𝓟𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓖𝓸𝓵𝓭 |¦| Freddy Carter

_𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽𝔂 -𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓻_

As she swung her legs gently over the edge, Amy pressed her palms into the pub's bartop and pushed herself up on top of it to sit. Keeping an eye on the visitors who passed through the Odd Socks pub; tourists, regulars, children with iPads in their hands, and dogs chasing the leftovers under the tables were all present and accounted for. Her parents had owned the Pub for as long as she could remember, and on the slow Tuesday night, the soft music of Fire by Kasabian played in the background.

Under the dim gold light, Amy recognized the features of a boy who looked her age walking towards the bar: tall, lean, blue eyes, dark hair, and the signature sharp cheekbones. From her view, he appeared to be very unaffected by her calm presence on the bar.

"I recommend the Roy Rogers, assuming you're wanting a drink that is." She offered to him, an off-handed comment of someone casually comfortable in the space they occupied. "It's not alcohol but it's still good."

"Right," the boy turned his head with, "thanks Amy."

"Of course, I can tell when someone isn't a regular." Amy offered him a friendly smile.

Freddy chuckled, "is it that obvious?"

Amy shrugged nonchalantly, "slightly."

"Take it you're a regular?"

Amy pointed to the photograph from open day with the names Shirley and Steven Witty written underneath.

"Makes sense, taking pub kid to the next level eh?"

Amy shrugged again, "perhaps."

Freddy took a moment to look at her, her smile was something to behold; the corners of her mouth upturning, her eyes crinkling. There was a sort of effortlessness to her, faded purple tips in her hair curled and tied into a bun by her neck and a white oversized poets blouse, fishnets, choker, smudgy eyeliner and the lingering smell of the morning's Chanel N 5 that hosted a certain friendliness you wouldn't notice if you were passing her on the street.

"I see you staring Freddy," Amy smirked, scraping at the old dark purple nail polish on her finger nails.

"Ah, so you do remember me, too." Freddy's smile widened into an a-ha formation, the kind you make when you catch a kid in the middle of something mischievous.

"Ah, yes." She nodded in a dramatic slow manner, "of course I remember the name of my personal stalker." And the boy who I bumped into in the bathroom.

Freddy shook his head and covered his face with his palm as he peered down, a sort of blush growing over his face. She realised she'd embarrassed him, and while some of her terrible feelings returned, she also felt somewhat relieved. She could make him just as flustered as someone like him could make her, as if it were humanising.

"I wouldn't say stalker, more admirer." He broke into an awkward laugh, "I'm just a fan of your singing - can't put a crime on that."

Amy put her leg out to lightly tap his low leg with her foot, as if to reassure him it was only a well-meaning joke; that it was hardly anything to be flustered about. He glanced up at her, as if she was no longer a mere classmate but a life long friend.

"Either way, I appreciate the fan." She tilted her head and shut one of her eyes, "not many people have heard it, count yourself lucky that I trust you."

"I'm sure everyone at Uni has heard you."

Amy part hummed part groaned, "they're really trying to plaster it."

Freddy adjusted his lean, "they're just proud of one of their first years, no harm."

"I suppose, although," Amy gestured to the other occupiers of the pub, "this lot wanted it to be their secret."