Somewhere Near Here

ｂａｌｄｗｉｎ

chapter 2

b a l d w i n

The second time they met, he was behind a counter in the local coffee shop, and she was not trying to stalk him. It'd been a few weeks, nearing a month. He'd approached her, despite her attempts to hide under the hood of her jacket - she hadn't contacted him at all in that time.

"May I take your order, miss?" he said, taking out a notepad from the pocket in his apron.

"A latte," she managed to say, not daring to look up.

"Clara?"

"Yes?" and then, realising her mistake, "I–I mean, who?"

He sighed. "Clara, I'm lifting your hood in three." She made no effort to move. "Three, two, one..."

Their gazes met.

"Hi?" she offered sheepishly.

"Seriously, Clara, what the hell?" he said, brows furrowed, as he fought a bemused smile.

"Sorry," she muttered, pushing her glasses up her nose. "I was just, um, shy?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, I could tell." She decided that she was a fan of his laugh.

Then his expression hardened. "But wait, why haven't I heard from you all month?"

She brushed it off with several half-hearted apologies (-'I haven't had the time, you know, with uni and all that,' lie, and 'oh, perhaps I misplaced it? I'm awfully sorry.' truth, and 'oh, no, I would've called you if I could've.', which was actually partially true,) and a sheepish smile.

"Right," he said, sounding unconvinced. "You know, the real question is, will I hear from you?"

Clara stiffened, allowing her fringe to fall over her face. "We'll see."

And that was that. He left and returned with her latte a few minutes later, before going back to work. When she looked down at her cup, her heart leapt - he'd drawn an intentional heart. She'd always liked the look of latte art. She stared at the heart regretfully for a minute before draining the cup and leaving the store.

-

It was no doubt unexpected when they met again on the evening of that same day. Clara took a tour of the town, armed with her polaroid (for travel purposes), and google maps. The area was most definitely not the nicest she'd been to. But that was the point - she'd come here fully expecting a town where litter reigned the pavements and paint didn't even try to cling to the buildings. She hoped to capture something that would make people stare — she wanted to show that things didn't have to be conventionally beautiful to still possess beauty.

She nodded her head gently to the music crooning in her ears. Save for a few cars, she was quite alone - and she greatly appreciated that. Having come fresh from the urban London, this peacefulness was unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome.

"Fuck!" a voice seeped past her music; she looked ahead.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow..."

Even with earbuds in, Clara could hear a voice. She paused her song, cast her eyes towards the tiny movement she noticed right at the bend in the road and began picking up her pace upon noticing who was speaking.

"Connor?"

As she rounded the corner, she saw that he was sitting on the pathway, his bike strewn some way into the road, with his trouser leg rolled up so that he could examine his leg injuries.

"Connor?" she repeated, slightly breathless.

"'Sup, Clara," he said casually, grinning at her - she wasn't sure whether it was a smile or a grimace, though. It looked like the latter.

Her eyes fell to the gash in his knee. "Shît, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good... I think."

Clara pursed her lips. "Okay, well, I'm just going to get your bike out of the way of incoming traffic," she said.

"What traffic?" He wondered; the roads were silent.

"Precautions," she chided, wheeling the bike back to the pavement.

"Wait, no, screw trying to look cool, could you give me a hand?" he said suddenly, shooting her a pleading look.

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine."

After Connor had cleaned himself up a little, they decided to part ways.

At least, they expected to part ways, but a few seconds into their walks (or cycles), Connor realised they were going in the same direction.

He stopped pedalling and cast his gaze behind him. "Clara?"

Clara paid him no attention; instead she was focused on the soft bass and high vocals thrumming in her ears.

He cleared his throat and spoke louder. "Clara?" he called, cupping his mouth.

She looked up, startled. Upon seeing him, her expression relaxed; she removed her earbuds. "Oh, hey– wait, why are you still here?"

"No, no, no– the question should be, why are you still here?"

She searched for words that wouldn't make her sound like a stalker. "Uh, well, my house - no, apartment - is apparently in the same direction as yours..."

"You sure you're not stalking me?"

"Haha, don't flatter yourself," she quipped. Clara replaced the earbuds, signalling the end of the conversation. She pretended to not notice him cycling far ahead.

-

But that was not the end. Half an hour later, they found themselves face to face, Clara standing next to the door of apartment 5, floor 2, and Connor standing outside apartment 8, floor two, carrying a bag of newly bought groceries.

"Hey!" he called across the landing.

Clara unlocked the door and turned to him, regarding him exasperatedly. "You again?"

"Yes, me again," he huffed indignantly.

"Whatever. You live here?" she asked, adjusting her glasses.

He nodded. "You too?"

"Yep."

"Wow. I figured we lived in the same area, but I didn't realise it'd be the same apartment complex..." he said, striding towards her.

She narrowed her eyes at his approaching figure. "What do you think you're doing?" she said, sounding fearful.

Without a warning, he grabbed her hand and led her into the flat. "Sorry for the intrusion," he called to the air, shutting the door behind her.

"Nice place," he commented, dropping his bag of shopping atop several pairs of shoes.

She met this with a stare.

"Girl, no need to look as if I'm gonna kill you," he sighed. "I promise you, I won't."

"That's what they all say in movies when they're about to cut you with an axe," she quipped, but felt herself relaxing nonetheless.