golden, ben barnes

i. irl

✧∘ଂ ࿐ ཾ

  Isla pressed her palms into the countertop of the kitchen and pushed herself up on top of it as a place to sit as she swung her legs gently over the edge of the cabinets below. She'd retained the traits that had given her the nickname watch cat in school, perching in tucked-away places to watch the comings and goings of the guests that wandered in Freddy's kitchen; his old university friends, his even older friends — like Isla — from his boarding days, his newer costars, and those he'd picked up in between. Freddy was always hosting such little parties when he was in town, and Isla loved her friend enough to make an appearance from time to time long enough to steal his drinks.

  She had picked up a decently bad habit of people watching while in school, observing others for the purpose of her writing assignments. She always thought it interesting, the kind of people Freddy had around that could only leave her to guess as to why. He'd always used to joke about her writing a book about him, she never told him she'd nearly be able to now if he'd ever seriously asked.

  In the center of the kitchen, the fridge door stood open unceremoniously as the light poured out into the middle of the dim room and a man hidden from her view behind the door continued to shuffle through the contents, unaffected by her quiet entrance. Her own attention had been turned to the newspaper left abandoned beside her on the counter, trying to solve the empty crossword puzzle in her head.

  "The good drinks are hidden in the bottom shelf, if that's what you're after." She offered to him, an off-handed comment of someone casually comfortable in the space they occupied

  The shuffling paused, the sound of a drawer opening and of clinking of glass followed, before the drawer was shut and the fridge door followed soon after. Isla recognized the man that arose nearly immediately as he was visible, and he nodded to her appreciatively, "Right, thanks." He pulled the bottle opener magnet off the fridge, popped the top off the bottle, and then held his hand out to her as he stepped across the small kitchen to introduce himself, "Ben."

  Isla shook his hand, offering him a friendly smile, "Isla Blair."

   He'd seen her face on Instagram a few times — her profile untagged on Freddy's feed while her account had hosted a fair amount of photos of them hiding in his own tagged section. Ben knew she was pretty, but he'd underestimated the charm she'd have in person. Her smile was something to behold; the corners of her mouth upturning, her eyes crinkling. There was a sort of effortlessness to her, loose curls and white poets blouse, smudgy eyeliner and the lingering smell of the morning's Chanel N 5 that hosted a sort of friendliness you wouldn't of expected if you were passing her on the street.

   "Oh, so you're the famous Isla." He cocked an eyebrow as their hands dropped, going to lean on the adjacent counter of the corner she was sat in, "I see why Freddy is so enamored with you."