Midnight Muse

I blink up at him, not exactly sure I enjoy the extra thump my heart beats at his words. A pang of guilt gleans in my chest. Here I am, letting my negative thoughts consume me while my friends are attempting to distract me and cheer me up. I wonder how unlike myself I’ve been acting for even Reid to notice after only a few weeks of knowing each other.

The vibrant contrast of his eyes is breathtaking, even when his chestnut brows furrow, casting shadows across them.

I cough, realizing I’ve been staring for a beat too long when the cashier is calling the next customer up to the counter. Rory looks over to see if Reid is going to take the spot, but he waves her ahead, returning his attention to me.

“Yeah. I, uh, just ordered. Sorry,” I stutter, feeling like a fool.

“Don’t be,” he replies easily. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I’ll make it up to you next time.”

“Thanks, Reid.” I can’t help the heating of my cheeks at his words. “You don’t have to, though.”

I can’t help but notice how Rory’s watching us from her peripherals, staring at the hand Reid still has on my shoulder. I wonder what she’s going to say when we’re back at our apartment. If she’ll encourage me to stay friends with him or maybe pursue this…whatever is going on here.

I let out a shaky breath, willing the redness from my cheeks to go away. “Okay, then. Next time.”

He stares at me, looking a little suspicious, like as soon as he turns away, I’m going to take it back. Luckily, my name is called and Reid reluctantly releases me.

The feel of his fingerprints lingers even after I’ve taken a sip of the deliciously cold and chocolatey coffee.

It cures absolutely nothing.

Not quite like Slate’s hug or Reid’s touch did, anyway.

It’s when everyone has gotten their coffees and we’ve all made it outside the shop that everyone stops to chat more.

And more.

And more.

It’s overwhelming at this point, and not even the cold pressing through my fingertips nor the chocolate coffee goodness I’m swallowing by the lungful is doing anything to quell my flaring annoyance. Not even the whipped cream or chocolate shavings help. Paired with the heat of the sun and the bag across my back, and the looming fact that I still have Art History to trudge through, I’m more than exhausted of today.

Ace is telling some hilarious story from the other day when he was working at the art supply store, and to everyone but me, it’s probably funny. I, however, am still annoyed with the way he acted when I was there, how he all but called me foul names. My views on his charming personality have been tainted since then and I don’t plan on hearing an apology from him anytime soon.

“And then she was rude to me about the paint colors when I specifically told her that alizarium and cadmium are two completely different reds! Wait, Quinn,” I hear him call as I spin on my heel to head back to campus. “Where are you going?”

Shit. I was hoping I’d be able to sneak away without anyone noticing.

Cringing, I twist around to face them again. “I have to go,” I answer awkwardly, jerking a thumb over my shoulder. “I have Art History.”

Rory breaks off from the group, leading me a few steps away.

“Hey, are you okay? If you want to skip Art History, I’ll walk back to the apartment with you,” she offers, ocean eyes filled with a concern that makes my shoulders droop. Rory, my best friend, is simply the sweetest, always making sure I’m okay. “We can order food, pig out, and watch reality TV.”

“As much as I’d love that, I really can’t miss this class,” I sigh, but refuse to tell her how much I feel like I’m struggling already. Like I’m so far behind, despite not having any assignments. I should’ve taken it with her last year but I’d been stubborn and took Contemporary Art instead. “Professor Dolf is kicking ass already.”

“Ugh, you have him? I heard he’s the worst,” Rory says, then cringes. “Sorry.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Thanks, Ro.”

She bites her lip, looking like she wants to say more. Whatever she sees when she studies me, I hope she finds. Hopefully, she’s not taking in the mauve rings around my tired eyes.

“Okay,” she relents, and I want to cry in relief. “But text me when you’re on your way. I’ll order something. Chinese sound good?”

“Sure, that sounds perfect,” I nod. “I’ll see you later.”

When I move to leave, it’s Reid who calls my name next. My fingers flex around the cup with annoyance because all I want right now is to be left alone, build myself up before I walk into Art History and get torn down by the information overload I know I’m going to be receiving.

“Yeah?” I call, turning to face him as he catches up to me. Behind him, Rory, Ace, and Slate are all laughing over something, lost in conversation once more.