• HUMAN AU •
Warm air, carrying the scent of sugar and spices, rushed to meet Keefe as he took his first steps into the café. He was closely followed by a pair of radiantly attractive teenagers. One boy of eighteen, the other a girl of sixteen; despite the age gap they could easily pass for twins. They shared the same silky dark hair and alarmingly teal eyes, each tall for their age and excessively beautiful.
The girl — Biana Vacker — tossed her hair in the same fluid motion she disappeared in, weaving like wind through the tight packs of people clustering the café. Keefe lost sight of her quickly, but held the assumption she was finding her boyfriend. Or breaking up with him.
Both seemed to be hobbies of hers.
Losing interest, he spun on his heel to face Fitz — Biana's older brother — and clapped him on the back. "Today's the day," Keefe informed him, dodging the flirtatious glances of a nearby girl sitting in a booth.
"For what?" Fitz asked, though it was evident he was already aware of the answer.
"Time to get you a girlfriend," Keefe said smugly.
"You're one to talk," Fitz replied, his eyes clouding over as he scanned the line of people waiting to order. "I don't see you dating anyone."
"Yeah, well, I'm waiting for my soulmate." He smirked, smoothly hiding the pain in his voice. "And I haven't found her yet. So in the meantime," he continued, "we're going to find yours."
"What better chance do I have?"
"Your looks. Duh." Keefe shoved him lightly. "You are aware of how many fangirls you have, aren't you?"
"Yes." Fitz tossed him his trademark grin. "And its more than you have."
"Well we all know that's a lie," Keefe said, running both hands through his hair. A grin spread over his face when he caught the attention of at least a dozen teenage girls.
Laughing, Fitz shook his head. Again, he studied the lengthy line toward the cash register and contemplated whether or not to join.
"Forget that." Keefe took his best friend by the shoulders and whirled him to face the right half of the café. It was larger than the left, with booths lining the walls and tables sitting dozens more people than was protocol.
Keefe would know. He'd worked here for a few months, before his boss had fired him for attracting too much attention.
"Go find a girl," he told Fitz. "Sit down with her. Have a conversation."
"Only if you do the same."
"Fine," Keefe agreed. "But you need this more than I do."
"Oh, really?"
Smithing, Keefe gave him another good shove. But just as he turned to head in the other direction, he felt Fitz shove him in return.
It was a surprise.
Fitz never retaliated, and the impact jarred Keefe so hard that he stumbled into a girl standing scarce feet away from the front doors. She held a cup of hot chocolate, or possibly coffee. He guessed the latter.
If she was like him, she couldn't go an hour without caffeine.
As they collided, foreheads bumping, a bit of her delicacy spilled onto Keefe's shirt. Thankfully, the thick cotton prevented it from burning his skin. It didn't hurt that his shirt was also black.
In a few minutes, no one would be able to tell.
"Oh," the girl breathed, nearly dropping both her cup and cell phone. "I'm so sorry."
"No," Keefe assured her, steadying her clumsy steps with his hands on her forearms. "That was my fault."
"Your shirt . . ."
Guilt passed over her face, and she scrambled to set her things down on an empty table tucked into the corner.
"Hey." Keefe touched her hand, smiling. "I'm fine, love. Relax."
A light blush played on her cheeks. Keefe seized the moment, inhaling her beauty as he might a sunset or a foreign landscape. Blonde waves fell over her shoulders, the ends thick and level, as though she'd just cut it. Behind that were thick eyelashes complimented by golden irises.
Keefe found himself smiling and nearly pinched himself, wondering just how long he'd been staring.
A deeper blush crawled up her neck and peeked on her ears. It surprised Keefe how badly he wanted to smooth the worry crease between her brow.
Biting her bottom lip, she traced the toe of her boot over the tiled floor. "I really am sorry."
"There's no need for you to be. See that boy over there?" Keefe pointed in Fitz's direction. When Sophie nodded, surely noticing that he'd chosen to converse with the prettiest brunette in the shop, he went on. "He shoved me."
"He seems mean," she mumbled.
Keefe laughed. "He's not. Usually, anyways."
"Are you friends?"
"You could call us that."
She smiled, glancing sadly between the two boys. "Sounds nice," she whispered, so softly Keefe wondered if he was supposed to hear.
He smiled anyway. As he led her to the closest booth, he noticed that her hair was naturally wavy. Not quite curly, but definitely not straight. Pretty.
"So," Keefe drew out, smirking at her. "Are you gonna tell me your name? Or do I have to guess?"
Amusement cast its glow over her cheeks. "Guess."
Keefe grinned, settling back into his side of the booth. "Sophie?"
Her jaw went slack. "How did you . . .?"
He handed her the receipt lying near her steaming drink. Underneath her order and tax info, lay her full name: Sophie Foster. "Unless you're using an alter ego, I believe this is proof."
She laughed — a soft, rather melodic sound. "Sophie would be correct."
He leaned forward a few inches, resting his elbows on the table. "Is it also correct that you have a boyfriend?"
Surprise softened her gestures. "Huh?"
"I was just wondering," Keefe reiterated, "if you're dating anyone."
Hand shaking, Sophie brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "No," she said quietly.
Keefe stifled his smile and continued their conversation as though nothing had happened. "I'm Keefe."
She nearly dropped her phone. "Keefe Sencen?"
He smirked. "Heard of me?"
"Only everywhere," she muttered.
"Of course you have. Everyone's obsessed with me."
She laughed. "Is that so?"
"It is." Keefe sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair just for the pleasure of her blush.
"You're a senior, aren't you?" Sophie took a small sip of coffee and returned her cup to the table. "At Elkwood?"
"Smart and cute." Keefe grinned.
Flustered, Sophie's lips struggled to form the right words. It startled Keefe how often he caught himself staring at them, contemplating the softness or the peach shading. Was that natural or just lipstick?
"Let me guess," Keefe said. "You're a junior. Sixteen, almost seventeen. Taking advanced classes; really good at physics."
She gaped. "There's no way you figured all that out from a receipt."
Laughing, Keefe said, "I definitely didn't."
"Then how . . .?"
"I'm just smart, okay? Observant. How else do you think I skipped a grade?"
"Really?" Her eyebrows reached for the ceiling. "That means you're my age."
"Mm-hm." Keefe mindlessly tossed his gaze out the window, studying the familiar dirt-strewn sidewalks and clouds that threatened to spread a floodwater of rain across Manhattan.
"Keefe?" Sophie whispered.
He jerked slightly, returning his attention to her. "Sorry. Did you say something?"
"No." She smiled. "You just look distracted."
"I am," he admitted. "It's . . . just been a long week."
Sympathy furrowed her brow and brought a beautiful definition to her honey-brown eyes. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." Keefe tried to shake the worries rattling around in his mind. "Though I better get home soon. My dad will kill be for being out so long."
"You just got here," Sophie pointed out.
He tried for a smirk. "My dad . . . he's a little strict."
"Is he mad with you?"
"He always is," Keefe said bitterly. Surprise veiled his expression as he felt Sophie's warm fingers glide into his own. Her skin was soft.
"What about your mom?" she asked.
Hurt writhed in his chest and vile crept shamelessly up his throat. "She's worse," he admitted.
"Oh, Keefe." Sophie reached for him, then blushed, seeming to recognize the gravity of such a gesture. She was so cute. He hadn't even gone into specifics and she already felt the need to console his pain.
He smiled sadly. "Please don't pity me."
"I'm not." Wringing her hands, Sophie tossed a glance up the tall, domed ceiling, spending a quiet moment pondering what to say. "I don't think pity is a natural instinct," she said eventually. "As humans we're all experiencing things. If someone's smart, they'll sympathize and understand the weight of the pain."
Keefe leaned forward, studying her compassionate eyes, wondering just how much knowledge was tucked into her pretty little mind. "That . . . actually really helps."
She smiled, taking another sip of her coffee. "Glad I could help."
"How about," Keefe inquired, "we make this a regular thing?"
She laughed. "I'm surprised you want my company."
"Why wouldn't I? You're cute. And from the looks if it, you're a lot smarter than me."
"I doubt that."
Keefe elicited a soft smile, leaning in with little more than a breath of courage as he kissed her forehead. "I don't."