Starlight

XIII: Falling Slowly

I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that

Well, you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you've won

- 'Falling Slowly', Once

xx.xx

He sipped his coffee, hands jittering. The staccato movement created tiny riptides within Henry's cup: a tiny tide, ruled by his anxieties.

He had only agreed to go here because she had insisted.

They were to have a production meeting once a week, after she had class on a Monday. They'd alternate between having them at his house, and having them in public. It had been her idea: it would help him get out more; he could try being in different public situations for short periods.

Usually he'd only venture outside to be part of an adoring crowd. Musicals were safe; they were predictable. The promise of a happy ever after at the end calmed his nerves enough to convince him to leave the safety of his refuge; being enchanted by music made all the fear worth it.

Why was this worth it? Sitting alone in Beanies, sipping a coffee, pretending that he was trembling with caffeine and not terror? He was out of his mind, really, he should just leave right now and--

He looked up.

"Hi, Robin!" Grinning.

The shakes stopped.

She took the seat opposite from him, pulling off her hat, coat and scarf and bundling it onto the back of the chair. "Hi. Sorry I'm late. The bus took forever."

"It's okay, really. Are you going to get something?" He gestured toward the counter. "It's on me."

Robbie leaned forward, trying to glimpse the inside of his cup. "No, it isn't. What's that you're drinking? Latte?"

He smirked. "Yes. Although it may be of the pumpkin spice variety."

"A pumpkin spice latte?" Robbie crossed her arms. "And here I was, thinking I was writing a musical with a mysterious composer... Turns out my teammate is actually a basic bitch."

"Hey," Hidgens furrowed his brow, lifting his hands up into the air. "Guilty as charged - but I'll have you know that there is nothing wrong with being a 'basic bitch.'"

She giggled at how it sounded in his voice. "I never said there was. So, another PSL for you, or...?"

"That would be great. thank you, Robin."

She put her order in at the counter, and pulled the money out from her purse. All she had at that moment was $20. That $20 bill. She traced its folds with the slightest brush of her fingertip. The same $20 bill that she had laid down on the table the night they'd met, that he'd slipped back into her coat, that had been passed back and forth between them for weeks now.

Their in-joke.

This would be a nice way to finally settle it, wouldn't it? To spend it on drinks for the two of them, to kick off their first production meeting for the show they were going to write together.

And yet, when the cashier asked - "Cash or card?"

"Card, please." She slipped the bill back into its place, its own compartment in her old, threadbare leather wallet. Overly sentimental? Yes, but she had grown oddly attached to it. she wasn't ready for their little game to be over.

"Here you go." She handed him the mug, already sipping her own overly-sweet hot chocolate. "So, Professor. Where should we begin?"

"Well," He took a sip. "I've already given you the pitch."