CONSTANT HEADACHE ; EZRA MILLER

two: superheroes, seriously?

at the end of ivy street, was a small, lovely cafe that held very few customers ever. the lighting was dim, even if it was a sunny day and Chelsea recognised as The Smiths playing softly from the record player in a far corner, adding a calming vibe to the place.

and most importantly, the coffee was decent.

today was no different than any other day for business. there were a few people scattered about, sitting at different tables at varying distances from each other. Chelsea could tell that most of them were more than likely here for a break from work or, like herself, from home. she understood very well why they'd come here — the place was so calming, like a safe heaven in many ways.

Chelsea sat at her own table with a warm cup of coffee in her hands. she had come her with the intention of reading her book she'd recently been reading — and enjoying — called tomorrow, when the war began. it was different to what she'd normally read, but she always had a hard time putting it down once she picked it up, regardless. today was different, though. today she couldn't help but to be distracted, and observe the setting around her.

she couldn't help but notice the way the barista behind the counter happily hummed along to the soft music, awaiting more customers to come order, or the elderly man that sat reading a newspaper, his coffee going cold without his knowledge - he'd no doubt order another once he found out, seeing as the coffee here was just that good. she couldn't help but notice the young man in a suit typing away on his laptop sometimes stopping to take a sip of his coffee he was probably catching up on extra work during his lunch break or something, Chelsea would have no clue, really.

and she couldn't help but notice the boy sat in the corner of the store reading what looked like a magazine, the edges of his lips curling up in what Chelsea assumed to be satisfaction every now and then, though his gaze never left the pages. he sat with a paper bag resting down beside the table, the words on the bag that Chelsea couldn't read, despite the big bold font.

he, the boy, sat in the corner that Chelsea would normally sit in, though he was already there when she arrived, so she settled for the table next to his, but honestly, if she had taken more notice and noticed how cute he was, she would have taken a seat on the other side of the café instead, being the actual human disaster who could barely handle a cute boy sitting behind her in class. though, the boys at her school weren't cute like this boy, who's name was unknown to Chelsea, was.

he didn't even notice her piercing gaze, and Chelsea thought he must have been stuck into that magazine—kind of how she should have been stuck into her book at the moment. she glanced down at the magazine he was so fixated on, interested on what had his attention grasped away from the real world like that for so long, only to find out that it wasn't actually a magazine.

it was actually a comic book. Chelsea nearly had to hold back a chuckle. weren't those supposed to be for kids? surely this guy had to be seventeen at the very least, she took in his appearance to confirm this—her eyes scanning over his black hair that curled slightly at his shoulders, and from what she could tell, even with his crammed posture as he sat in the isolated corner of the café, he had to be taller than her at the very least.

Chelsea had never picked up a comic book in her life, but she was sure they sucked. why isn't he reading a proper book, like me? Chelsea questioned herself, not once considering that maybe she was too judgemental, and maybe she should just be minding her own damn business.

she continued eyeing the comic. there must have been some comic book store in town, she remembered the bag with name she hadn't recognised, and it must be attracting the geeks. she chuckled to herself—who was she, of all people, to call someone a geek?

Chelsea hadn't noticed, but that chuckle actually caught someone's attention.

she decided to stop wasting her time ridiculing some stranger and his 'literature' taste, when she was interrupted by a voice that, coincidently, sounded like it was coming from the table next to her - funny, right?

"i take it you don't read comic books?" she met the strangers glance. he had an eyebrow raised, and the side of his mouth had a sly curl at the end that you could mistake for a smirk. he looked hardly offended, more like he felt like getting a rise out of a teenage girl he didn't know.

Chelsea spoke, "superheroes, seriously? i'm not eight years old." she sounded more snarkier than she had hoped, but kept a confident face. she didn't even have an interest in comics at eight years old, even back then she had more intellect than that.

"well, i happen to be eight years old, and not.. sixty." he eyed her book, pointedly. Chelsea held back a scoff at this.

"hey! i'll have you know i am not sixty, i just have an IQ over it. this book is great, not that i'd expect you to know." she defended. she couldn't believe the nerve this boy had, even if she was being hypocritical.

"oh dear, what is it? an IQ of sixty-one? sixty-two? it must be the proper reading that's got you so smart. a guy with comics couldn't be that smart, oh my.." he feigned astonishment. any thought that this guy was cute in any way immediately fled from Chelsea's mind. she, instead, decided he was irritating.

"yeah, its definitely the books, smartass.." she rolled her eyes, continuing, "have you ever even picked up a novel?"

"a graphic novel, yeah." he immediately responded, as if he had no problem with debating someone. he must argue a lot, Chelsea guessed, taking notice of how quick he was to respond.

"whatever." she crossed her arms, sinking into her chair like a five year old who'd just been denied candy.

he mimicked her, even going to the extent of raising his voice to sound like hers, "whatever."

"you're so immature, you know that?" she'd only known him for barely ten minutes, and he'd already annoyed her more than the birds outside her window could probably ever manage.

"well, i am eight years old, remember?" he stuck his tongue out, emphasising the fact that he was basically a child.

Chelsea cracked a smile at his idiocy, and the stranger noticed this. "oh, she smiles!"

"she has a name, doofus."

"and doofus has a name, she."

doofus and she, she laughed, and the doofus joined, which was honestly surprising to her.

and for the umpteenth time today, Chelsea questioned herself. what was she even doing, bickering with some stranger in a cafe on ivy street, anyway?