A/N:
Hello, my friends.
Thank you for the love last chapter, and all the patience. Your support and reviews make me happy, like a unicorn on starbucks, heh.
Here's the next chapter.
4. Citrus Scents
"If it weren't for her, there would never have been an empty space, or the need to fill it."
—Nicole Krause, The History of Love
Raven looked at her reflection in the bakery store across the street from Lucy's Cafe. She wore jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. Earlier that morning, there had been a strong urge to grab a jacket or a hoodie, but it was 87 degrees in Jump City, and she knew she'd only end up irritated and taking it out on others.
She reached up to flatten her hair. She felt very unlike herself.
When the pedestrian light turned green, Raven followed the crowd across the street, eyes glued to the cafe name etched in a pretty design on the windows. It loomed closer, like a bad horror film, but she told herself not to be stupid, not to be afraid.
Without hesitating, she opened the door and the bell chimed, signaling her entrance –– and she saw that he was all smiles, all teeth, one dimple. He was hard to overlook, and several of the giggling waitresses thought the same.
Raven averted her gaze, taking slow steps to the table, but the first quick eye contact was all that was needed: she recorded every detail, every small freckle and strand of black hair that had broken away from the styling. In front of him was a white cup of coffee; small designs of flowers decorated the side of the mug, delicate and dainty in comparison to his large hands.
She remembered the warmth of his fingers then, pressed lightly against her side, as they had slept.
Raven took a seat. He leaned forward; she inhaled sharply. The excitement in the air tasted like cinnamon.
"How'd you sneak out?" he asked.
"Front door," she said, and at the tilt of his head, she continued, "I go where I please."
"Ah," he said.
She resisted the cliché of awkwardly rubbing her arm.
The waitress stopped by, a girl with fine brown hair in a high ponytail, and asked for Raven's drink.
He said, "Herbal tea," the same time she did, and the waitress in turn smiled too brightly and widely before disappearing.
"Good guess," she muttered.
"It was my second choice," he said honestly. "I was banking on oolong tea."
She glanced at him, but didn't say anything. Silence settled in between them, a stark difference to the laughter and enthusiastic buzz of conversation around them. Even when the tea arrived, nothing more was ordered (though a menu was kept), and the two quietly sipped on their drink.
She couldn't help but analyze at him from the corner of her eye.
There was a half smile on his face as he looked out the window, the cup warming his hands. Now that she was closer, she could see they were less freckles and more like sun spots.
"I had doubts that you were going to come," he said abruptly, and she averted her gaze as nonchalantly as possible, as if she hadn't been staring at him for the last five minutes.
Raven brought the mug to her lips. "Why's that?" she asked before sipping.
"Isn't the leash a little tight?" he remarked.
She narrowed her eyes. "Not as tight as my hands will be around your throat," she mused darkly.
The light that lit up in his eyes was infectious and sincere.
"Ooh, kinky."
"Ugh!"
But she had walked into that one, she knew.
"So, tell me," he began before the silence could once again settle between them. "Why didn't you throw away the phone?"
Raven stiffened, surprised that he was so straightforward, though it was something she should've expected. He hadn't seemed like the type to beat around the bush. She wondered if not replying was an appropriate response, but his curious stare told her otherwise.
She didn't know how to respond, what the correct answer was.
She looked down into the tea, her fingers slowly tapping against the mug.
"Why did you text me?" she asked.
"Wanted to," he said.
Both of them were now staring at their respective mugs, stealing glances at the other whenever they found a chance.
"Why did you answer?" he asked.
"I was…"
"Charmed?" he supplied.
She glowered at him. "Bored," she finished irritably, but then a few seconds later, she said, "…Curious."
He brought the cup up to his lips to hide his smile.
"I wanted to see you again," he said, chuckling. "Is that a cheesy thought?"
She scoffed. It was indeed extremely cheesy, but she was more shocked that he had said it so easily, without shame or embarrassment; he said it as freely and without difficulty as if he had been talking about groceries and other day-to-day trivialities –– not that he wasn't serious, but that he was so honest. It was strange. Secrets were woven into her very being, a foundation of her life and relationships. Even this meeting itself was a secret, and it wasn't necessarily bad, but the sincerity held a strange citrus scent she didn't think she'd taste anywhere outside T-Tower.
Raven gazed at him gravely. She liked to think herself invulnerable, but she still held scars from where a man –– a dragon –– had once made her believe he cared.
"You wanted to have sex again," she corrected, keeping her voice even and devoid of emotion.
A waitress coughed as she passed by, her face turning red.
Red laughed into his fist, but Raven was unamused. He hadn't amended her sentence.
"Would that be bad?" he admitted finally, meeting her gaze and keeping it.
Yes. No. Did she want it again, too? –– With him or in general?
Who knows.
"You haven't turned me in yet," he stated, but the end of his voice tilted into a question.
She sipped at her tea. "No. Not yet."
When he blinked at her, surprised, she smirked, and at her mischievous grin he relaxed into the seat –– once again, it took her off guard. He was so carefree in front of her; and she though she wasn't unguarded, she wasn't particularly reserved. She didn't believe in fate, not anymore, or even eerie coincidences and signs, but this cinnamon and citrus in the atmosphere was definitely unnerving.
"How's the tea?" he asked.
"Decent," she responded. "Your coffee?"
"Shitty," he snickered, but he took another gulp anyway. "At least the company's good."
She didn't give a response, instead opting to compare his sunlit face with the one of her memories of that morning after. He caught her stare and smiled. He was risking more than a lot; he had to know. He had to. Yet he was still here, no disguises, vulnerable against her memory, her unknown whims.
"Why are you here?" she blurted out.
"I told you," he said, unfazed. "Because I wanted to see you."
She eyeballed him, taking in the answer, the sincerity in his words. He was being serious.
But after a one-night-stand? All of this trust simply because of one drunken night together?
"…Why?" she probed.
"Boredom," he said, shrugging, and she frowned. Then, "Curiosity."
Raven rolled her eyes.
"Desire. Take your pick."
She didn't answer, but neither did she drop his gaze. They both sipped at their drinks, and she felt the atmosphere bubbling, the hidden laughter, the childish eagerness, the strong inquisitiveness, the twitch and warmth in his fingers.
She licked her lips, lapped up the remaining tea, and set it off to the side.
"What do you think of dragons?" she inquired.
"Overrated," he answered, and then waved the waitress over for an order of cheese bagels and oolong tea.