Robin and Hawk (or Hawk and Robin)

2. So, do you want to get drunk?

Hawk

"I'm Hawk." I said, offering my hand.

She just stared at it, waiting for me to lose interest in her.

"You're in Harvard, right? I see you here often." I added.

"Look, I'm not going to fuck you, so please leave me alone."

"I'm gay." I saw the corners of her mouth slightly lift, as if she was trying not to laugh at my bewildered expression.

"Congratulations."

She turned around, and that left me only one option. I gave up my seat and sat in front of her.

She lifted her eyes from the open laptop she had just opened.

"So... Do you want to get drunk?"

She furrowed her brows.

"I just got evicted from my dorm, I failed a test and the guy I like is straight. My friends aren't answering the phone and my siblings are mostly minors. I need to get drunk."

''Wouldn't want to be you.''

''Please.''

She pondered for a moment. "How do I know that you're actually gay and aren't trying to spike my drink or something?"

"I have a tote bag."

She pondered for a moment, "what's the last book you read?"

"Virginia Woolf, The Waves."

"You do need a drink", she nodded.

"I do."

"Grab your things, I'm driving us to the club."

My face lit up. I scrambled to get everything inside the bag while she got up and left the cafe without waiting for me.

She drove a black car that seemed to match the hue of her hair.

"If you dirty my car I'm using your corpse to clean it", she threatened before hopping in the driver's seat.

"Yes ma'am."

I stared at the clock. 07:34 p.m. I had never gotten drunk that early, but she did not seem phased.

"Where are we?" I asked, but she got out and locked me in the car, like you'd do to a noisy dog.

After ten minutes, she was back with a bag.

"What's in there?"

She opened it, revealing a loaf of bread.

She broke it in half and handed a piece and a water bottle to me.

"Eat."

Although you shouldn't accept food from strangers, her firm tone was convincing enough, and without further questions I ate.

"So... Your name is Robin, right?" I eventually asked, half way through my bread.

"Yeah."

The silence was awkward. At least for me. She didn't seem to mind it much.

As if to confirm his theory, she pressed a button and a voice started talking.

The Hobbit, chapter one: an unexpected party.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.