since eighth grade. → markiplier

Chapter Four: Lunch

Chapter Four: Lunch

Mark

There is one thing about taking Elliot to lunch that makes me feel slightly... nervous. I had wondered once or twice before if this was a date, but a small part of me knew that it wasn't. She hadn't ate this morning, so she asked if I could take her somewhere to get food. That's all. Right? Besides, I'm totally in the friend-zone. We'd known each other for too long for this to turn into a relationship. I think.

"Here." I say, parking outside of the café that Elliot and I were talking about. She nods her head, tucking some of her blue hair behind her ear. She holds my gaze for a moment, her grey eyes sparkling from behind her glasses.

"Yeah, this is the place." She tells me, and then we both climb out of the car. The air, suddenly a little cooler, is nice for me to breathe in. I take a few deep breaths before leading her into the place, where we both order a sandwich and a drink. She orders an iced tea whilst I just go for a coffee.

We find a leather couch in the corner to sit at, and my gaze is averted most of the time to the large window that leads outside to the busy streets. I can feel Elliot's gaze burning into me, and, when I turn to face her, she raises an eyebrow.

"Something on your mind?" She asks, leaning forwards from the chair. She sits on the very edge, almost as if she is prepared to run out of her seat at any minute. I shrug, running my hand over my face.

"A few things." I admit, biting the inside of my cheek.

"Oh. What things?" She questions further, and I shake my head.

"Nothing important. Don't worry about it."

"Okay. You can talk to me if you want to, you know that, right?" She tells me, resting a hand on my knee and gazing intently into my eyes. I sit back from her a little, startled at the intensity of her eyes. It seems as if, when she looks at me, she could read my thoughts. My emotions. Everything I try to hide.

"No, everything's alright. I promise." I tell her, and she nods her head at this. She has her feet tucked up beside her, her hands clasped tightly around the glass of iced tea. We had both finished our food, and I my drink, so I was just waiting on her. Not that I really minded. "You know, I was thinking."

"What about?" She asks me, settling down her drink for a moment.

"I was going to record a few videos with Wade whilst I'm here in Cincinnati. Bob will be coming next week, too. You want to join in any of the recordings?" I ask her, hoping that her answer would be yes.

"Hell yeah! What sort of games will you be doing?" She asks, and I just laugh.

"I'm going to give you a moment to think about that." I say, giving her a sideways smirk. She catches her breath at this, but covers it with a cough. I raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, drunk Minecraft?" She guesses, and I nod my head. "Oh, yeah, I'd love to do that. I don't have anything to drink though." She admits, shrugging. She finishes off her iced tea and places the glass on the table.

"Oh, not even rum?" I ask, knowing that this is one of her favourite drinks. She thinks about it for a while, and eventually nods her head.

"I do have some of that, actually. But rum's boring. I'll make a cocktail." She says, stretching before standing up. I stand up and follow her out, nodding my head at what she says.

"What about that one you made me that one time. What's it called again?" I ask, frowning as I try to remember.

"You mean Anejo Highball?" Ellie asks, and I nod my head.

"Yeah, that's it. You should make that."

"I mean, it's stiff, but sure. I'll do that." She says, just after she climbs back into the car. I start up the engine and begin driving back to the apartment, soaking up the silence that blankets us again. At one point, Elliot's phone buzzes and she checks it with a quizzical expression. I guess she wasn't expecting a text. She chews on her lip again, and I throw her a look to stop. She doesn't notice though, so she continues. I just sigh quietly, knowing that she'll grow out of the habit eventually.

I feel my own phone buzz in my pocket, but I can't exactly check it when I'm driving. I'll check it when we get back to the apartment, which is only around the corner. I park her car and pull my phone out as soon as the vehicle is off, scanning through the message quickly. It's from Molly.

Hey, Mark, Wade and I are throwing another party and you're invited. Don't ask why we're throwing another one, it was the big man's idea. It's gonna be at our house on Saturday, 9PM.

            See you there. Hopefully.

I look over to Elliot to see her reading through the message on her phone again. Actually, no, she's texting.

"Did you get a text from Molly?" I interrogate, walking over and flopping down on the sofa. She walks over and sits next to me, nodding her head.

"Yeah, I did. Did you, too?" She asks, finally looking up from her phone and throwing the device next to her.

"Yeah. Are you going to go to this party?"

"I mean, if you're going, sure." I notice the reluctance in her tone.

"Awe, you don't have to come."

"Eh, I'd rather not spend the night alone in my apartment on Saturday. I'll come." She tells me, stretching her arms out. She takes off her leather jacket and walks to her room, probably to get changed. I run a hand through my hair, taking my glasses off for a minute. I don't know what it is, but I can't get these thoughts about that being a date out of my head. Sighing, I tell myself to try and think about something else. When she comes back out of her room, she's wearing a black vest and some patterned sweat pants. I suddenly hear something, something that sounds like a bell. A bell?

"Oh! I forgot to tell you something," She says, and she disappears into the kitchen, where the sound had come from. I also hear the sound of the window being slammed shut. She walks back into the room, holding a black and white cat against her chest. "I got a pet cat."

"Oh. Damn. Okay then. What's it called?" I question, watching the cat nuzzle into her neck. I can hear it purring from here.

"He's called Sherlock." She tells me, grinning like an idiot. I roll my eyes and laugh at this.

"Of course he's called Sherlock," I laugh, watching as she brings herself and the cat over to where I sit. Noticing that I am here, the cat walks over and sniffs my hand. I stroke it behind the ears a little, but leave it be when it races back to Elliot and nudges her hand for more petting. "How long have you had him?"

"About three months. I got him from the pet centre not far from here, and he's, like, four years old." She says, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. Her pale yet flawless skin is greatly exposed, and I swallow and turn away.

"Cute." I say, and, for a moment, I'm not sure if I'm talking about her or the cat. Oh, well. Both are, admittedly, cute.