Young Writers Society

Wells: I don’t-- I don’t know if I’m gonna sleep much tonight.
Vaughn: Me neither.
Wells: I think. I think I’m gonna make some coffee. D’you want some?
Vaughn: Please.
Wells: Alright.
[They stand up and walk to open the coffee cabinet]
Wells: We’re low on the french roast. It’s too late for the blonde roast.
Vaughn: Do we have any of the cinnamon coffee left?
Wells: We’ve got enough for one more pot.
Vaughn: Perfect.
Wells: Pretty sure we’re out of creamer.
Vaughn: We can pick up some more in the morning.
[Wells readies the moka pot and puts it on the stove.]
Wells: We’ll need to get some more eggs, too. We’ll run out quicker, now.
Vaughn: Alright. We can make a list.
[Wells sits back down at the table, next to Vaughn. They rest their head against his shoulder, and let out a long sigh.
Wells: Fuck.
Vaughn: Hey, it’s—
[The floorboards creak overhead. Vaughn reflexively moves to stand up. He catches himself and sits back down.]
Vaughn: [Sighing] Sorry. I’m not used to this.
Vaughn: I know she’s probably just grabbing some water, but…
Wells: I know. Do you—
Vaughn: Please.
Wells: Alright. Time?
Vaughn: 12:02 am.
Wells: Date?
Vaughn: Tuesday, August—
[The coffee starts to percolate.]
[Wells and Vaughn both flinch towards each-other.]
Wells: You alright?
[Vaughn lets out a quiet sigh. His hands begin to shake.]
[Wells moves to stand up.]
Vaughn: I’ve got it. We did a lot of walking today, rest your legs.
Wells: Alright. Grab me an ice pack?
Vaughn: Sure.
[Vaughn takes the coffee off the heat, then grabs an ice pack from the fridge. He wraps it in a thin layer of paper towels and passes it to Wells.]
Wells: Thanks.
Vaughn: ‘course.
[He turns back to the coffee.]
Vaughn: You want the purple mug?
Wells: Yeah.
Vaughn: Alright. Here you go.
Wells: Thanks.
[Vaughn pours himself a cup of coffee and sits back down, holding the cup with both hands.]
[Wells sighs.]
Vaughn: Coffee’s that bad, huh?
[Wells snorts.]
Wells: Clearly.
Wells: No. It’s just—
Vaugh: I know. I can’t get it out of my head.
Wells: What are we going to do with her? She doesn’t have anyone.
Vaughn: She has us. Unless—
[Wells looks at the ground.]
Vaughn: I shouldn’t have assumed—
Wells: No. No, of course she has us. It’s just… Fuck. We’re hardly fit for this.
Vaughn: I know.
Wells: We don’t have any clothes, or shoes, or…
Vaughn: We can call CJ. They’ve got S. I’m sure they’d be able to help.
Wells: Not now. ‘s too late, it’d just freak them out. Maybe tomorrow?
Vaughn: Tomorrow, then.