Lestappen : As Long As We're Together

Hell In A cup

MAX

Leclerc was still red when we got into the café. I held the door for him and he walked in, his mouth turning up at the corners in a 'thank you'.

Two seats were reserved in his name because he refused to reserve it in my name if we came in my car and I refused to die so he asked the lady, "Leclerc, table for two?"
She gawked for a second at the two of us before nodding professionally, and showing us to the table, handing us two menus.

Leclerc ordered the black coffee and I ordered a caramel cold coffee with extra coffee in it.

"What happened to sticking to your diet plan?"
"I said I didn't have a favourite food because I stuck to my diet plan for food. Not liquids."

He nodded as the coffee came to our table. He drank his sans sugar and piping hot which I looked at in dismay as he drank his recreation of hell while I sipped on my cold, sugary goodness.

"What?" He asked.

"For someone who's favourite food is ice cream you sure seem to hate sweet cold things."
"As opposed to Mr. I-have-no-favourite-food-and-stick-to-my-diet-plan who's drinking the sugariest drink in the establishment?"
"At least I'm not drinking what even Satan rejects."
"At least I won't get diabetes."
"Considering your favourite 'food" I put it in air quotes, "You seriously might." To my surprise he laughed at that. Not a fake laugh. His glistening eyes crinkled in the corners and his dimples showed.

We finished coffee and I paid, surprisingly, he didn't fight me on it, instead saying, "I'll pay you back."
"Unless I buy you a car I don't want to be paid back. Too rich to care." He laughed a little and the photographs of us in the café, leaving in the same car, nearly broke the internet the next day. A few people called it what it was : a PR stunt. The rest, the dreamers, called us childhood friends reconciled. A few even called us lovers which I cackled over, sending him a screenshot whose reply was three cry-laughing emoji.

We decided we'd go for golf as the next thing, trying to tackle one non-eating outing. I, surprisingly, was better than Leclerc as I hit a hole in one.

"You know we don't have to go by our driver numbers for how many shots it takes to get in, right?"
"Fuck off." He said, concentrating on his swing as I laughed. I corrected his swing before he had the chance to, adjusting it, my chest pressed to his back and my shoulder pressed to his. When I let go, he swung. It was a tad too hard and the ball just missed the hole, rolling into the pond and startling a duck.

"I give up." He said.

An hour later, he finally gave up and we ate lunch at the golf club. "The poor duck," I said, "You almost gave it a heart attack when you hit the ball into the pond. It was quacking for its life!"
"Shut up, it wasn't that bad!"
"I'm sure there's a video of it somewhere, once I find it we can watch it together and decide."

"Shut up." He said.

With a sudden rush of humorous courage I said, "Make me."
"Okay." I blinked as he put his hand over my mouth.

"Now you can't talk."

I licked his palm, freeing myself, "Oh yeah?"

He burst out laughing, wiping his hand on my shirt's shoulder. I hated everything about that moment. I hated how he had very light freckles that only appeared in the sun, I hated how a single bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, I hated how his green eyes glisten, I hated how his annoying dimple was so prominent I wanted to reach out and touch it. I hated it all.