The café Bev had never set foot in until Tom took her, true to his word, and she soon decided that the café was now her refuge, the place she could make believe she was in a caring society. The tiny café huddled despondent among the huge city buildings. Washed out under the overcast sky, it hunched in itself, fighting against the drizzle. Hundreds of people rushed by it, outside on the crowded street. The half a dozen customers glanced up as the door swung open, heralded by a blast of cold wind. Unlike the outside, the interior of the café was warm and cheery, with bright lights and colorful walls. The customers returned to their conversations as the door swung closed behind the new entrant and the cold breeze was forgotten.

At the tables were her imaginary friends in a transient community. She knew humans were born to need bonds, to need a sense of others, even if they were alone. Like I am, she thought sadly, shifting her weight impatiently from one foot to the other as she impatiently dipped into her purse for her wallet, only for her hand to be slapped away by Tom, harder than he probably intended to, for it hurt, and she was surprised and hurt. Startled, frowning slightly, she glanced upwards toward Tom.

"What's that for?" But to her surprise, he was smiling, though it didn't quite match his eyes. There was something in them, something glistening…dark…evil…

And yet, she found herself inexplicably drawn to this man for reasons she could not explain, and she wasn't even sure that she wanted to. He wagged his finger at her in mock disappointment and clucked his tongue. "I don't think so, Marsh. Didn't I tell you that I was buying? Put it away." There was a slight growl to his tone, and she knew better than to argue. The laughter that had been up to this point in his eyes evaporated. His customary warmth gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. Hell, even Rogan's focus was somewhere on the chalkboard above their heads, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, as though trying to decide what he wanted off the menu, as if Bev had become invisible to him or he couldn't bear to see her at all. She had crossed some invisible line, offended his sensibilities.

Now her blood drained and her heart hammered. When it came to men, she wasn't afraid anymore of their anger when it came as fire, for that burned strong and fast and faded out quickly. But she knew just by looking at Tom, she was deathly afraid of his ice. It coated him like protective permafrost. Beverly knew it was pointless to try to reach him now. Her well-meant words would bounce off the young man as good as hard rain. But he had already asked to see her again tomorrow, even going as far as to demand, not ask, that he come with her when she made the drive in her car back to Derry, Maine. For her safety, he claimed. To protect her, he claimed. And she agreed. So, for better or worse, Beverly tried to thaw Tom's anger, return that kind spark to his eyes. But with one look, the verdict was told. Tom Rogan had been reflecting longer than usual, past the point at which Bev believed was about the time when she'd apologize. That's how it usually went on all of her last first dates she'd gone on, at least. Bev's face fell as Tom locked his eyes on hers. She saw hateful disdain in them. But it was more than that.

There was a tenseness that Tom wasn't even trying to mask. The young redhead backed away, nothing about this was making any sense, not his curling fists or the anger that seemed to radiate from his skin and boiling his bloodstream. It was still relatively early in the day yet, the machines yet to warm, and as the line inched forward, Bev, in an effort to distract herself, turned to the front and drank in the aroma of the place. The barista had tired eyes, yet there was that glimmer, a giveaway of her good heart. The café employee was one of those surviving sparks, one of the ones who held onto what they really are. Bev shyly asked for her Danish to be warmed, apologizing amid her own tired smile as she gratefully accepted her Styrofoam cup of coffee with cardboard around the cup to protect her hands from the scalding heat. "Sorry, sorry, I—I'm just feeling like being a fuss pot today."

To Bev's great relief, the barista saw her spark glow a little brighter, her face more relaxed, a smidge more joy in her eyes. "That's okay. You go be a fuss pot."

Tom laughed unexpectedly at the barista's comment, and Bev felt the tenseness leave her shoulders as they slumped, and she allowed herself to relax that little bit.

"Thanks for indulging my fuss-pot-ism. I really needed that," she grinned, accepting her Danish, wincing as the heat burned the tips of her fingers as she ripped off a tiny chunk. "Try a taste?" she asked, biting her lip, turning to Tom.

He did so and pulled a face. "Ugh. Awful. How can you eat that? It's—it's…"

"Delicious?" she finished dryly, munching on a piece of Danish, ignoring the chill that traveled down her spine as another customer entered the café and a cold gust of wind traveled through the establishment from the chilly outside of the eve.

"Over there," he barked, his voice sounding slightly clipped, gesturing to a little round table in the corner, away from the bustle and noise of the café, the quiet place where they could sit and talk and actually hear each other for a change.

They sat in silence for a while, just content to bask in the quiet. Finally, Tom, unable to keep his curiosity at bay, asked her a question that nearly caused poor Bev to spit out her still-scalding hot chocolate and choke. "You hide, don't you?"

She coughed, almost choking on her bite of Danish, immediately reaching for a napkin to cover her mouth as she turned to take in the expression on her new friend's face. His gaze was steady, eyes wide and huge like that of an innocent kid.

Bev released a short, sharp breath. This wasn't even fourth date material and this new guy wanted to play see-through-skin. "How…how do you mean?"

Tom Rogan paused before answering, his tone dropping to a softer octave, getting that familiar glint in his eyes that she wasn't all together sure she liked.

"Everything you say is a mask. But each thing gives a clue to the real Beverly Marsh, the one hiding behind that smile and your red hair. You could just cut it out and let me in, you know, let me into that fragile, broken little head, Bev. Really."

This time, Bev stumbled to her feet, almost overturning her chair and toppling her purse to the ground in the process. Tom just watched, his gray eyes still like headlights on full beam, his expression serenely calm and somehow, knowing.

Like he knew more about her than she thought. And perhaps he did, in a way.

Tom did not yell or scream at her to sit down, just kicked upright the chair she had accidentally overturned, motioning with those haunting eyes of his for her to sit back down, that he wasn't quite finished with her just yet. Reluctantly, she did so.

Tom Rogan let out a light chuckle as he lifted the rim of his cup to his lips. Actually, in Bev's mind, it was more of a giggle, and it unnerve her. Just a little.

She shivered, both hands clutched around her steaming cup of coffee.

"Well, we can't go walking like we planned," he added, glancing outside at the fog that enveloped the city in a thick white blanket, skirting around the buildings. "So, why don't you tell me something about yourself? I'd love to know you better."

"Like what?" Bev fired back immediately, feeling her defenses rise. This wasn't a date and she wasn't about to go revealing her deepest secrets to him.

"Tell me…" Tom paused to give himself time to think, tapping his chin for a moment. "Tell me one of your fears. You can't expect me to let you into my head without giving anything away, now can you? Plus, it'll make us feel connected."

"Huh?" Bev was utterly lost. She'd never once asked him what his fears were.

He was growing excited now. Giddy, like a child almost, resisting the urge to bounce in his head. Bev wondered for a moment what she'd gotten into. "You might even like telling me something. Hang on, don't worry, let me guess. I'm getting a strong feeling right now…" Tom Rogan closed his eyes, deep in thought.

"Tom, don't, this is stupid!" Bev protested, vehemently, but he shook his head.

"No, no, no, don't tell me…it's…fear of untapped potential," he said at last.

Bev stared. "How did you guess?"

Tom grinned, his smile slightly wolfish and predatory. "Well, It certainly wasn't going to be something childish like clowns or snakes, was it? No. You're too good for any of that. Child's play, my pet." Tom paused and frowned. "What?"

"N—nothing," stammered Beverly, immediately looking away, out to her left at the fog.

"What? You're uncomfortable? Well, we're not strangers anymore, so there's no need to be nervous around me, Miss Marsh," Tom said, lowering his voice a tad.

Bev turned back and stared. It was odd for her to make a connection this fast, to give her trust so easily to a man, tentative though it was. But there was something in the way that Tom Rogan smiled, a warmth, a genuineness, a softness of spirit that she just couldn't seem to get enough of or stay away from. He listened to her.

Like he was absorbing her words, not simply getting his 'turn' over and done with so he could return to some other topic. The more time she spent with Tom in that coffee shop, the more her spirit lifted, and Beverly Marsh grew to like him.

Tom Rogan was the new friend she'd needed for so long.