𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔰 | 𝔣. 𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔶

5.

Rain splattered down the streets of London, yet again. It was impossible to get around, always there and creeping onto you the minute you made plans. It was irritating and irrational and clingy and selfish. How anybody could ever like the rain was beyond Elin's rationality.

Stuck in Flourish and Blotts, Elin stared out at the ghastly weather, a seemingly permanent frown on her features, while Skylar hummed from behind her. They brushed their index fingers along books of every shape and size; from hardbacks to paperbacks, from rarities to hot off the printing press, from fiction to textbooks.

They never liked to read, scoffing at the sight of Elin's battered copy of Wuthering Height's anytime she tried to force her friend to appreciate the classic as she had. She may still have yet to understand the full meaning of every sentence and word, repeating them over and over since she was five but she grasped the idea of it all. After reading and reading and reading as much as she had, it was impossible not to.

Flourish and Blotts yammered with people hiding from the rain, the usually bare shop full of life. She could hear children whinge, hushed whispers, polite laughter and all kinds of small talk. The smell of old books and cinnamon wafted off of the walls, like any other book shop. The walls were hidden under the extremity of books, piles and piles and piles. There wasn't any space for her own thoughts, staring out at the rain.

Plop.

Plop.

Plop.

It raced down the glass windows, her eyes trailing with them to the soaking concrete. Down, down, down the rabbit hole. She wished, and waited, and prayed to no avail. One last glare to the angry clouds thundering above before she turned around to Skylar.

They stood still, flipping through a dusty old book that would have given anybody with asthma a coughing fit. Yellow earrings dangled from their ears, lips pursed, focused intently on the words in front of them. They wore a beige turtleneck, suffocating around their pale throat, only a shade darker. It was paired with plaid trousers, following the same colour pattern, and a pair of dark brown boots. The concealer attempted to hide the bumps of their acne and their eyebrows were more furry than they were that morning. Their dark hair was lose of any extensions, reaching the tip of their chin in a sleek straightness.

"Are you actually going to buy that?"

Skylar turned to meet her prolonged gaze, frowning with another look at the book and at her. A sweet Danish accent left her, turning sour at the question. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Mics, you hate reading," Elin said, a light chuckle leaving her.

"No, I hate reading centuries old stories by dead women that are impossible to comprehend," they snapped the book closed, clutching it to their chest. "Besides, it would be rude to leave without buying anything."

"It's raining and loads of other people are here."

"We've been here for," they turned their wrist, glancing at their rusting watch, "eighteen minutes. Of course, we have to buy something."

"It's your loss of..." Elin trailed off, finding the price tag plastered against the front. "Four sickles. Really?"

Skylar shrugged. "I never said we had to spend a lot."

Elin rolled her dark eyes, casting another glance outside at the heavy rainfall. She trailed her hands down to the belt of her dark brown, velvet trousers, tucking her black tank-top back into the tight trousers. A grey, plaid blazer cascaded down her shoulders, shades lighter than her own inky-black hair. Her feet were tight in her black leather shoes, made like a pair of boots except for the fact that they stopped at her ankles. Her face was bare of any make-up, a few spots dotted across her face with moisturizer making her brown skin glow and tinted lip balm softly glistening on her thin lips.