It's Not What It Looks Like

ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ

‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐬.

Everything about them seemed to her like it was built out fragments of a different reality. The early morning rides, and stretch of your legs once you make a stop, and the shivering in the cold air, and those first few hours when the bus is full of people, yet somehow still perfectly quiet. There was something about it all that always succeeded in filling Silena with the laziest type of excitement.

For what feels like the first time ever, Mena doesn't seem to share her fascination.

That is, of course, not to say that she too isn't beyond excited for the trip herself. On the contrary, really: she packed her backpack religiously, checked the weather app several times a day, and took fifteen minutes to pick her outfit. It does, however, strongly suggest that four in the morning is not a time she deems worthy of wakefulness.

Thus, she spends the entire bus ride sleeping with her head on Silena's shoulder. This is, needless to say, entirely unrelated to Silena's own increased liking for morning bus rides.

Even once they reach the museum at around seven, she makes a beeline for the cafe, and immediately drops herself into one of the chairs. The hood of her sweatshirt is drawn over her head as she sinks into the warmth of her bulky fuchsia jacket, and the only part of her head that remains visible to the world is the sleepy drop of her usually lively eyes.

It's all a little much to handle, honestly.

"Here," Silena says, coming back to their table with arms full of breakfast food.

She lays it down carefully, cautious not to spill the hot liquid all over herself. The outrageous adorableness of Mena's current state does precisely nothing to help calm her hands, but she manages. She brought a cup of black tea and a cream cheese bagel for herself, plus a vanilla latte and a cherry danish for Mena. If you ignore the fact that they're in a museum cafe, the scene feels oddly domestic- and Silena makes a point out of mentally suplexing the feeling in her chest to the Earth's core.

She remains standing, another paper bag clutched in her hand.

"Thanks," Mena says, yawning. Once she looks up at her plate, a drowsy smile spreads across her face. "That's my favourite pastry."

"I know."

This, for some reason, seems to surprise her friend (yes, they're friends now; haven't you heard?). The sleepiness of her features temporarily takes a back seat to the smug look that appears in her eyes.

"You do?"

"Hard not to," Silena says, a bit defensively. "You're very loud about making all of your likes and dislikes public."

"And you, apparently, listen."

"Not like I have a choice. Do you know where Lyrica is?"

Mena's eyes fall on to the paper bag Silena is still holding.

"You got one for her too?"

This conclusion makes her smile even wider. Silena bristles, and quickly hides the bag behind her back.

"As a thank you. For giving us a lift from the party."

"Oh," Mena says. "You really are being a good friend."

A mean blush spreads across Silena's cheeks as she remembers her words from a few nights before. As though it wasn't bad enough that she herself still has a hazy recollection of just how clingy she had been that evening, Mena graciously takes every opportunity she can to remind her. She ducks her head, clearly embarrassed.