||•The Fortunate•||

// .20 LEARNING THE SHAPE OF US ✨//

The Restaurant 

The restaurant moved at a crawl this morning, the usual rush replaced by the soft clatter of dishes, the low hum of the fridge, and the occasional hiss from the coffee machine. I leaned against the counter, phone in hand, scrolling and downloading a few apps to help me organise my night classes and work schedule. Every slow progress bar mirrored my own sluggish energy.

Then he appeared.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. His hair curls in loose spirals down to the middle of his back. Hazel eyes that caught the fluorescent lights in a way that made the edges of the kitchen blur. He leaned casually against the prep counter, arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Morning," he said, voice low, smooth, deliberate. "I'm Tariq. You must be Senade."

I kept my gaze on the phone, fingers tapping lightly over the screen. "Morning," I murmured, forcing my voice steady. "Just... trying to sort out some things."

He stepped a little closer, and the faint scent of his cologne—spicy, faintly sweet—wafted over me. "That's impressive," he said, tilting his head slightly, eyes flicking over my screen. "Most people would be scrolling social media by now."

I didn't look up, tracing the notes on my phone, letting the rhythm of my tasks ground me. "I... like to finish things properly," I said softly.

Tariq chuckled, a low, teasing sound that didn't mock, just lingered, deliberate. "I can see that. Mind if I... help with something? Or check a few things?" He leaned slightly, giving me room but close enough that I could feel the faint heat of his presence.

I tilted the phone toward him, letting him see the screen without breaking focus. He glanced at it, then back at me, a faint smile tugging at his lips. That smile, the curls of his hair bouncing slightly as he moved, the relaxed strength in his stance—it all tugged at something I tried to ignore. But I couldn't. Professional focus kept me pinned to my work, every tap and swipe reminding me that I couldn't get distracted.

Tariq leaned back, giving me space. "Alright, I'll let you work. But... good luck with the rest of your morning."

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the screen, heart steady but aware of the lingering pull of his presence. He moved off, gliding through the quiet kitchen, curls catching the light one last time before he disappeared behind the prep area.

The hum of the restaurant returned—the drip of the coffee machine, the clatter of a distant plate—and I exhaled softly, letting focus wash over me again. Work had to come first, and nothing—neither De'Markus nor this new distraction—would take that from me.

 De'Markus Pov 

The lab smelled of metal and machine oil, mixed with the sharp tang of cleaning solution, and the fluorescent lights overhead reflected harshly off polished surfaces, casting stark highlights on tools, wires, and half-assembled prototypes. 

I dropped my backpack beside the main workbench and bent over the rig, hands brushing along cool metal and smooth wiring, fingers testing tension points and sensor alignment with precise, practiced movements. Every small vibration, every faint hum of circuitry, every click of a screwdriver or the clatter of a wrench carried information—tiny details that could make or break the prototype.

"Alright, team," I said, resting my hands on the edge of the table, voice calm but carrying weight. "Let's see what this baby can do."

Trey was already fiddling with the pivot adjustments, muttering about torque and leverage calculations, while Lila's fingers flew over her laptop, tapping keys with a rhythmic precision, curls falling into her face as she shifted closer to the table.