The Aristocrat

They call it old friends

Friday 20th

Walking into the busy bar that weekend I felt as though I were going back in time. As soon as my eyes fell on Andrew and Isaac huddled together at the end of the bar, my mind was set back two years. A familiar sensation of teenage anxiety and insecurity sept into my skin and caused me to hesitate near the entrance.

My heels glued to the floor as I watched them through the swarm of people surrounding the bar. Andrew, Isaac's best friend from our boarding school days, sat comfortably in a stall. He was angled away from me but I could faintly make out his familiar sharp features and honey coloured hair that seemed a few shades lighter than what I remembered. Donning a black shirt and jeans, he looked worlds away from the guy who once refused to wear anything other than jogging shorts and his school hoody.

Much like him Isaac wore a similar outfit, a shirt and trousers suiting him perfectly. I took a moment to fully take him in, watching as laughter boomed out of him and he leaned across to playfully shove Andrew's shoulder. But it didn't take him long to notice me, our eyes like magnets that always managed to find each other.

He saw me by the entrance, lifting his arm up high into the air and motioning me over. Andrew who sat in front of his friend, took notice of the shift in attention and glanced over his shoulder. As soon as he saw me his grin brightened and he jumped off his stall eagerly.

"Andra," Isaac called out over the deafening noise, still gesturing with his hand for me to join them.

I did so with great struggle. Manoeuvring through the packed bar, I found myself nudging and elbowing body's that didn't seem to want to let me through.

When I finally made it to them I'd lost all hopes of appearing cool and collected, instead a flushed colour burdened my cheeks and my straightened hair had been brushed messily over my shoulders. Neither of them seemed to care too much though, both grinning as they took me in.

"Alessandra Royale," Andrew chimed, stepping forward to swoop me up in his arms.

I laughed into his shoulders, some anxiety leaving me, "Andrew Millington," I said, pulling back enough to see his face.

His brown eyes were pinned to me from his tall height, his arms still wound around me as he teased, "God you look amazing."

"So do you," I laughed, my palm brushing over his noticeably larger shoulders, "When did you get so big? Puberty really did come late for you, didn't it?"

"Very funny," Andrew scolded despite being unable to wipe the stupidly boyish grin from his face, "I've been working hard I'll have you know."

Pulling apart from each other, I stumbled back a little. Andrew's hand found my shoulder again and steered me into the stall he had just occupied. 

"And it shows," I told him, my brows cocked impressively, "You look good."

Andrew never blushed away from my comment, he was not like most. Instead all he did was smirk, confidently throwing one glance down to his improved muscles, nodding, "Thanks."

The bartenders approached us, noticing Isaac's raised hand and started to serve us. Drew who now stood in the middle of us three, spoke over the bar instructing our orders. Isaac let him, his eyes watching me through the blur of Andrews figure bobbing up and down. I tried not to look back, the intensity of his eyes too much for me to handle. Instead I looked at the bar counter, waiting until my drink was in front of me and when it was knocking it back down my throat.

"So," Andrew chatted, his beer now firmly in his hands when he looked at me again, "How are you little Andy?"

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that," I said throwing an unimpressed glare his way before taking another quick sip of my drink back.