One-Shots

Little Beast

Little Beast

      The little town of Rema is nothing but a soggy mess of rain, wind, and cold on one Tuesday afternoon. The sky has been perilously gray and promising with a downpour for the past week and a half, so nobody is too surprised when it comes down fast enough to be splashing around their ankles within mere minutes.

      Miles watches people escape the worst of the storm by fleeing into the surrounding shops as he wipes down tables at the local diner. He's damp around the collar of his shirt and down his back, and later he’ll blame his useless umbrella for the cold he’s almost guaranteed to get. His fingers are numb and rosy from the wind, cheeks the same shade that’s beginning to make its way to the rest of his body.

      The diner is mostly empty; an elderly couple sits by a corner table, numbly picking at their apple pies as they chatter about their grandkids. A young woman with bright curly red hair shivers in her seat by the door. Her leather jacket is pulled tight around her small frame and a cup of coffee sits empty in front of her as she stares at it mindlessly.

      Miles doesn't pay the customers much attention, just continues to wearisomely wipe down tables as he stares out the glass windows, feeling his mood sink more and more as the rain continues to pour.

      The sound of the door opening with a loud chime breaks the silence that has settled over the café. Miles glimpses over in the direction of the door, immediately distressed with the sight that greets him. Soaked to the bone, with hair smeared over his forehead, is someone Miles used to know, someone he sometimes find himself wishing he still knew.

      Dakota, Miles thinks to himself, the class rich kid with expensive clothes and perfect hair that Miles once secretly dated for several months – several glorious months, really, if he’s being completely honest with himself - until Dakota’s buddy threatened to tell everyone and Dakota dumped him, afraid of what would or wouldn’t happen if he didn’t.

      Dakota doesn’t seem to have beaten the storm at all, his clothes are drenched enough to droop as he makes his way towards one of the booths in the back of the shop, his backpack slung loosely across one shivering shoulder.

      Miles wipes down the table he's at sluggishly, trying to allow Dakota enough time to wiggle out of his jacket as he sits down. It clings to him, fabric soggy even on the inside as he wrestles it off. He doesn't look thrilled at the way his shirt is sticking to his skin at the shoulders, dark patches revealing where his jacket was unsuccessful in keeping the rain out.

      Dakota doesn’t do anything, just scowls at the tabletop. He looks pissed and irritated, but more tired than anything else. He doesn't open his backpack or do anything to pass the time, just rubs his fingers together and shivers every so often, bangs dripping sparkling droplets of water onto the table.

      Miles shoves the rag he's used to wipe the tables into the front pocket of the apron and treads over to Dakota without bothering to glue a fake smile on his face. He’s not happy with the way things ended between them, mostly because he thought Dakota was better than that, and he’s not going to pretend for either of them. He was foolish then and he’s still pretty foolish now, really.

      Dakota's eyes flicker to him, something annoyed and weary in his look. “Hey,” Miles says awkwardly. “You want some hot chocolate to warm you up?” The way I used to be so good at, he can't help but think a little bitterly.

      The suggestion isn't met with much interest, but Dakota doesn't look patronizing nor is he still scowling, so Miles takes it as an affirmative.

     They haven't talked much since they ended; a few exchanged words during class, maybe, and an occasional jibe during PE, but nothing to cause unwanted attention in Dakota’s direction because whether or not he’s still upset over it, he doesn’t want to hurt Dakota.