Morning Coffee

AN: Been away for a bit.


The itching woke her up.

Ugh. Geez, are other girls having this problem? She lifted her left breast through her pyjamas and scratched underneath with her right hand.

The satisfaction was heavenly.

If I let a guy see that, I know the relationship is going to be over. He'll either make snarky comments or he'll ask stupid questions.

El didn't do stupid.

She had a very low tolerance for people who weren't all that bright, tolerant themselves, or just plain rude.

Nope. Not gonna happen. Probably why I'm single. I really wish guys would get their shit together.

Ugh. I need coffee before I try to think anymore.

XXXXX

Mike stared a a blank piece of paper.

He recalled Gene Fowler's famous quote: "Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."

The problem was that Mike's forehead was bleeding enough... or at all for that matter.

He looked up from this paper when he noticed that someone was walking by, wearing trackpants and a sweater.

He stared back down at the piece of paper.

Nothing.

Everyone tells you to "write what you know". What if you don't know anything? What if you have to research every friggin' line you write? That's not writing. That's not prose.

Mike's mind wandered.

He saw the trackpants. Then he looked up. It was a girl. Very buzzed hair-do Her ample boobs swaying freely in the sweater.

Mike wrote down. "Her breasts bounced jauntily in her sweater"

Wow. Pulling in the female audience with that line.

Shit. Face it Mike. You can't write. At all. She's pretty though.

She gave him a quick smile and he gave her an acknowledging nob.

XXXXX

El walked back with her coffee, took a quick glance at the dark window in the room before hers.

Cute guy looked at her and smiled. Then it looked like he wrote something down.

Then it looked like he was disgusted with what he wrote down.

El smiled to herself. He's a writer. I know that look. I know that feeling.

She gave him a smile and he nodded back at her.

What's he doing up here?

XXXXX

Mike just happened to be staring out the window the next morning and saw the grey trackpants again.

Ok. She's pretty and has a nice bum… buuuuut she's got that butch hairstyle. Not happening Mike.

On her way back, she smiled at him again. He smiled back.

Nothing wrong with having a new friend. Mike thought.

XXXXX

Shit. No two ways about it, he glanced up at her hair and jumped to a conclusion.

He smiled politely and nodded at her again. El saw the look immediately. We can still be friends. That's what he's thinking.

Shit.

XXXXX

It must have been close to two weeks. Mike saw her everyday going to get a coffee. He wasn't the least bit ashamed to be looking at her ass as she went by.

I'd be very surprised if she thought nobody looked at her. Sure… it's sexist, but she had to know. She hasn't caught me yet, so I'm still safe…

She seemed to be a little longer this time. He was sure he could set his watch by her trips to get a coffee.

He wrote a lot of what he was thinking, down on the paper.

His windows darkened a little. He looked up. She was standing in front of of the window holding two coffees, shrugging and smiling a question at him.

He smiled and nodded to the door of the room he was in.

XXXXX

When the door opened, nothing but darkness splashed out. El took a step back, and gave him a point blank look.

"Uh, I keep it dark in here." He reached to the side where El knew from her own unit, was a light switch.

She looked in. Two double beds, once had his travelling bags, she recognized that right away because her second bed looked the same way.

"Come on in and enter my Shroud of Doom." He pointed to where the round table in front of the window would be.

He walked over and pulled what looked like a black curtain back. Light flooded into the room from the outside. She saw the round table and the chair he sat in, along with the papers he wrote on.

Shroud of Doom. I get it. Most writers who had a space to create would get it.

She made her wait to the table and sat both coffees on it, "Careful, it's hot."

She noticed he closed the curtain behind them once they sat down. He nodded and flipped the tab back on the papercup. Steam rolled out of it.

"I've always wondered how they can superheat coffee where it's dangerous to their audience."

El laughed. "Good point, I have to wait a few minutes before I can drink it."

He nodded.

"My name is El Hopper." She held out her hand.

"Mike Wheeler," he said and held out his hand.

"Pleased to meet you." They both said at the same time, and laughed.

"Police chief in my home town was named Hopper."

El frowned, "Ok, maybe slightly weird, but are you from Hawkins?"

His head snapped up and he looked at her.

XXXXX

"I am… I thought Hopper's daughter-"

She cut him off, "Sarah, yes. She's gone. He adopted me."

Mike nodded, "Gonna guess home schooled, don't think I've ever seen you in Hawkins Middle, or High."

"Good guess, after the… fiasco at the Hawkins Lab they turned it into a University. You probably heard?"

"It's one of the best journalism schools in the country, my sister and her husband are professors there. Some weird shit happened there… uh… sorry for the language."

She smiled at him, "No, your are right, I believe I was a student of your sister's."

"She put investigative journalling back on the map."

He saw her nod.

"Makes me want to ask what you are doing up here?" Mike asked.

"I had the very same question for you," She said.

"Uh, kind of a story. You first." Mike said.

XXXXX

"Home schooled means you are at home a lot… A LOT. I watched a lot of movies. Over the air, and ones that I asked my dad to rent. When he saw what I wanted to rent, he always agreed right away. I don't really do fluff movies. I don't do romcoms. Comedy or another other kind of bullshit that's not real. I loved journalism movies, pretty sure I've seen them all."

"Except for the bullshit ones?" He said.

El smiled, "Yes, except for those. I watched a lot of Court TV, both the Catherine Cryer version, and the current ones."

"Can't comment, never watched either."

"The one thing you do NOT learn in J-school is that sometimes you have to cover a trial that goes on for months."

"Oh… never thought of that."

'Nobody does. Usually your paper slash network slash website will cover your expenses."

"Usually?" He said.

"Exactly. If it's a hot story in the media budget is not an issue…. If it's not, or your are on a hunch, budget is an issue. I am writing a book on sabbatical that helps a reporter survive the latter."

"Who's paying your tab?"

"Hawkins U is paying part of it. All of the rest are helping. They want to finance a textbook. I am going to write it. I know what you are going to say. Newspapers are going the way of the dodo. The better ones now have an online presence. But there are plenty of reporters online, real ones, not the ones claiming their journalists, and can't even find the spellcheck key. J-school is still a real thing."

"Wow." He said. "Ok, what's the big story you are following here?"

"No story, your… sister told me what the 'story' would be. I ended up here."

He looked incredulous. "Uh… does she know I'm here?

El cocked an eyebrow, "You think that's a coincidence?"

"I would not put it past my sister. She's always looked out for me, despite the fights we had as siblings."

El wanted to change the subject. "I can tell you are a writer," She looked at his papers and pen.

"Wannabe. I suck at it." He held up his hand, "I've heard the writing cliche's. Don't bother repeating them."

"What are you trying to write?"

"I'm trying to write a modern version of Jack Kerouc's "On The Road."

"Do tell." El smiled at him. "I don't mind hearing starving artist stories, I was there once."

"Well, I'm not starving. But… I'm slowly coming the the realization that I can't write."

"Can I read something you wrote?"