so. uh. hi! i'm not dead :) so this is partly because it rained today and i just felt this vibe, and also i've had this idea hanging around for quite a while and the rain just put me in the mood to complete it !! so here, some reassurance that i'm still writing HAHAHA enjoy !!!!
also, in case it isn't clear enough, here's the key:
"texts"
"thoughts/emphasised words"
Blossom sits down at a table outside the café, her eyes bright and alert as she looks out for a familiar face amongst the people walking by.
Today will be amazing, she thinks to herself, eagerly scanning the area for a red baseball cap atop auburn locks. She comes up with none, but that does not deter her.
Maybe he's nervous. The thought makes her giggle a little. She imagines him, all flustered and shy and her toes curl, because maybe he– and maybe she– and maybe they–
The waiter comes to take her order and she smiles, her chest light and heart a fluttering mess, before getting a mocha for herself and black espresso for him (because she heard him mention the order to Boomer once when it had been the blonde's turn to fetch the coffee fix, and had sort of filed it away in the back of her brain).
She'd had an inkling that she'd need it sometime in the future; she'd just never expected the situation to be like this.
The idea of 'this' sends her heart on another spiral down the butterfly road, where it beats, as fast as a butterfly's wings, against her chest. She lets out a blissful hum, reaching for her phone to inform him of her arrival via text.
She hopes he gets here soon.
It's oddly fitting how he drinks black espresso.
He doesn't exactly seem like the sugar high and sweet tooth kind of guy, so the bitter coffee suits him, in a way.
Speaking of him... She pauses. Weird. He still isn't here yet, and it's been fifteen minutes since their appointed meeting time.
A little of something drops down into the pits of her stomach but she shakes it off. He's probably just caught up in something. He is a busy man, after all.
Which is why when he'd asked her out to coffee, just the two of them, before they meet up with their siblings for a gathering later, it had been a moment of giddy elation and smiles and agreements, of lightness and anticipation and high, high hopes.
She lets her imagination take the reins. Maybe he'd talk to her. Maybe he'd hold her hand. Maybe he'd kiss her, even, and at that point she's gone, drowning in foolish wishes and "what-ifs".
She never thinks to wish for air.
She's half an hour in when she starts to get worried.
The seat across her is still empty, and she frowns at it.
Where is he?
She quickly opens up her phone to send him a text. Maybe he's stuck in traffic, she supposes.
Hey! Where are you? Is traffic really bad or did something else come up?
She places her phone on the table and waits.
When she still doesn't get a reply fifteen minutes later, agitation kicks in.
She's been sipping at her her café mocha for the past forty-five minutes; its sweet taste lingers on her tongue as she ponders the reasons why he's not there yet.
Traffic, family issues, work, slept in, scenarios float through her head as she stirs the residue of her mocha.
And then her mind wanders into dangerous territory.
What if he's hurt? Did he get into a fight? Traffic accident? Oh my god.
Brick? Hello? Are you okay? What's wrong? She texts him again, noting with distressed concern how all the texts have been delivered but none of them read. She bites her bottom lip as she frets, nervously fiddling with her fingers.
When the waiter comes to clear her mocha cup, she tells him to leave the black coffee and peruses the menu distractedly before shaking her head. She orders another mocha.
Dark clouds gather as she refreshes the Townsville News page on her phone. There are no traffic accidents, no fresh reports on Rowdyruff fights, nothing about Brick.
She doesn't know whether to be glad about that or not.
Where are you? She sends, but gets no reply.
It's been an hour and fifteen minutes.
Lightning flashes and tears the sky into two, the clouds weep and Boreas blows a harsh winter's breath past her face, through her hair, beneath her chin; and it's at that moment reality hits her.
Oh.
It's like the first drop of rain that hits the ground. It makes the most distinctive splash and is only the beginning of a heavy downpour that beats down at the ground in torrents.
Because it's been two hours, and she is still in the exact same position she'd been in when she first came in.
Simply put, alone.
She feels her heart plummet fifty thousand feet into her stomach, and there's a cold ache in her chest that resonates through her entire being, like the thunder crackling across the sky.
She wonders if he'd even planned on coming, at all.
Suddenly the chilly air brushing against her bare shoulders seems even colder – wait, bare? Oh, yeah, she'd purposely worn that sleeveless black and red dress just for him – and goosebumps dot across her arms. She is immensely aware of the unfilled space around her, of the empty seat across from hers, and it had all been supposed to be filled by one person; one person whose presence warmed the whole room; one person that never showed up.
She takes a deep breath and raises her hand to order another drink. The thought of yet another sugar-filled drink repulses her, all of a sudden, and she doesn't even have to open the menu before she orders.
(It's a black coffee, espresso, and exactly like the one sitting cold in a ceramic cup opposite her.)
The coffee comes in five minutes.
(Unlike him, she thinks unwittingly.)
Hot steam billows upwards and caresses her face, and for a moment she imagines if that's what his hands would have felt like too, had he came; warm and gentle and comforting.
A harsh gust of freezing wind hits her as if to prove a point.
She takes a gulp of her coffee, and as the hot, bitter liquid sears her tongue, she wonders why she'd even bothered coming in the first place.
The cold hasn't left.
If anything, it's more prominent than ever. The sharp twinges in her chest have subsided into dull throbs, though, and she guesses that's a good thing.
Maybe he's on his way, a small, but big part of her whispers in her head, maybe he got into something he couldn't get out of and he's rushing to you now.
She sighs, squashes that little bubble of hope down, and takes a sip of her coffee, grimacing a little at the taste. It's not half as bad now as it had been when she first tasted it, though, she muses. She got used to the taste, probably.
Her phone lights up and buzzes on the table; her heart jolts and she hurridely puts down the cup, fumbling to enter her password and maybemaybemaybeit'shim–
She's greeted by exclamation marks and heart emojis and her heart sinks another fifty meters. She quickly scans the message. It's just Bubbles telling her not to be late, along with a series of "love you!"s and more emojis that she'd never known existed.
It touches her, to a small extent. Makes her feel a little lighter, a little warmer, but one glance at the emptiness across her and those feelings disappear.
She hasn't told anyone about this... this coffee... thing. Not Robin, not even her sisters. Maybe she should, though.
But oh, she thinks, what's the point.
She buries her face in her hands and her eyes sting and her heart aches.
What's the point.
Are you even coming? Her fingers hover over the send button for a brief moment before she presses down on it, a cold dread settling over her when two grey ticks appear, indicating the message's successful delivery.
Just like the previous forty-over messages.
She stares at the screen for a while, this close to shutting it off, when she notices him come online.
All the ticks turn blue and she feels her hopes rise out from that stinking pit of nothingness, feels her heart race as the screen shows him "typing...".
Her heart stops when it shows him just "online" again.
A second later, "offline" takes its place.
Something in her heart withers away and the last shreds of her persistent hope crumble to dust.
Her last message is indicated as "read", and gazing at it, she feels something akin to raw betrayal burning in her chest.
She throws back the remainder of her bitter, black coffee, uncaring of the way it scalds her throat and leaves the worst kind of aftertaste in her mouth. She's done caring, she thinks. She doesn't care anymore.
(So why does it still hurt?)
She gathers up her purse and leaves, ginger hair fanning out behind her before falling as a makeshift coat around her shoulders.
His black coffee espresso remains, lonely and untouched, on the table.
so... y'all good? HAHAH okay here's an update: school's closed which means more writing time !!!! yay less writing procrastination HAHAH at least one good thing is coming out of the whole covid -19 thing ! do y'all see the fandom? it's. thriving. and. i. love. it.
anyway, enough of my rambles! goodbye guys! i'll be uploading something else soon !!!
love y'all, stay safe and do leave a review :))) they really make my day :)))