"I was wondering what kind of girl could have botched up a rescue attempt so badly. Now that I know it was you all along, everything makes sense."
"Go away."
Rome runs his nose down the side of my face, smiling at the way I shiver. "After all thes...
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WITH THE CHAOS IN MY LIFE, COMING BACK TO WASTELAND FEELS LIKE WHIPLASH. Here, everything is the same. I pause outside of the bar and look up at the sign. No, I'm wrong. Not everything is the same. The neon letter E in Wasteland used to flicker on and off, but now it's just plain dead.
Maybe I've changed so much that everything else has looks the same.
Rome squeezes my hand. Tiny snow flurries dance above our heads, melting as soon as they land on our cheeks. I glance up at my mate. In the middle of the bustling street, with the collar of his jacket hiding the bottom of his face, he doesn't look like much. But people instinctively draw closer to us as they pass. Some children glance back, looking confused of what's different about him. Rome's powers, though hidden, has a way of grabbing attention.
The hairs on my arms prickle by standing next to him. At first, I used to find it unnerving. Now, it feels comforting.
"The E is broken," I comment. "Now it says Wastland."
"An improvement if you ask me."
"If the S broke, it would just be Watland."
"Excellent observation, dear Winifred."
I blink up at him, smiling. "We have good memories of this place."
"Yes, like when you told the entire restaurant you were having twins."
"I think we had different ideas on what makes a good memory," I decide, which makes him crack a smile. He swings open the doors as he usually does - both at the same time - and we step inside. Warm air, scented with sugar and spice, washes over faces.
Conversation dies down briefly at the sight of us. Some newcomers gawk at the sight of Rome Abernathy. The regulars, used to us by now, nod and turn back to their conversations. I guess seeing him here isn't as strange as it used to be. A few of my friends even raise their hands and greet us with smiles.
"it appears I'm not as intimidating as I previously was," Rome murmurs.
"That's a good thing. You can't be intimidating with me around," I point out, waving back. We weave through the tables. "Because I'll always be the opposite - I'm anti-intimidating. I'm a social kitty cat."
"A disgrace to your kind, I suppose."
"Cat love being social," I argue. "It's not their fault that people can't communicate properly with them - just because you can't understand somebody doesn't mean they have nothing to say."
Rome shakes his head, but his smile grows soft.
We head up the stairs. Instead of sitting on the bartop like they always do, Nick and Elliot have retreated to a secluded area on the third floor. They sit in a booth with dim lights and worn out seats. Upstairs, it's extravagant and quieter. Because it's away from most of the super-hearing ears, most people come here to have private meetings or quiet discussions after work.
