Coffee And Delinquency [ON HOLD]

18

Ivana

"Why does it look like you're breaking into your own shop? That's very criminal of you."

I ignored the dry amusement in Ace's voice, trying my best to not dwell over the lilting trill in his voice as he almost chuckled taking a dig at me.

Sometimes I really forgot that good-looking guys, especially the ones as handsome as him had this unexplainable tendency to mesmerise. Everything they did seemed to be made to charm and that was the lethal killing factor.

"It's like five in the morning, Ace. Do you really expect me to open the cafe so early?" Crossing my arms, I turned around to face him. I didn't realise he was standing that close and it seemed that he didn't either.

If anything, he looked rather flustered by the sudden proximity and immediately diverted his gaze, stepping backwards while clearing his throat. It was adorable. Not that I was going to say it out loud.

"So what exactly is the ideal time to open the cafè?" He muttered, his fingers unintentionally brushing over the bruise forming on the corner of his mouth.

I grimaced. His bruises just seemed to be getting darker and I found myself getting more and more suspicious of what he'd told me earlier. A story. One that I wasn't supposed to know...but what exactly was so terrifying about it?

"Well, mornings are always the busiest. Since there are a lot of office buildings and schools nearby, the peak hours are seven to nine when most of the employees head to work. Sales are pretty good during those particular hours." I elaborated, glancing at him casually. "Are you coming in?"

"Yeah." He nodded, a few shiny straw-like strands of his hair falling into his eyes. There was no way that haircolour was natural. Working in the cafe, I had come across all sorts of natural blondes but I had never ever encountered a natural born platinum haired person. It almost felt like I'd accidentally come across something rare.

And as creepy as it might sound, I had this greatly obdurate desire to have a close look at his roots to determine if he actually was a natural.

"Do you want something for your...face?" I pointed towards my face, not realising how stupid I must have looked air tracing my face with my own hand. "You might get an infection if you don't put something on those bruises quickly."

"I thought girls liked the rough, bad boy sort of image? The more aggressive the boy is, the more desirable?"

I made a face. How prejudicial. "Real life isn't a fancy chick flick made by avaricious filmmakers dead set on feeding people with content full of stereotypical beliefs about love between genders and high-school cliques, Ace. No one likes violence...or the aftermath of it, unless they're some sort of a psychopath."

"That's funny," Ace replied, although his tone wasn't argumentative. He spoke rather conversationally, more in an attempt to keep me busy as I foraged through the first-aid box for some ointment and bandages. And I couldn't be more thankful to him for that.

"Because most of the girls that I've come across thought that having these injuries...bruised knuckles and bloody lips actually made me attractive. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost have thought they were fascinated by the pain." Ace hissed softly as I bandaged his knuckles trying my best to be as gentle as possible.

"And while it's refreshing, it's also surprising that you don't seem to think so." He continued, letting me push him down onto a chair.

"Yes, because like I said earlier..." Frowning, I paused and pulled his chin down, concentrating on cleaning the corner of his mouth with a cotton swab. "I'm not a psychopath. I can't comment on the necessity of violence in the world but I certainly do not like displays of it, whatever the cause behind."