LOG; how our hearts are worn; REGGIE + CHARLOTTE
who; Reggie and Charlotte
when; This evening.
The sky is stained a colourless grey; London’s skies are almost always that way even with the constant shifting of the clouds. Charlotte thinks it might rain, and ever prepared, tucks a small umbrella into her purse before stepping outside, giving the doorknob an experimental twist to make sure it’s been locked properly. She has thirty minutes to get there - it usually takes her about fifteen minutes to walk to the café, but she doesn’t want to be late, and she’d rather be early. Just in case.
It’s only been a few weeks since the London fires, but the ash is melting away with the winter, being swept along with the breeze. She idly thinks that this sort of wind is the kind that makes lips chap easily. Her own lips are coated in a light layer of chapstick; the minty sensation reminds her of polar bears and cleaning detergent for bizarre reasons she can’t quite place.
As expected, she’s early, and with ten minutes to go, she enters the café, and gives a tentative smile to the barista as she takes a seat at a two-person table. The discordant harmonisation of traffic and conversation is still somewhat audible behind the window.
--
Reggie is running late. For all his superhuman speed, he’s constantly rushing, rushing to do this, rushing to do that, and he tosses a single flower, with a ribbon tied to its stem, in the passenger seat before promptly forgetting about it and throwing his football bag over it.
“Alright,” he says to himself, a smile lighting his features, “I’ll be early this time!” The time says a quarter to five; Reggie hasn’t noticed yet that his clock is ten minutes behind.
--
He’s late, and Charlotte pretends she doesn’t mind, reapplying her chapstick and looking outside, searching for Reggie’s frame amongst the steady flow of Londoners. She’s getting a little worried, and feels somewhat self-conscious about sitting alone, even if she should be used to it by now. It’s not the first time she’s been stood up, not that Reggie would do that - she hopes. Her doubt condenses with the fog on the glass.
--
Parking around here is a bloody mess, and Reggie decides that next time, he’s going to walk. Half-jogging (he’s seven minutes late), he’s making his way swiftly to the café when Charlotte spots him. After a half-moment of indecision, she gets up, taking quick steps and the sudden chill outside, contrasting from the warmth inside, makes her shiver.
“Where did he go-“
“Char!” She doesn’t have a chance to turn around before he embraces her from behind, arms around her and breath warm against her cheek.
He’s always been much taller than her, so when she leans up to give him a quick kiss, she misses and awkwardly hits the side of his mouth. Before she can apologise, he grins and sets off to rectify her mistake. Charlotte thinks he’s compensated for it quite well - when they break apart, Reggie’s lips feel strangely minty, and so does the side of his face.
Bathed in the dimming light of sunset, the contours of her face ease into a serene expression Reggie’s become more than fond of than he realises.
when; This evening.
The sky is stained a colourless grey; London’s skies are almost always that way even with the constant shifting of the clouds. Charlotte thinks it might rain, and ever prepared, tucks a small umbrella into her purse before stepping outside, giving the doorknob an experimental twist to make sure it’s been locked properly. She has thirty minutes to get there - it usually takes her about fifteen minutes to walk to the café, but she doesn’t want to be late, and she’d rather be early. Just in case.
It’s only been a few weeks since the London fires, but the ash is melting away with the winter, being swept along with the breeze. She idly thinks that this sort of wind is the kind that makes lips chap easily. Her own lips are coated in a light layer of chapstick; the minty sensation reminds her of polar bears and cleaning detergent for bizarre reasons she can’t quite place.
As expected, she’s early, and with ten minutes to go, she enters the café, and gives a tentative smile to the barista as she takes a seat at a two-person table. The discordant harmonisation of traffic and conversation is still somewhat audible behind the window.
--
Reggie is running late. For all his superhuman speed, he’s constantly rushing, rushing to do this, rushing to do that, and he tosses a single flower, with a ribbon tied to its stem, in the passenger seat before promptly forgetting about it and throwing his football bag over it.
“Alright,” he says to himself, a smile lighting his features, “I’ll be early this time!” The time says a quarter to five; Reggie hasn’t noticed yet that his clock is ten minutes behind.
--
He’s late, and Charlotte pretends she doesn’t mind, reapplying her chapstick and looking outside, searching for Reggie’s frame amongst the steady flow of Londoners. She’s getting a little worried, and feels somewhat self-conscious about sitting alone, even if she should be used to it by now. It’s not the first time she’s been stood up, not that Reggie would do that - she hopes. Her doubt condenses with the fog on the glass.
--
Parking around here is a bloody mess, and Reggie decides that next time, he’s going to walk. Half-jogging (he’s seven minutes late), he’s making his way swiftly to the café when Charlotte spots him. After a half-moment of indecision, she gets up, taking quick steps and the sudden chill outside, contrasting from the warmth inside, makes her shiver.
“Where did he go-“
“Char!” She doesn’t have a chance to turn around before he embraces her from behind, arms around her and breath warm against her cheek.
He’s always been much taller than her, so when she leans up to give him a quick kiss, she misses and awkwardly hits the side of his mouth. Before she can apologise, he grins and sets off to rectify her mistake. Charlotte thinks he’s compensated for it quite well - when they break apart, Reggie’s lips feel strangely minty, and so does the side of his face.
Bathed in the dimming light of sunset, the contours of her face ease into a serene expression Reggie’s become more than fond of than he realises.