Lucy Heartfilia stares down at her coffee, watching with dull eyes as it sloshes around in her cup. People around her whisper and she knows—they're talking about her. She concludes that she's probably a very sorry sight, because she's drenched from the pouring rain outside—not to mention that she is drinking coffee all alone.
She knows that she's just a train wreck, the embodiment of calamity. There's a thousand emotions twisting and contorting and turning into something, something dreadful and something she doesn't want to accept. Something she doesn't want to happen.
Lucy swallows hard, and her grip on the to-go cup tightens and tightens until her knuckles turn white. Something salty and bitter pricks at the corners of her eyes and she clenches her teeth—gnashing them together to keep from sobbing aloud.
She's better than this, she refuses to be publicly humiliated twice in one day. She will not leave, she will stay and she will not cry out loud. It's always this way, she realizes—and silent tears streak down her cheeks, leaving sparkling trails full of bitter and just a little bit sweet memories.
She takes a deep, shuddering gasp and laughs—it's barely audible, and it's so empty. More of an exhale of breath and a humorless gasp more than anything.
"Hey, you're about to choke your coffee to death."
Lucy freezes at the slightly boyish voice—it's all serious as it speaks those words though, and she doesn't quite understand it. Slowly, slowly, she raises her glistening russet orbs and that's when she sees him.
He's all messy cotton candy colored hair, tanned skin in winter, and broad grins and Lucy feels something—a different something—within her change. She blinks, more salty droplets sliding down her cheeks, but she's not crying anymore. Not really.
Her eyes slide down to her almost crushed coffee cup, and then back up to the handsome stranger. He tugs at his white scarf and smiles at her. "Can I sit? You look like you could use a little company."
Lucy nods once, and brushes her reaming tears away with her sleeve.
He slides into the seat across from her. "Name's Natsu, by the way."
"Lucy." her breath rushes out, and her name comes as sort of a hurried whisper. "I'm Lucy."
A few days later, she finds him lounging on her living room sofa. It comes as somewhat of a surprise—he'd walked her home that night, but that was all—and she's momentarily confused. The metal baseball bat slips from her loose grasp and hits the carpet with a dull 'thud.'
"What are you doing here?"
Natsu turns and grins when he sees her—and she wants to crawl in a hole and die because good heavens, all she's wearing is a fluffy white towel. What about boundaries again?
"Luce, 'sup?" he greets, and she gapes in return.
She shakes her head in disbelief, damp sun-kissed golden locks flying about as she does so. "How did you get into my house?"
He smirks and wordlessly points to her bedroom. She raises a brow and leans over to peer through the doorway down the hall. Her bedroom window is open and ah, that would be where the draft was coming from.
Lucy turns to him, deadpan expression on her face. "I'm calling the police."
Natsu takes it all in a stride. "Oh come on, you were kind of asking for it. I mean, hello Lucy, your window was unlocked. You don't exactly live on the nicer side of the tracks, so you should be thanking me for pointing out the flaw in your security system instead of some murderer."
She is about to protest that, excuse you, I live in a perfectly good neighborhood, when she realizes that he is a thick-headed idiot who won't be moved. That, and he does have a point—as much as she doesn't want to admit it.
