Chapter 14: Coffee

Ashe's POV

We step out of the store. I pull my new scarf around my neck, relishing the feel of the soft material.

A bag swings from Kyre's hand, a strange metallic object held inside. When I'd asked him what it was, he told me it was "just another one of Boss's things." He hasn't said much since what happened in the tunnel, but I don't push it. I'm worried about him, but he'll open up when he feels comfortable. And I haven't known him for more than two days.

I'm nearly a stranger.

Though there is the question of our past: Everything about Kyre is familiar, from his name to the way he runs his hand through his hair when he's frustrated. But I'm sure I didn't know him before. How could I, if I have no memory of it?

My breath fogs the air in front of my mouth, and I shiver slightly as the cold threads through the fabric of my hoodie. Next to me, Kyre has his windbreaker open, the slippery-looking sleeves somehow rolled up to his elbows, his tattoo on full display. How is he not cold? It must be like thirty degrees out here. I poke the watery ice that fills the cracks in the cement with my toe.

The wind does not spare me, and soon my hair is all over my face. I pull my hands out from my pockets to pull it back and regret it immediately. The cold attacks them and leeches away their warmth. I hastily shove them back into my pockets, but no avail. My fingers still feel like shards of ice worked their way inside.

Suddenly, I feel something warm draped over my shoulders. I glance up in shock. Kyre is standing in front of me, white shirt blowing gently in the wind. He gave me his windbreaker. My eyes widen in surprise.

"You looked cold." His voice is friendly, not as strained as it had been before.

"B-but now you'll freeze! Because of me!" I exclaim, starting to pull the jacket off. He immediately stops me, lightly catching my wrists with both hands. His hands feel very warm.

"I'm used to the cold. You, on the other hand, are not." His lips twitch up in a small smile. "I'll be alright."

I pull a hand free and point at the ice on the ground. "You see this? You'll end up frozen if you don't wear a jacket." I may sound like an overprotective mother, but I'm not letting Kyre--the person I trust the most here--freeze. Possibly to death.

With a hard tap from his foot, Kyre cracks the ice. "See? Just water underneath. The temperature isn't freezing right now." He glances at me, his gray eyes glimmering in the light like pieces of quartz. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I blink repeatedly, then belatedly realizing that he won't take the windbreaker back, I pull my arms through the sleeves. The light gray jacket is big on me, the bottom edge falling mid-thigh. My hands are covered by the sleeves.

Kyre takes my left wrist and tugs gently. "Come on, there's this place I want to show you. It's not too far, and it has the best coffee around."

Coffee?

*-*-*

The moment I step through the door, warmth engulfs me. I hear the sound of wind chimes, and I glance up to see them hanging right by the door, jangling merrily. A scent fills the air, rich, deep, and familiar. I ponder it for a moment before I realize that I can smell it on Kyre's windbreaker. A strange assortment of lamps hangs from the ceiling, offering a warm glow.

If I had to pick, the most interesting thing here would be the far wall. There is a counter on the far side, the wall behind it lined with machines, a gentle whirring sound emitting from them. I see some people moving, holding cups under some of the machines and waiting as liquids of all sorts pour out. Dark, steaming, liquids; caramel-colored frothy ones; even a bright pink one that looks thick enough to be solid. They all wear the same clothes, a loose burnt-orange shirt and black pants, everything tied back with a black apron.

The woman holding the pink glass sticks a spoon and straw into it. Much to my surprise, she hands it to a young girl, who impatiently holds out her left wrist. The woman raises her eyebrows and scans her wrist to make the payment. The scanner beeps, and she yanks it away, her eyes wide with shock. The girl ignores her, delicately picking up the spoon with many-ringed fingers. A silver pendant of a broken heart hangs from a chain at her neck.

"Kyre! Welcome back!" The woman's face breaks into a relieved smile, and she waves us over. Kyre pulls me forward, his hand still over mine. The girl glances at us with startling violet eyes framed with heavy make-up, disdain printed plainly on her features.

Up close, the woman's features are vaguely familiar, as though I'd seen them in a dream. Friendly brown eyes, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks, wispy hair that floats around her head, pulled back by a dark blue headband. A brief image flashes through my mind's eye:

A girl with the same wispy hair, same warm brown eyes. Her face is slightly narrower, her eyes wide with the happiness of childhood. The freckles on her face are more pronounced though, and her skin is pale, as though she hadn't been in direct sunlight for a long while. The paint stains on her hands stand out. I can make out another figure next to her, one I recognize immediately.

It's me.

This version of me looks younger, without any streaks of color in her hair. She's gesturing widely with her right hand, a metallic silver stylus held between her fingers. With the other hand, she holds a tablet close to her body, the slim device covered with a fuzzy maroon case. I recognize that case. It's the one I use now.

The two girls chat animatedly, obviously finding delight in one thing they have in common: art. I watch, a strange pang of longing going through me before the image vanishes.

I stare at the wall behind the woman disconcertedly, blinking multiple times. Her voice filters into my ears in pieces and my attention snaps toward her. "Dear... you... okay?"

I make myself nod, tears pricking the backs of my eyes. Why do I feel so sad? Looking dissatisfied--apparently, my answer isn't convincing enough--the woman asks Kyre something. I don't hear it.

Kyre notices the shift in my mood and pulls me into his side, arm wrapping securely around my shoulders. He looks down at me for a moment, his face a mixture of confusion and concern, before replying to the woman. "This is Ashe. She's staying over for a while." I glance at him, surprised. I thought that I'd be leaving soon, seeing that I had already gotten my art back.

I like the Above and all, and the very thought of going back down that staircase makes me feel tired, but I need to go back sometime.

Kyre chats some more, then orders two cups of something. The woman nods, smiles, and presses three different buttons. I notice that they are more worn than the other ones, which means that whatever Kyre is ordering must be a favorite drink around here. Dark brown liquid pours down, the heavenly scent now more prominent in the air. She adds some sugar and pours some white liquid into the dark, stirring until the color is light brown. After scribbling an "A" onto it, she slides it toward me.

My fingers curl around the warm cup, and I smile slightly. The steam rises into my face; the warmth is extremely welcoming after the cold outside. Kyre takes his cup and taps his watch a few times before holding it out. The woman scans it, gives us a gentle smile, and waves us away, pointing at the short line behind us.

I can feel the girl's hard stare on me as we walk out, black-painted fingernails paused on the spoon's handle. A pair of handcuffs hang from a belt at her hip, their color strangely silver in the warm light. A chill runs down my neck and Kyre, as though feeling her eyes, reaches his hand out to hold mine under the sleeve.

Something about the girl--perhaps the hardness of her stare, maybe even the confident, yet relaxed way she stands--makes me feel that I'll be seeing her very soon, and not in a good way.