warmth {complete}

21||i'm the king and you're the queen and we will stumble through heaven

I'm sitting on the counter at the store, throwing pencils at Griffin and counting the amount he can catch, when Jonathan comes barreling into the store. We freeze and watch, wide-eyed, as Mona storms over to him and starts ranting. Griffin steps marginally closer to me and touches my knee.

"What's happening?" he whispers.

"I don't know," I reply, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and raising an eyebrow at them. "I think he's trying to get her back?"

"Mmm, that'll go well."

"Yeah," I mutter, and he turns his head to rest his forehead on my shoulder. "This is so awkward. Should we leave, or...?"

"Want some coffee?" he asks, pulling away from me and yawning. "I'm so tired."

"That's because we watched half of Jessica Jones last night."

"Oh, yeah, we did, didn't we?"

I roll my eyes at him and turn my head to look over at Mona and Jonathan. "Oh, shit, Griff, they're kissing."

His head snaps up, and his eyes widen. "Oh my God."

Oh my God is right. Jonathan's bulky arms are wrapped around Mona's tiny form, dwarfing her, and he's kissing her like he'll never see her again. One of her legs is hooked around his waist, and the other is trembling. She moans; he moans back—it'd be gross, but it's too desperate and beautiful for that. His hands run down the length of her spine, and then he pulls away and whispers, "I love you," to her.

"I love you, too," she chokes out, rising on her tiptoes to crush her lips to his once more.

Griffin drapes an arm around my shoulders and grins. "Have they ever said that before?"

"Don't think so," I mutter, scraping my hair back into a ponytail and biting my lip. "Should we go now?"

"But they're so cute."

"Eh. Let's go."

I hop of the counter and pull him with me by the hand. Mona pulls away, breathless, to look at me over her shoulder.

"Hon, will you close up? I'm a little busy," she says, then she grins and kisses Jonathan again.

I don't reply because I don't think she'd notice. Griffin and I walk past them quickly, me cringing and him smiling, and I flip the sign as we leave.

"So, do you think they're gonna do it on the counter?"

"Ugh, probably," I groan, covering my face with my hands. "I hope she closes the blinds this time."

He laughs and tucks me under his arm as we walk. We chat amiably about people we see, making predictions and judging their parenting styles.

"Oh my God, that poor child," I gasp quietly, glancing at the two parents behind us in line at Starbucks.

They're both on their phones, ignoring the little girl between them as she scowls at the ground. The mother is bouncing a baby on her hip as she talks, and she's clothed in comfy-looking leggings and a baby-blue tank top. She looks loose and fun and beautiful, but there're bags under her pretty eyes, and there's a baby sobbing in her ear. The man beside her is in a business suit, wearing a scowl and a silvery tie. He's barking something into the phone about stock trade and insufferable workers.

"Mommy, can I have frappucino?" the little girl asks, glancing up at her mother with pleading eyes.

"Rebecca, you're four," the woman snaps, furrowing her brows. "You don't need coffee. Go find us a table, please."

"Okay, Mommy," she whispers, trudging over to a corner table.

"Can I adopt her?" I whisper to Griffin. "She looks so sad."

"Katherine, you can't adopt people because they look sad."

"Fuck you."

"Excuse me, there are children in here," the barista snaps, glancing worriedly behind us at the woman and her baby. "No foul language."

"Sorry," I lie, "Can I get a venti vanilla latte?"

"Sure. And for you, sir?"

"Just a tall coffee, cream and sugar."

"Alright, names?"

"Scout," Griffin says, pointing to me, "and I'm Jem."

"Really?" I say, raising an eyebrow at him as we collect our coffee and search for a table. "Scout and Jem?"

"To Kill a Mockingbird is my favorite book," he defends, frowning at me.

"Really? I pictured you as more of a Shakespeare guy."

"Shakespeare wrote plays, not books," he reminds me, patting my hand and sipping his coffee. "My favorite play is Hamlet."

"Everyone's favorite play is Hamlet."

"That's because Hamlet is the best piece of literary work ever written."

"Mmm, have you read any short stories by Oscar Wilde?"

"Yes, most of them."

He leans forward, I lean forward, and we waste the day with book reviews and meaningless—in theory—discussions. It's blissful, being with him in the confines of a booth in the corner of Starbucks, with none of his snooty friends or my of-varying-ages-but-equally-annoying siblings.

So we don't leave until Griffin's eyelids start to droop and our words slur.

A/N: i've given up on grammar in my a/n's. capitalization is haaaaard and this is so aesthetically pleasing. anyway, i'm going to post an actual *meaningful* chapter soon but not today. i want to drown in songs by halsey, this is becoming a problem but oh well.

okay thank you for reading

(i'm thinking of making a new cover for this but i suck at covers so)