![]() Wylan remembers a soft mouth close to his ear, a hand across his hip, a low murmur, Please, come tomorrow, please. “Alright, then.” He looks up, sleepy-eyed and still sharp. ![]() “You are a student, up at the school, yes?” “Students shouldn’t pay extra,” he says shortly, hitting something into the machine. If you wanted me to pay an additional fee-” “I… really appreciate your taking my call at this hour. “Okay,” he replies, tapping his fingers against his leg. “Give it a moment,” he says, with a roughened accent. “Card, please,” says Wylan, freeing it from his pocket. “Twenty-six kruge ,” the owner says, punching in a few options on his keypad. “May I please order a custom case of ten?”Ī half-awake, reluctant sound. “Alright,” he says at last, stirring the man from his upright slumber. His anxiety shines a stage light on all his flaws.Įven a case of pastries and a handful of flowers won’t help that. He’s more than aware of his rumpled hair, his slightly wrinkled sweater, the red-rimmed eyes that give away a hangover. He’s just afraid-of messing up, of saying the wrong thing, of making a mistake so subtle and profound that the others simply refuse to speak to him ever again. ![]() Were you wasted when you told me you wanted me there? I get if you think I should stay home, really. Wylan could, of course, simply find his phone in the mess of his pockets, and message them. The scent of sugar hangs heavy in the air, wraps around his sweater and slacks. He jots shorthand symbols on the palm of his hand, marking off each of the guests mentally. He tries to be fast about the selection process, surveying the stacks of flaky croissants and miniature cakes and a pastry that seems to be served with strawberry sauce and sweet cream. He half looks as though he might fall asleep right there. “Finding everything alright?” The owner, a middle-aged man with scruffy hair, leans against the frame to the kitchen. Wylan isn’t sure how he wound up with that, but he folded it tidily in his car anyway, to be returned when he sees him in a half hour. A jacket familiar to the eye, but foreign to his wardrobe, stamped with Jesper Fahey’s name. A mark on his throat that looks suspiciously like a kiss. There were other relics of the past evening:Ī glass of vodka soda left in his car. Wylan was still in a heavily sequined shirt, wearing sunglasses he thinks were stolen in an impromptu heist. His system, at rest from years of white wine and lemonade, almost gave in entirely: For almost an hour after he woke, he found himself on the floor of his washroom, empting the liquored contents of his stomach. Įach shot after the other, stacked in perfect pyramids, a sample of a fiery alcohol, a sip of a liquid lavender drink, a round of sugar-sweet tequila. Wylan had more liquor in the past evening than he’s had in his entire life. ![]() He regrets, with fervor, every single choice that ever led him to the Crow Club. He can’t stand the sounds and rush of the city, the sharp shine of the sun, the headache that pulses low and heavy at his temple. All his energy is spent on simply standing up straight: he misses the warmth of his room. Stats: Published: Updated: Words: 35,620 Chapters: 12/22 Comments: 101 Kudos: 99 Bookmarks: 19 Hits: 2,281Īt almost half past six, he’s the sole patron in sight, sleepy-eyed and rumpled after rolling straight out of bed, the red remnants of a hangover flushing his face. guys i lied it's getting updated twice a day.it was originally four but i underestimated myself just a bit.Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés.this is mostly just a lot of badly expressed romance and me being a sucker for campus settings.i cannot even emphasize how slow the burn is going to be.Alternate Universe - College/University.
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