Scald

by Casca

Act 2

Why? hissed the voice in her head. It had decided to masquerade as Common Sense, today, painting itself the victim of Impulse, crying foul and doom and woe, even though — Lilac was still in two minds about accepting it — it was very much a decision.

　　Why?

　　Of course she knew why: it was the rough night. It was the stress of the pile of work that would take at least two weeks to finish. Heck, it could have even been the coffee setting her nerves into overdrive. Whatever the reason was for the — the sickness she was drowning in.

　　She could never face him again. She had embarrassed herself in front of him. She couldn’t take it if this happened again.
　　
　　Not scared. Not disappointed. Not angry, jealous, nothing. It’s nothing! It’s nothing! It’s nothing!

　　It wasn’t for lack of trying that she stood in front of the heavy door once more. No, times were hard, yes, and if she was going to pay six bits for a coffee then it would very damn well be the kind of coffee she wanted. Putting up with percolated facades was not how she was going to spend her precious Lilac-time. As if the labels “single origin”, “sustainably farmed” justified poor quality, mean-spirited tasting stuff. She had tried, yes, gone out of her way to taste the wares of the other stores, tried to see the attraction in the insipid, albeit pretty-packaged bean juice.

　　She had even tried a frappe. That hadn’t been the camel back-breaking straw, but she had almost cried at first sip.
　　
　　But Cafe Seratti’s coffee, ultimately, was what worked best for her. Be it the brewing skills of that barista, or the source of their beans, whatever the case — and this hurt her pride as a self-decided connoisseur — she couldn’t bring herself to like anything else.
　　
　　Not that personal preference mattered. It couldn’t for a mare as herself. It was just economics. Get what you’re paying for, settle for no less, all that. Viva le consommateur.
　　
　　She was overcome with sickness at the thought of the barista — it was in the gut, a sour sensation that spread to her heart. She missed him.
　　
　　The same thing every night in that damn apartment in the sheets that would never warm—

Though that had certainly not factored into it.
　　

Armed with this logic, Lilac shivered as she took another step closer to Cafe Seratti’s front door.
　　
　　It had always been heavy: a wide, solid oak affair with glass panels and a doorknob that shone, a grandfather along its automatic-sliding, ever-open fold-to-the-sizes, even open-air neighbours. One had to really commit to pushing it open. There was even a tinkling bell overhead.
　　
　　 But what was the alternative to committing? “Oh, I’m just looking.” A poisonous phrase if any. It came too often with the untrue implication that one did not have enough money to do anything but that. Doubly so for Lilac to the barista, if he caught her frozen on his doorsteps. How had she strolled in so effortlessly week by week not even a month ago?
　　

This door really needs an oiling, thought Lilac, laying a quivering hoof on the doorknob. Calm down. It’s just coffee. It’s just the money. We’ve talked about this before. We have.
　　
　　Go on.
　　
　　The metal was cold. You’ve thought about it every night and day. Spread those wings (metaphorical). Soar! You can see yourself through that open door. I believe—
　　
　　The bell behind it jingled, and the door swung open with tremendous force, almost dragging Lilac into a face-first fall. She quickly scrambled back, only to bump into a stallion, who shot her a dirty look and a muttered string under his breath.
　　
　　But behind the stallion he was there. Looked the same as always, but somehow, better — holding a broom and dustpan, and looking surprised.
　　
　　“Miss Lilac!” he said, smiling. “I haven’t seen you in a while! Are you coming in for a drink?”
　　
　　“Ah, no, I’m just looking,” gabbled Lilac, dropping her gaze immediately to his hooves. “I mean, no, I am. Yes! Yes, I am. Going. For a drink.”
　　
　　“So, that’s a...”

　　“A yes. Yes, mister barista.”
　　
　　He positively shone. “Well, come on in, then. I’ll just put these here” — he emptied his hooves and placed a hoof on the door— “after you.”
　　
　　And then she was there, in her usual spot. Somehow her heart hadn’t exploded. She was sure it would have with each next step. She felt sick, even, and suddenly not hungry at all. In fact, she might even vomit if she drank too much coffee — oh, Celestia, the thought of the thick bitter dark stuff sliding down her throat was simply dreadful...

Calm down, Lilac! Don’t screw this up! Just get a chocolate, or—
　　
　　“Will that be the usual?”
　　
　　“Oh, yes,” said Lilac quickly, feigning a search through her bag to evade his gaze.
　　
　　Damn!
　　
　　The cafe was not busy. A couple of patrons, distant and silent, were around, but it was otherwise all the same. Her chair, her table — it even smelled the same. Nothing had been moved. Her legs fit under the table exactly the same way it used to, but all she could feel was nausea. The chair that had once comforted her was now swallowing her, and the table that had once snugly housed her hooves was now a cage.
　　
　　There was the hissing of frothing milk, the rattle of beans emptied from the large copper jar he kept them in. She yearned to stare, watching him perform the routine that she had etched into her memory. The swift movement of his limbs, operating that gleaming machine. But what if he caught her — no, but she had come all this way to see him—
　　
　　The clink of china on mahogany awoke her from the dread deep, and without fail, the affirmation:
　　
　　“One flat white with sugar syrup.” Delivered with silver spoon and golden smile.
　　
　　Lilac sat and waited, listening to the thumping of her heart and the receding tension in her skull. Still the trousered leg remained in her peripheral vision, yet to swish away to leave her in lonely peace.
　　
　　He was waiting for her to drink it.
　　
　　She wondered then just how had she come to even touch the stuff. Pointless froth that would only add to the bloat in her belly, and bitterness that did nothing for her condition. But he had made it — he was still there — and there was really no other option but to drink the coffee in a coffee bar, was there?
　　
　　She reached out. A shudder across the shoulders threatened to spill the cup in her grasp, and she lifted the plate along with it. She blew across it, breathed in the scent, and drank.
　　
　　And the most wonderful warm, soothing feeling filled her. Rich but not overpowering, solidly in the middle of the taste spectrum. Creamy but not sticky on the throat. And warm but not scalding — he had even served it to her ready to drink, not piping hot! She felt her eyes brighten, her belly calm, as she swallowed.
　　
　　It was... it was like life—
　　
　　“Do you like it?” asked the barista.
　　
　　“Yes!” said Lilac, looking up in awe. “This...”
　　
　　“Thank goodness,” he said, shifting a hoof. “In the time you were away, I finished a little project of mine, and I thought that after a long absence, you might want something lighter than your usual, so I have to apologize: I made a presumption and served you a lighter blend, and used a different percolator.”
　　
　　“Lighter blend? Different percolator?” Lilac could only repeat the phrases back. She was rusty on her terminology, and the buzz was not helping. Not to mention she was looking at him now — speaking with him now — we are having a conversation! Even if he was talking awfully quickly.
　　
　　“Yes. Let me just show you...” He walked back to the counter and returned with a plastic cylinder in his grasp. She could not miss the beaming smile on his face as he laid it on her table. The faltering twitches in it only cemented her burgeoning relief. “This is the aeropress: something I’ve been tinkering with a fellow barista on weekends.”
　　
　　Said aeropress looked somewhat like a syringe, in that it had a plunger with a rubber end on one side. It was as wide as a large mug and had no tapered end for the needle. Instead on the other end was some kind of cap that fit into the cylinder, perforated like a colander, which was coloured blue.
　　
　　“Would you like a demonstration?” he asked happily, before adding: “If you want to. I’m sorry if I’m coming off too strong here — it’s just that I’m quite proud of this, and you’re a very pleasant surprise, so I thought...”
　　
　　Lilac flew. I’m a pleasant surprise.
　　
　　She nodded numbly, pointed to the chair opposite her, and remembered to add words. “Yes, I’d love to. Take a seat.”
　　
　　“Thank you.” The barista slid into the couch and leaned forward. He removed the plunger with a squelch, motioning as he spoke. “Now, the beans go in with the hot water. Usually for percolators, as you know, the beans have to cook for a few minutes. Modern machines use pressure to quicken it up at the cost of inflexibility with the blends. This is something in between.” He replaced the plunger. “While the house blend takes five minutes to cook, with the aeropress, it only takes about a minute and forty seconds. Then I just gently press down” — he pressed down — “and the pressure does the work. The result? Faster, and also cleaner-tasting coffee. Much less mud characteristics, and more of that middle-toned flavour.”
　　
　　Lilac nodded. She wanted to touch his hooves, if they were magical enough to mold that contraption before her. Feel his fur on hers. But she could not even bring herself to look directly at him.
　　
　　“Is something wrong, Miss Lilac?” The concern in his voice shook her out of it.
　　
　　“No, nothing’s wrong...” She felt a glow spread from her belly as she said, sincerely: “It’s good to be back.”
　　
　　“Well, it’s good to have you back too, Miss Lilac. I missed you. Y’know, it’s funny; somehow the other customers would leave your seat empty, even the ones that probably hadn’t seen you before.”
　　
　　“I missed you too.” She looked up to see him looking intently at her, and she stammered, “Your coffee, I mean. Nopony really does coffee like you do.”
　　
　　“Almost as if it was my cutie mark, am I right?” laughed the barista, shaking his head. “Thank you for that. That means a lot to me coming from you.”
　　
　　“Why... why would you say that?”
　　
　　“Well, if you’d pardon the presumption, you seem to be a mare of class.” The words came out slowly, as if he were piecing them together before letting them go. “Trained palate and all, so for you to say that of my work...” The smile shriveled into a curl. “I have trained so long to make coffee, to the extent that it’s my life. It’s nice that somepony else likes it, enough to come by as often as you do, y’know?”
　　
　　He blinked, and his eyes flashed with life that had seemed to fade for just that one moment. “But I’m rambling now. Point is, I’m glad. Thank you, truly.”
　　
　　A couple of beats passed before he got up. “I think I should get back to work. I don’t pay myself to chit-chat with customers, am I right?” He delivered it with a shrug and a short laugh. “Enjoy your drink, miss Lilac, and I hope to see you again.”
　　

***

Lilac’s apartment was a small studio done modern — trademark of the up-and-coming of Sydneigh. Induction stoves and a well-cleaned oven, spotless white walls, mottled pseudo-marble flooring; a couch and a couple of ergonomic chairs, dormant bandy-legged things of contradicting feathery plush and cold chrome; a bathroom connected to her bedroom that would not be out of place in a four-star hotel; a view, six stories high, of hundreds of windows belonging to other small studios that, give or take a family heirloom or pet, looked exactly the same as hers.

　　She tried to picture the barista — no, Percy — there. Sitting on the couch, because she couldn’t imagine him lounging — didn’t want to, because the hot flush was absolutely unwarranted here. Maybe in the kitchen, cooking a simple stir-fry. Or maybe in the bedroom...
　　
　　She bit her lip. Her sinful heart was pounding with glee as she followed Percy’s movements.
　　
　　Percy. Percy.
　　
　　She had finally dared to ask his name. It had been a milestone, which she had celebrated by treating herself to a side of silver sallies with dinner that night. Fattening, yes, but so damn delicious.
　　
　　“Say... I just—”
　　
　　Lilac’s arm waved briefly as she stopped the barista from leaving post-delivery. It had been a Thursday.
　　
　　“I never got your name,” said Lilac.
　　
　　“Really? Allow me to rectify that,” grinned the barista. He did a short bow. “Percy Seratti, at your service. Just Percy’s fine.”
　　
　　“Percy,” repeated Lilac, feeling the sparks dance across her tongue. Then she frowned. “Percy, as in percolator?”
　　
　　“I was hoping you wouldn’t pick up on that.” The barista shrugged, but was otherwise unperturbed. “My father knew who he wanted me to be. On paper, my full name is ‘Seratti Perco Lattier’, which, well, speaks for itself. Thankfully, said paper is locked away indefinitely, never to see the light of day again.” He sighed, gave the rest of the shop a sweeping glance, and took his increasingly usual seat opposite her. “I had a few friends in the same predicament. Coffee families, you know. Capoo Chino, that was a fairly bad one, Golden Roast wasn’t that bad... sucked to be Milk Froth, though. The irony was that he had been a dark-coated stallion, so when we were teenagers he was the butt of all the jokes. We’d tease him — ah.” Percy turned away, and for the first time she had ever seen, looked embarrassed. “I digress. Don’t know what came over me.”
　　
　　It was so cute.
　　
　　“No, no,” said Lilac, only remembering to dim her smile when the edges of her lips turned dry. “It’s interesting. I’ve never thought of it that way. Isn’t it one of life’s greatest mysteries, how parents just know what to name their children... the whole hippomorphic principle aside. You know, ‘the universe molds to fit our thoughts, beliefs and decisions’. Hippomorphic. Thing. You know.”
　　
　　“So the coffee would taste better if you wish it so?” said Percy with a wink and a nod towards the cup. A slender hoof reached out and caressed the side of the cup. “Or warmer...”

***

And now here they were, there he was, vibrant and alive and perfectly at home behind the counter.

　　She tried to see if he would glance over. No such luck. It was the old stallion again.
　　
　　Recently he had been showing up — the geezer of garish fleecers — harroumphing and laughing and snorting loudly as he made strange reminiscential conversation with Percy. He had the habit of slamming the mug down on the counter every time he drained the last drop; the barista knowingly gave him a silver tureen and a thick coaster that dulled the otherwise painful thuds. And whenever he was around, Percy’s eyes were... unfocused. Everywhere except on the stallion, and nowhere but him. Eye contact was fleeting, his hooves were always, always busy, and she knew from long observation that this wasn’t how he normally served the counter. Never so fidgety.
　　
　　She sipped her coffee and glanced at the Daily Express on her table. Summer was winding down, which meant incrementally increasing cloud cover, more wind, more chill. She watched as the first scarves of the season fluttered weakly, more by the momentum of its owner’s pace than the wind. Fresh clean white on amber and pale blue coats. Lilac rifled through the memory inventory to see if she still had that old maroon rag and enough bleach to revive it for the new season’s look.
　　
　　Another bout of hacking coughs from the counter sapped her concentration. Then, the quiet, concerned inquiry, and the subsequent “Pah” and slamming of mug on table. Lilac frowned. The conversation was animated, and — Lilac burned inside as her mind ran loose — like married sex, with all the energy supplied by one party. And as much as it didn’t, it seemed to involved Percy a lot. And it was no fault of hers if she had good hearing, auditory functions unable to block out a too loud voice...
　　
　　“Anyways, Green Bean and Roselia are arriving tomorrow midnight.” There was a sheen as a flask made its way across the counter. “Gonna need some of your darkest stuff to power me for the trip.”
　　
　　Percy nodded, took it and said: “You could just as easily call a cab.”
　　
　　“No, no. I haven’t seen them in forever. And they don’t write... I don’t want to wait to see how they’re doing again. You remember them, right? Are you in touch?”
　　
　　“Sadly, no. And I do remember. We played together a lot. How could I not?”
　　
　　“Aye. You had your rough-housing, that was for sure... Remember when you broke our vase? When you were playing chase? To be honest I never liked the damn thing. Almost wanted to thank you. But Aunt Saffron, you know how she was about her decor... But you were there, you saw the flowers. Even the coffin, with all the damn engravings. And gilt on every corner. I got home that day, I tell you, and it was almost as if she was still there because of all the stuff she hung around the house.” The old stallion drank deeply from his cup and slammed it. Lilac jumped.
　　
　　“How times fly. How long ago was it since Louie—”
　　
　　“Almost four years.” The flask was returned. “Will be four years in... twenty-seven days.”
　　
　　The stallion exhaled. His voice quieted, and Lilac could hear no more.
　　
　　She mulled on it, finished her coffee, and paid. Percy smiled as they exchanged thank-yous. The stallion did not look up, instead staring into his cup, and Lilac wondered for how much longer would he stay.

***

Lilac had never seen the morning crowd before. They dissipated quickly, for the working class had jobs to rush off to and the poets, artists and et cetera family-funded layabouts who would have stayed had no reason to be up at this time. Lilac felt a little uncomfortable. She had been on the receiving end of more than one hasty glance, the beady ocular sweep of the repressed on-the-dot punctuals whose productivities demanded that somepony else do the brewing for them. She had not known Percy did pre-made — two large pots that ticked ready as the first customer strolled in — though calling it that was probably rather harsh. The aroma was fresh, at least.

　　Not to mention her usual spot was warming up in the sun streaming through the window. By four o’clock the sun would have crossed the other side of the Centroplex, but now...
　　
　　Lilac gazed at the lovers’ corner. It looked dim — everything else did, after her careless squint to the left — isn’t it supposed to be the cool season? Why is it so warm here?
　　
　　She flipped through her binder. The day’s tasks, listed in clean typeset, were on the first page, fresh off the manager’s desk. She nodded slightly as she looked through them: a continuation of the Junebug Messrs. account from last week, a peer review of the new intern’s figures for the corn plantation, an advice request for a small business on the outskirts of town. Nothing out of the ordinary, but she would have to look up the company library for references. While the prospect of being out of office at this time was new — almost exciting, to be part of that rare morning shopper crowd — the work didn’t do itself.
　　
　　“So, Miss Lilac — are you going to let me know the reason for this pleasant surprise?” asked Percy as he sidled up to his seat, placing a glass of water next to her half-full mug.
　　
　　Lilac smiled grimly. “Manager kicked us all out. Last night somepony left the cookie jar open. Rats came, and when we got in this morning... Feces on the tables, the carpet, and the smell, too. So she freaked and sent us out while the janitors do their thing.”
　　
　　“Huh. All right. I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds terrible,” said Percy, blinking twice. “It was everywhere, you say?”
　　
　　“It probably wasn’t. More like a small but, ah, not insignificant corner. But the manager’s something of a germophobe, and between you and me I’m happy to be out of there.” Lilac finished the coffee and took care to dab her lips with the serviette instead of licking them. “They’re supposed to be poisonous. The feces, I mean.”
　　
　　“Definitely. And it’s not like you’d be able to focus with the stench.”
　　
　　“Exactly.” Lilac reminded herself to relax and lean back from the drawn-forward tilt she was in, and ended up with a very straight back. She grasped for a continuation and found none, but Percy saved her:
　　
　　“And so you’ve graced my humble halls for the time being.” He winked, and her breath caught in her lungs.
　　
　　“I’ll only be — I mean, I’ll be another half hour, hopefully. If you don’t mind,” said Lilac, picking up the cup again. She wished it were larger, that she could somehow hide behind it.
　　
　　Since when had I finished it? She had planned to make it last as long as possible, but her excuse had, metaphorically, gone down the drain. Damn. This always happens.
　　
　　She was about to ask very naturally for another coffee, or maybe something easier on the stomach/wallet like a babycino, but Percy spoke first. “Oh, stay as long as you like. The company is appreciated, and as you can see, you’re not exactly taking up room.” Percy gestured to the empty seats. “I normally work on my accounts at this time... I mean, you’ve got your folder there, so I was thinking if you’d like to maybe work with me. I mean, not on my accounts, no, because I know you’re professional — and — you are on break — I mean" — and he actually looked worried — “if you’d like to, you could join me at the counter. Work or none regardless.”
　　
　　“Of... of course,” said Lilac. “Yes, I’d love to.” She got up and withheld herself as she packed up her papers into the folder, into her bag. She ignored the way her pinstripe jacket (the nice Eeltalian one) creased as she slung it on, off a few steps later, reassembling the workspace. Then she sat down, took out her pen, and began marking down certain numbers on her sheets as Percy took out his own — a yellowed hardcover thing with the year and the number “4” printed on it. And all the while her blood was pumping and her heart was soaring and a chill transcending mere draft was climbing her spine —
　　
　　What she wanted to do was lunge over the counter and taste him. It would be so easy, and would play out just as she had dreamed it for the past hundreds of times. He’d look stunned, shocked, break the contact — but only to whisper: “I feel the same way.” And — and...
　　
　　Lilac had a brick in her petite crique a la moderne. Recently — proportionally, with the fantasies — she had considered hitting herself with it. She would dangle it in her hoofs as she lay on her bed, staring at the rough edges. She couldn’t remember for the life of her where it had come from. But it was heavy, gritty, and she felt that getting hit by it would be rightful compensation for her filthy desires. She would have been disgusted if her co-workers thought that way about her. And Percy would no doubt feel disgusted if he could read her mind. Wasn’t that proof enough that it was time for the fuzzies to die?
　　
　　It felt good. But it was bad. It didn’t feel as cut-and-dry as that — nothing had been since she had left home — but the feeling was the problem anyways.

***

It was just... the air, somehow, changed with him around. He was witty and there was a — a pride in being able to call him a friend, a possessive trait in the dynamic that when they were talking he was hers and when they were just together in general he was hers. He never ran out of interesting topics to explore and she to her relief could keep up, getting better with each round; he was at his best when he made his coffee. Cans, funnels, machinery flowed like books in a unicorn’s private library, and it was entrancing. It hurt to feel her heart swell whenever he did so, and this, she thought to herself, is happiness!

***

“Are you all right, Percy?”
　　
　　“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”
　　

Other than the very occasional visit up to the counter, nothing much had changed for Lilac — she still went to Cafe Seratti after leaving the office in the late noon, still saw the young couple in their corner while she read her book and drank her coffee and dreamt of her barista. But something had changed for him, and she knew because he was refusing to tell her what it was.

　　And they had stopped talking, because she had one day asked him: “Are you all right, Percy?” and never getting an answer. The first time. she had caught him glaring into space, and tried to do what a friend would have done. But the question had come out of the blue, there had been no planning, and after Percy brushed the question away she was left stumped.
　　
　　“Um, yeah. You’re right. I mean, yeah, you’re all right, ah ha ha...”

　　 “If you say so, Lilac.”
　　
　　The second time, her coffee was late by several minutes. She had feigned reading while she half-peeked, half-listened to him fumbling up the order. The milk frother had hissed far too many times. The can of beans had rattled vehemently, and the cups of apparent failures had tumbled into the sink of shame with unceremonious clanks. When Percy finally shuffled to her side, Lilac tried to put on her best sympathetic look and asked:
　　
　　“Are you all right, Percy?”
　　
　　Slight pause. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Smile. No eye contact.
　　
　　And she couldn’t very well say why he might be. Because for some reason you can’t make coffee anymore. Seriously?
　　
　　But her mind would always fixate on the issue, and whatever tidbits of conversation starters she had collected from the office or the radio — those had never been in bountiful supply — shriveled into worthless husks. It was so, so hard, Lilac came to realize, to keep up chat with somepony you didn’t have much in common with. The conflicts of the distant towns on the borders of Equestria were too obscure, too removed. The economy didn’t change fast enough to supply topics. Not even what his work was like, because she had explored that already and there was only so much you could say about running a quiet cafe, and Lilac was, well, an accountant. And the weather was completely out of the question.
　　
　　So Lilac found herself unable to chat with Percy, and Percy had never been the initiator, seeing as there was always something he had to do, and dead space grew.
　　
　　She hated it. It choked her. If she had just ignored it earlier and stuck to the plan, quickly diverted the direction into a different topic, it wouldn’t have grown into the inertia it was now. It was even worse than before she had first talked with him, because she now knew what she wanted — that she now wanted at all. Perhaps it was time to move on. It was only coffee, right? Just as she was only another customer.
　　
　　She trembled as she turned another page of her book. Today was another day. Maybe, maybe... So far Percy seemed to be his old self, though he was taking his time with the order. In a way, she welcomed the delay. More time before she had to face him, and the consequence of her inability. And more time that she could stay before she invariably finished her drink and, for courtesy’s sake, kicked herself out of the establishment, even if it was bitterly cold outside.
　　
　　No, no, not the time to think about that. Talk about... stuff, hissed Lilac to herself. I saw a homeless pony on the streets today. I gave him a few bits. I hope he doesn’t spend it on glue — no, that’s horrible and insensitive. I gave him a few bits, poor soul, what is our government doing — no, too political!

　　Hey, Percy. So, how have you been?
　　
　　“I’ve been okay. You?”
　　
　　Same, same. Hey, I saw a homeless pony — no, that won’t work!
　　
　　The barista hadn’t arrived yet. She looked up but couldn’t see him. Outside, the wind roared; inside, the heating unit clankered and muffled claps grumbled from the roof; she couldn’t hear him, either. She swallowed, and tried to rub out the numbness in her hooves. The heating unit was an ancient bolted gas burner on the far end of the cafe, but something fundamental as her seat couldn’t be changed so easily.
　　
　　But some things can be changed. They gotta be.
　　
　　And it’s not like I’m asking for very much. The hiss of the milk frother, final touch to the cuppa and omen of Percy’s impeding arrival, pulled at the fraying sides of her thoughts. All I want is to be friends with him again! Just no more of this silence...
　　
　　Percy still walked as silently as ever. Without looking first, Lilac turned to face him, lifting her head up a bit too early. A manic smile tore at her cheeks. Even before she spoke she knew her voice would be too shrill, too strained.
　　
　　“Hey, Percy, so—”
　　
　　Percy’s shout of panic drowned out the rest as he tripped, falling forward. The coffee flew, the cup shattered, and her lap burned.
　　
　　“Are you all right, Lilac?!”

Comments

[CatnipChapstick]

I'm thrilled that EQD brought up this story, it's great so far. Can't wait to see where this goes!

[Casca]

6715617
Hey, thanks, glad you like it! The story should be wrapping up in a couple of days. =)

[CatnipChapstick]

6717007
I'm happy to hear that! Actually a few times today I caught myself about to reach for my phone only to remember there aren't new chapters yet. I'm glad I won't have to wait long! ^w^