0NES AND ZER0ES

Like a domino effect, their back hits the chair with a little oof, and the distance between them resumes. “I’ll leave a croissant in the press for him,” They pour the Fanta from its can before drinking, “Whenever he’s around.”

And here they were, wondering would this be a first and last meeting. “Ask for Kennedy, and leave a tip.”

TEXT MESSAGE STARTERS // ACCEPTING

What a gentleman. Appreciated. “Coffee shop. Somehow calling it that makes me feel less pretentious than café.” Their last move before sitting is lamping two cans of Diet Fanta on the table (presumably a diet discount over any health benefits) and finally Kennedy collapses into the seat opposite Leon, one leg slung over the other, happily picking a pain au raisin from the box. “Siddhartha, if you’ve ever passed by? I didn’t bake these by the way, so feel free to say if they’re terrible.”

Without a word, they turn to Leon with two plates tucked underarm, two glasses pinched precariously in one hand, and mouthing ‘ducks?’. They set the table like waitstaff do – quick, efficient, and dangling glasses in a way to make you nervous – and snap open the box with a waft of laminated dough. It’s very crumbly inside. “I just uh, I just took whatever was going in the bin at work, so these aren’t the freshest, but still good.”

It’s relatively impressive when people are willing to share that they’ve been in prison, especially when croissants are on the line. “How nightmareish. You talk about the weather while I set some plates out.”

       has it occurred to her that this – hanging out with dom – could become a problem? sure. she never thought she’d be the person with shit to keep to herself. not like this, anyway. but it could become a problem, if any of those would-be skeletons in her closet came to light. has to keep her eyes from flicking to the window. as if she’d know, see them, if any of vera’s boys were still watching her. ( elliot would lose his shit, probably, if he knew she was kicking it with a fed, but – well, it’s not really any of his business, is it? they’re not even dating anymore, really – shayla doesn’t quite know what they’re doing, but it isn’t that – so who she hangs out with or doesn’t is her problem. right? right. ) 

      the huff of her out-breath’s halfway to laughter, tucking or nudging her thoughts back away where they came from. ( okay. so, that’s not completely a no, to kissing. good to know. )

                    ‘ hey, don’t sell yourself short. ’ easy, easy, light, like it could just be a joke. maybe it’s just her, but dom looks like she’d be great at kissing. caffeine or not. one of the coffees is rescued from under dom’s arm, anyway, still-hot against shayla’s palm. ‘ so what’s the occasion – ? or you just got over-enthusiastic at the corner store? ’

          her tongue presses against the point of one canine and dom grins hard. it’s so easy to flirt with shayla, easy to be around her, harder to tell if they’re both joking or not. but this whole thing isn’t predicated on whether or not they’re just playing or waiting for something more; it can’t be. dom’s flighty feet wouldn’t have stuck around if it was.

People always define each other by levels of ex-ness, and it disturbs them. They’ve never really thought of Elliot as ‘my ex’. For better or for worse, maybe. “Kennedy.” Kennedy with a concave croissant in a tupperware box. “Friend of the family. So Leon –”

   “If we’re both talkers, and Elliot’s not home, who’s gonna listen to anything we say?”

   “French pastries,” just so he knows what he’s getting into. Their voice carries out a little muffled through their bag while they ruffle through it: “I actually just, took the leftovers from work that’re going into the bin, so I’m not – sorry, uh, you’re, you are – ?”

   “Uh, uh-huh.” To something he said, to every statement. They prop a shoulder on the wall with either elbow cradled in the other hand. “Brought uh, from – you like Viennoiseries?”