Drowning In Color | ✔️

Chapter Eight

When we reached our destination, Luka slowly pulled over into an empty spot. He helped me dismount the bike like a prince ushering me down from a horse. I surveyed the surroundings when we entered the café.

The walls were red. Crimson, it would seem. Framed pictures and posters were lined up around the café. I inspected them further. A few of them were promoting some sort of event in the place. Music and poetry events were held in the café on certain days. Inferring from that, I began to understand why Luka wanted to come here.

The barista that ran the place had deep plum colored hair, with a magenta ombre. Now he sure was living the edge life. Seeing as he was the only staff around, I would assume that he's the owner of this establishment. Only thing is, he did not seem too energetic about it.

"Hey, Luka. You're back," he greeted, if you could call it that, in a rough, exhausted tone. He immediately went on to prepare a cup of coffee for him. A latte, according to the image on the menu. It had a standard leaf design on it when served.

Luka asked me if I drank coffee before ordering something for me. I shrugged, as I had never really drunk it enough to actually give a verdict on it. Hearing this, he ordered the same drink as his. If anything, he could just finish it if I didn't like it. If he weren't saliva conscious, that is.

I took a seat on the couch in the corner. Who wouldn't take the opportunity to sit at a comfy seat? I managed to catch Luka's grin from afar, before it faded to nothing. He brought out a book to read once he settled beside me.

"Piglet?" I read the cover. What, did it have something to do with a baby pig?

He laughed at my question. "You would know it isn't. It's actually the reference for lit class next sem."

I looked at him in wonder and amazement. Here I was struggling to read poems, when he already started on plays. What a try-hard!

Remembering what happened yesterday, I pulled out the piece of paper which didn't belong in my bag. And handed it to him, knowing it had to be his.

He glanced at it, then waved his hand. "You keep it. It's the poem you were so desperate to read yesterday."

A feeling of guilt rushed through me. It didn't feel right to keep the poem when he was so conscious about it. But each time I insisted, he countered. Guess there's no refusing now.

Beside the barista counter, was a stage. Must be for the performances and events on the posters. I checked then again. Today was the day when the poetry sharing session was scheduled. Not a competition, just a casual showcase. But the place seemed empty, so were there anyone to participate in or even spectate?

Luka stroked the page gently before flipping it. God, if only he would do that down my neck. His attention was locked onto the book. I thought that if we were on a date, he should be focused on me. His contact broke only when the barista came over to serve us the coffee.

There was a huge pile of froth in the cup, shaped into a round head with cat ears. On its face, two dots were drawn for its eyes, as well as a nose and lines for whiskers. It's the kind of thing I'd see in my dating sims.

I lifted the cup and smothered the foam into my face. Like cream on a cupcake. Slightly annoying, as there wasn't much of a taste of it, but it's fun licking it off before I actually drink. Shit, should've taken a picture first!

He gazed at me, like he was studying my face. I watched him back, but he wasn't really doing anything. I sipped through the latte. And licked the foam from my mouth.

Self-conscious, I placed the cup back on the table. He laughed. Confused. What's so funny? Realizing I caught him, he his his face behind the book and coughed it away.

"I'm sorry," he said, peeking from his shield. "It's just..." He pointed a finger close to my face. And swiped it on my nose. He licked his finger foam and couldn't help but grin cheekily away from me. How embarrassing! Humiliating!

I turned away in frustration. He caught on quickly to my emotions and apologized. That sly fox thinks he can just do that and get away with it? No way! Never! He—

He pecked my cheek and retreated back behind his book. My jaw dropped at how much my body was actually okay with that. It wasn't disgusting. Heck, I liked it, for fuck's sake. I covered my mouth and kept blushing in the other direction.

It was only then that more customers entered the shop. The barista seemed to be sighing at the thought of having to prepare for all their orders. But hey, that's a booming business right there.

All of them seemed dressed in dark clothing. Not just black, but blues and grays as well. Some of them had chains for belts, as well as decorations for their clothings. Others simply came in plain attire, like anybody else you'd see on the street. After all, you don't need to be dark to appreciate poetry, I guess.

The barista stepped up on the stage. The crowd applauded for him. He seemed so insecure normally, but looked as though he was putting up an act to be confident in front of everybody. He introduced the poets who signed up as the priority act. I'm guessing so that in case there wasn't enough time.

Luka and I sat where we were. We couldn't see the poets in the stage, but their voices were loud enough through the microphone. They spoke words which I couldn't understand. I mean, I could, but probably not in the way they intended.

"Poets use a lot of metaphors sometimes. For me, I do it to mask my true thoughts and intentions. Or maybe it just sounds more dramatic when regular words aren't enough," Luka explained. I reread the poem. What was his meaning? Whatever it is, it sounds sad.

"Sorry. I really don't get it. It's not that I don't like it. I'm just too dumb to understand." I slouched backwards into the cushions.

He sighed and slumped to his side. "Don't beat yourself over it," he said. He told me that it was simply because I wasn't used to reading poetry. As he could tell during class. Wow, thanks a lot, date. "But I'm sure you'll get better at it eventually. If it's okay, I'd like to write more poems for you," he offered.

I thought about it. Being able to read more poems wouldn't hurt. It could even help me for Lit class. Plus, I'd really love it if he actually goes through all that trouble of writing it specifically for me. I shot a beaming grin and nodded my head repeatedly like an idiot.

He looked relieved. If he was that willing to give me his work, it would be kind of an honor. If anything, I could always ask him to explain it to me when I don't understand it.

"So what does this one mean?" I asked curiously. He seemed to be obsessed about the sky; the world. But he's saddened by it. I wonder if it had a deeper meaning, based on what he said.

He checked his poem once again. Then turned away. "It means exactly what you think." And he did a playful wink at me.

What I think? I thought nothing. I knew nothing. Does that mean it's so insignificant? That couldn't be. Otherwise, why would he obsess about it so much?

I squinted at it, pounding my head over and over about it. Ah, fuck. Why can't I just be good at Literature like him?

Frustrated, I threw the sheet of paper on the glass coffee table. It doesn't matter then. Whatever, I don't care. But he looked at me with a sorrowful smile. For him, I had to read into it more. I read, and was starting to come up with a theory.

"Ah... Damn, you're so cute when you're focusing like that," he swooned back dramatically. Obviously, it was fake. But his words were so sweet. My mind was high from the sugar rush that I couldn't even focus anymore.

I whispered, "You too."

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Yep, Luka sure isn't that stereotypical depressed emo boy. He may love reading and such, but he does know how to have a little bit of fun OwO