you're beautiful here

o n e

Chapter 1

He hated writing beginnings.

He felt like he could do so much good in writing all the grit—the action—the romance—that happens later in life. Later in the story. But a story isn't a story without a beginning.

He didn't like to think about his, so he didn't write about it.

He was sitting in Mugz contemplating the meaning of life and if he really wanted this degree. His laptop was sitting open to a blank word document labeled 'untitled final assignment'.

Ha, he thought, glad to see the creative juices are flowing heavily today.

He only had two classes left to get his degree in the Spring. He had these next five months to get this done, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to get through it.

His final task for his last creative writing class was to write a story—any story. It didn't have to be long, but it had to mean something. His supervisor, Dr. Smith, would settle for little less.

He didn't want to turn in anything he'd already written; Dr. Smith would know the difference.

His writings before had been all dark—all bite—all symbolic-blue-walls. He wanted to give her something real—but he wasn't sure he had that in him.

He stared again at the blank screen, then down to his cup. Black coffee. How symbolic. He reached over and poured creamer into the cup to make it as light as his pale skin.

"Oh, god, I'm—" The noises caught his attention. There was a bumbling, wild-haired girl near the table beside him. She had a drink in her hand, but the other half of the drink was covering the table and seat that she was about to sit in. She was muttering to herself, shaking her head lightly from left to right.

She hurriedly rushed to the front counter. "Excuse me, do you have any paper towels?" The young worker sighed and trudged to the back room.

He looked back down at his screen, taking mental note. As soon as he decided he was just going to write a stream of conscientiousness, he found himself listening back towards the worker and the girl. The worker told her to find a different seat and that he would be out to clean up the mess soon. As soon as she tried to interject, the boy walked away to take another order. He squinted his eyes at the youth that he had decided to take a chance and hire for Mugz. This wasn't going to work out, but he didn't have many options.

The girl looked down, then back towards her table. The only empty table in the small but bustling coffee shop.

She walked up to the table and began picking up her things. Instead of walking further into the shop to find a seat, she started for the door.

In a moment of pure impulse—or maybe he was just looking for a reason not to write—he exclaimed, "Wait!" A few other customers turned to look at the young man. He sheepishly looked away from their eyes and towards the girl who he was speaking to.

"If, uh, if you don't want to leave you can just sit here," he added in a much quieter tone. He hurriedly grabbed his bag from the seat on the other side of his booth. He slid his laptop closer to himself, then decided he wasn't going to get anything done anyways and closed it part-way.

The girl looked out the window, then back to the seat. She gave him a toothy grin and slid in the booth, setting down her bag, notebook, and half-empty cup. "Thanks."

He found himself at a loss for words. How fitting.

"So," she said while opening her notebook, which he could now see was a sketchpad. "What brings you here? Do you often feign writing to pull off the hipster look?" He wasn't sure if she was saying this in a friendly or mocking manner.