Today is Yesterday's Tomorrow - A Darklina Fanfiction

Part 1: The Courtship

The whisper of the afternoon's breeze at her back, a tinkle of a bell jostled by the opening door. The scent of caffeine, warm milk, styrofoam cups, tucked beneath the insistent whine of hot water through coffee grind. The cloying heat of Mal at her side, palm clammy against her skin. The confusion of the immediacy with which she associated those two things – Mal, clammy – when never before has it crossed her mind to do so. The flinch of her fingers in his grasp. An empty ten seconds in which she waits for a response.

Then an upwards glance and she is tumbling, falling, skittering away from herself and into the arresting embrace of a pair of brown eyes so dark that iris and pupil bleed indecipherably into one another. She gasps, her spine a string pulled taut and plucked – plucked by him, that man and his eyes. A slight widening when he catches her gaze, a softening in tandem with the easy appearance of his smile, the leaping of her pulse into a frenzy so violent she is certain Mal can feel it thrumming through her entire body.

There is no longer time nor space, nothing to surrender her to the authority of gravity except the three endless moments he spends returning her stare. A dusting of stubble decorates his jaw but it is a blur, peripheral to the lashes that flirt with his cheekbones, the smile lines that fall into place with an ease that belies their frequent use. His face is lined in a way she does not see in herself, in Mal, in Genya or David. Lines that speak of an age beyond hers, a life lived before she was even born. An age incongruous with a job as a barista at an anonymous downtown café.

"Alina?" She turns to an eyebrow raised in expectation. "What are you having?"

"Oh, uh–" A glance at the menu on the back wall. "The usual."

Mal waves a hand in helpless confusion.

"Sorry. Hazelnut latte with cinnamon."

Mal's features contort into a grimace that fails to tease out her usual giggle. "I really don't know how you can drink that."

"With great ease and enjoyment." Her response is a huff punctuated by the petulant upward tilt of her chin. "It's not my fault your palette is so unrefined."

"My palette is fine, thank you very much."

A rush of recycled air against the skin he releases, a breath that searches for something that is not coffee or Mal, that chokes itself off at the top of her lungs. Arms weighed down by the lead of her hands, the burden of sudden awkwardness alerting her to every stretch and pull of her skin across her bones.

She drifts closer to the register, pulled less by the need to place her order than the overwhelming urge to be nearer to him, to rest her hands on the counter and know that this is the closest she can be, the closest he will be.

Mal's voice, abrasive and curt. "We'll have–"

"A hazelnut latte with cinnamon." His recitation of her order akin to the caress of her name on his tongue. She watches his mouth twitch a little at one corner, his eyes on hers for a breath before he turns to Mal. "And for you?" She does not appreciate the cluster of creases at the corner of his eyes until they are gone, melting into something a shade darker than indifference against Mal.

Mal, hands tightening around his wallet, neck stiffening, jaw rolling. "Just an expresso." The flick of his card across the front of a machine not yet ready to accept payment.

"One espresso." The correct pronunciation, the Man and his Eyes a shiver of electricity across her skin.

A quirked eyebrow – did you notice?

A second of a smile – I noticed.

"And what name should I put on the order?"

She looks to Mal – Mal is always the one who answers – but the weight of a painfully desired gaze does not abate. A returned glance, an entirely involuntary swallow, a breath that is a gasp, loud and trembling. "Oh. Um, Alina."