"Love was so fucking cringey until I met you."
You and your delinquent brother had been "troubled" kids, since the very beginning of it all.
Before things got bad; and, before things got good.
Constantly wreaking havoc just for the fun of it, lea...
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By the time 9am rolled around, you had already had a sizzling hot shower, and gotten completely ready for your small—mandatory—day outside.
For your outfit, you had picked a pair of high-waisted, baggy, denim jeans. The kids these days call them 'mom jeans', which makes you want to burn them, but they look cute on you. You wore large black, leather boots, and a black tank-top that was tucked into your jeans.
Silver rings, chains, a classic resting bitch face.
The norm.
Your hair was out, and you had a cute pair of reading glasses that you forgot to take off, up on your head. They were pulling parts of your hair up while small tufts of your half-fringe peak out messily. The whole look of it was very cute, but edgy.
You in a nutshell.
"So you came," jokes the blonde-asshole that you seem to always be with for some reason, he also grins in victory, "I knew you would. You always listen to me."
"Tch, sure." You walk past him, flaunting your confidence, "I'm just hungry. Coming out with you is just a small price to pay for some free food."
He scratches his head and follows after you, "Whatever."
"So where to first?" you ask, while stepping into the elevator and pressing the ground floor button.
"Coffee," he replies quickly, and without a second thought, "Then some stupid food. Then just some random shops that we find, or wherever else."
"Bet." you grin.
——————
"Black? You have your coffee black!?"
"What's the big fuckin' deal?!"
"You know who takes their coffee black?" you say, sipping a satchel of sugar into your mouth, "Villains. That's who." you finish, and scrunch up the small paper, throwing it at him, from across the coffee table.
He only smiles, "That just proves my whole point."
"Huh?"
He smiles even wider, "You ordered yours with milk."
You scoff and look out the window, "Shut up, it's oat milk. Technically, it doesn't even count as milk."
"But it ain't black."
"Shut yo dumb face up before I pound it in." you reply with a stoney glare, and patiently move random things on the table around, "Talk about something else or i'm leaving."
The waitress swings by, dropping off your coffee.
"You pick, then. 'Cause you'll never be happy with what I say."
