#c;sofia

                    He began to walk back, away from the food stand on the far left side of the drive-in, and to his truck, parked near the middle. It was chilly. Then again, it was always chilly at night in New York, no matter the season, no matter the weather; something about it felt wrong, but he’d grown far accustomed to the climate ever since moving, two years ago. His adaptation had been an abundance of hoodies, dwindling over the years, but he remembered he’d brought one tonight at least, stowed in the back seat of his truck. He’d grab it when he returned.

                    The blonde continued to march across the pressed grass, the sound from the movie zoning in and out from the decked speakers as he walked past bumpers and glowing tail lights, finally finding his own. He’d parked the truck backward, the bed facing the screen, the tailgate pulled down, and a girl, Sofia, waiting for him atop a blanket. He reached into the driver’s window, pulling out his hoodie before he made his way to her once more, a smile on his lips. He slung the fabric over his shoulder, and used the then free hand to steady himself as he placed a foot atop a back wheel, stepping up and climbing in with a ‘clud’.

                    “Where we at?” He questioned, mirth melted in his tone as he glanced towards the large, glowing screen, the Dean classic Rebel Without a Cause being the film tonight, no more than a few minutes in, “He’s still at the police station, isn't he?” The blonde sat down, hazel eyes, scooping up from the side of her hip to her own hues, his hand extending the popcorn out to her. She did look pretty–– but to be clear it hadn’t been called a date. But it not been called one either, though only physical their relationship had been. He’d figure it out.

                   The male scooted in towards her, leaning back against the truck, extending his legs and crossing them at the ankles, the hoodie now pooled in his lap. He picked it up, lifted it enough to only gesture it her way, “... You cold?” The boy looked up at her, lips slightly agape, his head subtly gravitating towards her own. He was originally going to use the hoodie on himself, but he felt inclined now to offer it to her.

When Sofia eventually asked, Orla had a few excuses in her back pocket to take out.

I forgot my key.

My bike is acting funky.

I need to be close to my own personal tutor.

Your place is closer to school anyways (this one was a complete lie that she prayed Sofia wouldn’t call her out on)

Orla bit her bottom lip and knocked, knowing that Sofia would most likely let her in, but was nervous anyways. Maybe staying over at Sofia’s place was crossing a line that the older witch wasn’t quite ready to cross, but Orla just needed to be around her more.

It was cheesy and Orla would never admit it out loud in fear of losing her fearsome reputation, but she just wanted to be in Sofia’s company, even if they didn’t do anything. Staying the night was the perfect excuse.

Not only would she be around Sofia, but Sofia’s presence would be surrounding her.

“Sof! It’s Orla.”

                    The ten-minute drive to her apartment was not without the aid of an additional text message asking for an official address. He’d driven past her area hundreds of times within the past two years but had never quite delved into the line of buildings enough for them to become notably different. It had been mute for the past few weeks, making himself his own scapegoat to a line of issues that he had no control over. He was done resorting to callow distractions; done feeling dirty and lamentable. He was going to have fun, not only look but live on the bright side. He’d spent most of his quiet weekend with Tessa and Addison in the city, sleeping over, going out on a picnic, taking the little one to a movie, and now he planned to spend his free afternoon with a kind woman that had found her way back into his life at an interesting time.

                    He’d been thinking about what she’d said, the ‘I’ll make it up to you’ after she left him dumbfounded, alone and drunk at the fair. He knew exactly what it meant, and it was that precise meaning that had him snagged, the company of a pretty girl in a short dress: a thought that had kept him up before, alone in his bed. 

                    He blinked at the sound of himself closing his own truck door, a thud that perhaps she was able to hear through one of the numerous, opened glass windows facing him. He’d come dressed in what he was wearing: shorts and a t-shirt, half-baked intentions of actually fixing her dresser, or whatever she’d declared was broken. Maybe after her ‘agreement’ was fulfilled, he’d take a look. 

                    He made his way in and up the steps, glancing down at his phone for the cue of which apartment it was, meandering his way around the corner, eyes dragging alone chipped paint and crowned molding before he reached her door, planting a firm knock. A warming feeling had already begun to brew in his abdomen; an eagerness for something he hadn’t done on a spur in over a year, door opening mid-thought, a smile securing against his lips, “Hey,” The boy greeted, shoulders leaning forward and eyes wandering, obviously not holding any awkward residuals that may have formed during their last meeting, “Feels a little bit like déjà vu or something, comin’ back here–”

                    A cracked open ACT Prep book, two sharpened pencils, and forty-five minutes later he’d completed the first practice reading portion. He’d felt good; a mood taking hold of him, the degree pipedream he’d slept on for the past few years finding reality, even if just for the afternoon. He did, though, feel a lot worse once he realized you were supposed to complete the passages in thirty minutes and he’d gotten half of them wrong. A sigh exalted, perhaps too loud for the library, but there weren’t many around. Boredom from failure, and drained in a mental sense, he leaned back in his wide and stout wood chair, stretching his legs out. As he acknowledged, there weren’t many around. An older man, mouthing the words to himself as he read a book; a teenage girl in glasses, buried in an even thicker novel, and a girl, older, around his age, blonde and concentrated on her phone. Suddenly people-watching seemed more insightful.

                    He watched the latter of the trio rise and make her way out, the blonde, tall and with sharpened features, his eyes moving from her to her desk, lids narrowing slightly as he saw that she’d left something. The male got up, looking left and right as if he were about to stick his hand in a cookie jar and picked up the book, following after the stranger, “Hey–” He called after, half-jogging, “I think uh– I think you left this...–– At your seat,” The boy held up the object slightly, in gesture, watching her turn and face him. It occurred to him then that she certainly wasn’t a stranger, but a familiar face.

ORLA: if I brought a cat to class, how mad would you be?

ORLA: it’s not my cat but I found her on the side of the road

ORLA: she was so pitiful, I had to Sofia. I had to pick her up! Then she started licking my fingers

ORLA: Anyways, I cant drop her off at home before class and I don’t want to miss class. What would you do without me there?