. I think this conversation never quite gets old for Mark, he's extremely persistent.

"I've told you, nature's just not on your side" I say, sauntering towards my favourite spot.

"Cappuccino, then?"

"Just grand," I call over my shoulder as I take my corner seat. I just love the atmosphere in this place. I observe the other customers, mostly in pairs and threes, with the occasional loner, buried to their ears in the pages of a book. The hum of conversation reaches me in soft waves and disperses, rising again and again as I observe a man with rough dread locks in an old brown jumper spread his fingers, palms facing his chest, and circle his forearms towards his partner across the table like he can fan the essence of his thoughts into his friend's brain. I adore watching-

"Your coffee," My thought process is interrupted as Mark places the bowl shaped, white cup, steaming, onto the table.

"Thanks" I say distractedly as he leaves. I pick up my people watching, observing a girl in the corner, of around seventeen, slouched over her coffee like all her worries and woes are having a tea party on her shoulders. She's stirring absent-mindedly as she stares out of the window. God, she reminds me of myself when I was in college. A part of me wants to get up and sit with her, tell her, whatever it is, it's probably not the end of the world. I think the better of it, there's something wonderfully alive about adolescence, despite the feeling the world is against you. I kind of miss that, it was so intense. I shake my head at the thought, remove a book from my bag and begin to pour over the short stories contained within.

After about ten minutes I recall my coffee, and, setting the book down, I cup it in outstretched hands and raise it to my lips, blowing gently and inhaling the sweet, strong scent of its contents. As I tilt the cup, I close my eyes to drink it all in, both literally and figuratively. The warmth travels through me and a little utterance, an "mmm," escapes my throat. God, I love coffee.

Leaving the cafe, I wave goodbye to Mark and step onto the pavement, hunching over to protect my lighter from the oncoming breeze. As my cigarette is lit, I turn my back to the wind, to find myself facing my old haunt.

"Thinking of a coffee, old stranger?" Shit. I recognise that voice, and as the pieces fall quickly into place, like falling dominoes, a warm rush blows through my chest.

"G-God, E-Emily, where have you been?" I screw up my face at how bloody stupid I sound. Get a grip, love. It's been years.

"Nice to see you, too, Naomi. I've been great thanks. Really, do you call that a greeting?" She grins and raises her eyebrows. How about that, Emily Fitch is now the sarcasm queen, what a change; what doesn't seem to have changed is how wonderful she looks in skinny jeans. It's just effortless, she looks like she just got out of bed in a vintage looking Rolling Stones T-shirt, grey jeans and converse. I should probably answer once I've stopped bloody staring.

"Sorry, I thought I'd been generous enough this year to escape the ghost of Christmas past. But how are you doing? It's good to see you, you know."

"I think three years catching up takes a little more than a chat on the pavement, besides, it's chilly out here." Yeah, it bloody well would be in just a T-shirt. "So, fancy that coffee you were thinking about?"

I stepped back into the cafe, following Emily and making grand gestures of throat cutting and silence towards Mark, who stared at me like I'd just lost my mind, but, thankfully, remained silent.

And that is how I found myself deep in conversation with the three year absentee Emily Fitch.