Inbetweener (Completed)

Part 1

Nyora wriggles, bony elbows thrusting and body leaning far enough to fall, if not for my hand on her hip.

"Callum! Stay still!" She whispers, and I let out a disapproving whelp at the accusation, pulling her back and rolling over her as obnoxiously as possible, squishing her into the sofa until she's giggling uncontrollably.

"Get off me, ya big lump." She pushes me away, flopping back as I head to the kitchen for more popcorn.

I lose the levity watching the microwave spin when I remember that tomorrow I have to interview for her replacement.

I want to be mad at her for deserting me. I don't know how to be mad at Nyora though. She's been there for me through everything and promises she still will be, even from a distance. It's always been us, together, unbreakable. Except for now, where it feels we're being broken apart.

But she says, so I have to hope. She has this streak of stubborn through her core, and that's why she's almost a qualified lawyer, and one day she'll be the human rights lawyer she's dreamed of since we were twelve.

I curl back up behind her, passing the steaming popcorn over, but taking the opportunity to pull her back so I can hug her.

* * * * *

I do a weird half-run, rubbing my eyes, wishing I was still curled up around Nyora's warmth. It's still mostly dark, though pink lightens the edges of the sky. The lights are on in the Coles Express store, and I can see a couple of teenagers stacking tins on the shelves, preparing for opening, looking as bleary-eyed as me.

I arrive at the cafe a few minutes later, putting on my game face to greet the three regulars waiting optimistically.

"Morning, Callum," Brenda says, beaming.

"Morning, Brenda. Usual today?" Three years in, and all I know about my regulars is their preferred coffee orders. Luckily, I have opening down to a fine art. I'm not a morning person by nature, and maybe that's why I love coffee so much - or maybe it was my Italian mum - so efficiency is important. The best money I spent was on automatic machines with inbuilt timers so, even though I'm late again, I can serve these customers only minutes after opening the doors.

The morning goes smoothly. I'm not overrun - never too busy, unfortunately, but busy enough that I have an excuse to quickly move from customer to customer, from pastry delivery to milk delivery, from passing out drinks to cleaning tables.

Nyora swans in, on time. "I'm here!" she announces, looking bright-eyed. She's worked for me for the whole three years, between unpaid internships and uni classes, but she's never taken the early shift. Even less of a morning person than me.

"I see that," I grump back, but she just laughs and gives me a rib-cracking hug.

She glances around the half-dozen customers scattered around. "Are any of your potentials here yet?"

"First one's not due for twenty minutes," I tell her, wiping down a table so she can't see how it makes me shake.

Nyora tosses a glance of sympathy at me, before throwing up her thick, black hair into a messy topknot and pulling on a brightly striped apron to bustle efficiently. I always stay out to help with the lunch 'rush', though not really because I'm needed. It's why I didn't worry about booking the interviews for now.

And the first three go fast - even with Nyora popping her head around the door so they at least get asked a few relevant questions - because they're all awful. From apparently hating the smell of coffee, to having only four available hours a week, to curling a disgusted lip at the slightly dilapidated state of my scarred desk and wobbly office chair.

"Don't call us, we'll call you!" Nyora waves the last one away gleefully, though her face falls when she turns back to me. "You're not going to offer it to any of them, are you?"

"Even I can see none of them would stay five minutes."

"Is that it then? You're screwed."

"I think so, the last one doesn't look to be turning up-"

The rickety door slamming against the wall interrupts me, the tiny bell above it ringing wildly.

"Fuck, sorry." The guy who bursts through winces and bites his lip guiltily as he tries to grab the door on its reverse bounce. "Sorry, sorry."

He looks at me with dark blue eyes, offset by flushed cheeks in an olive-tanned face. I bite my lip right back because he's bloody well gorgeous. Nyora laughs and I desperately straighten my face.

"Please tell me you're here for the interview?" she asks him, taking his arm and guiding him into the back office without waiting for his answer.

He glances back at me. "Uh, yeah, I am. Sorry I'm late. I'm new to the area and I got kinda lost. Went into the wrong coffee shop first."

I wince because Nyora will love that - she wanted me to get a new sign, but I skipped past it to save money - and I head into the office, ready to find out why this one will be just as unsuitable as all the others, just to really make my day.