when: thursday night

who: @ironlvngs​

The common room was only half-empty but Carmen was still stretched out across the leather sofa, feet propped up on the arm of the couch. She had got here first and she didn’t plan on relinquishing her hold on the spot. Her legs ached from equestrian practice earlier and what she really needed was a hot bath, but lying here and scrolling aimlessly through Instagram would do.

A text flashed up on her screen, clearly intent on disturbing her evening of peace. The name and accompanying message weren’t unfamiliar to her, at least not since the semester had started up again. It was a turn of events, especially considering how their dalliance had started - with Carmen firmly in pursuit. And she found she didn’t mind in the slightest, even if she had been ghosting Lincoln Crawford all summer.

She hadn’t been responding to his texts with more than a brief ‘i’m busy’ or ‘not tonight’. And there were only so many ways to brush off a ‘what you up to?’ message. But the truth was, with Greer out of the picture, hooking up with him wasn’t half as fun. 

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, she was saved from having to compose an answer because the next person who entered the common room was none other than the man herself. With a barely restrained eye roll, she knew ignoring him wasn’t an option, only because it would make her look blind or stupid.

“Speak of the devil,” she said, swinging her legs towards herself so she could sit up.

Andy liked winter. Perhaps it was conditional—he mostly enjoyed the brisk, dry cold, even when it brought an embarrassingly boyish flush to his brown cheeks and made his already tousled hair even more of a mess—but it was a valid thought to have. After all, it was much better than the freezing cold rain that was sending tardy porters running for cover into the welcoming warmth of Spitalfields Market on a rainy weekend morning.

He hadn’t originally planned to drop by the market, but after visiting an old shopkeeper the day before to give her a photograph he’d taken of her grandchildren, she had invited him to take his pick of fruits to take home. (“And you’re looking a bit peaky, Andy. You’re going to need it,” she’d added, reaching up to pat his cheek, and it was with great patience that Andy had, well, let her. Old ladies were going to be old ladies.) Now, as he took a step away from Lily’s stall to make way for a pair of gossiping mothers, he reached inside his coat pocket and unfolded his simple handkerchief to reveal segments of a ripe, juicy tangerine, the pieces of bright orange fruit adorably small in his large hand.

Andy chuckled down at the fruit that had been chosen with love (and much fussiness), only to notice, out of the corner of his eye, another figure inspecting the fruits. An earring winked from the stranger’s left ear, and Andy’s eyebrows raised in interest; he’d always been secretly envious of people who could pull off earrings, but he wasn’t quite sure he could. If the person was on the fence about buying fruit, though, perhaps he could... assist. And take a closer look. 

“Oh, I can vouch for these,” he said conversationally, raising his voice to let it carry just above the rest of the voices in the market and gesturing at the multicolored fruits in Lily’s stall. “Auntie’s got the best fruits this side of London. She’s been feeding me for years. Probably the reason I’m this tall, really.” He chuckled at his own joke, then glanced at the stranger. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” He had to keep himself from extending his hand to offer the tangerine; old habits, like offering his siblings whatever he had before they could steal them from him, died hard.