Jul. 2nd, 2012

tyrror: (Default)
Title: Save Yourself
Author: Tyrror
Pairing: Damian Wayne/Colin Wilkes
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sometimes odds are impossible. Sometimes, you do the only thing you can to make sure you don't die with regrets.


Save Yourself )
tyrror: (Default)
Title: Purple
Author: Tyrror
Universe: Cafe!Verse
Pairing: Damian Wayne/Colin Wilkes
Rating: PG
Previous: Coffee

Purple )
 

However, regardless of this irrefutable logic, he found himself growing ever uncomfortable under the grey-blue stare that watched him watch himself in the thin sliver of his rearview mirror. He blinked, and so did they. Again and yet again, a calm face worn over what he knew was a terrifying teenage storm of half-formed thoughts and unidentifiable emotional conflicts blinked when he blinked, moved when he moved, began to chew on its lower lip until he remembered the unsightly habit and the face before him spat it back out.
 

“This is ridiculous!” he spat at the face, turning before he could watch it yell back.
 

The sound of the door latch opening echoed slightly in the confines of the vehicle and he placed one patent leather clad sole on the cracked and worn asphalt outside before he froze again, hand hanging gently where it had finally managed to grip the door’s handle. With a heaving sigh, he allowed himself to sink back into the plush material of the seat and pressed a palm across his face, rubbing at the ever increasing tension building behind his eyes.
 

Prodigy, terror, billionaire’s son, executive of an entire corporation at 15 years of age by right of talent and wisdom not by inheritance...
 

But unable to open the door to a diner because, for once in his short life, he had no idea what to say.
 

It was beyond him how he finally made it out of the car, none-the-less through the swinging glass door and its little bells into a pleather booth that he ran his hand along like an old friend. The cracked material squeaked slightly under the pressure, giving way as he let himself fall into it and groaning as he pushed himself closer to a window clouded slightly with the grime of city streets.
 

“Can I get you something to drink?” A chipper voice forced its way into his thoughts, causing his head to snap about in as slow and unsurprised a manner as he could muster.
 

“Coffee,” he muttered to the brunette standing there, her skirt cut slightly too short and her legs unseemingly long, “Black.”
 

In an instant, she was gone with a spring and a skip that made him grimace. Too pleased to be working such a lowly job, too excited to serve others...too happy for a Tuesday.
 

“Coffee,” she said with a voice that would tell the blind the size of her smile, “And some pie!”
 

She bobbed back and forth on her heels, her skirt swaying back and forth in a way that any lesser man would have been distracted by...any lesser man. His voice rose up in his throat before he had even consciously realized it, slightly too loud and tinted with the colour he used on disobedient employees.
 

“I do not believe I asked for...”
 

Her smile deflated, the corners of her eyes dropped and her teeth found lips to hide behind. With a blink, energy and light became a polite and composed young lady. A fake smile and a hidden agenda. Behind his eyes she was gone. Behind his eyes she was red hair that never seemed to sit quite right. Pale skin and freckles for miles. She was a calm smile that never reached the eyes and polite words that hid something he had yet to find but was determined to draw out for reasons even he himself didn’t know.
 

For a moment she was a million things that she could never be and everything he was looking for.
 

Sighing, he pressed the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb, drawing up the courage to do the one thing he rarely allowed himself to do lest he lose the fear he drove into his competitors. But in some situations, one must do what one does not wish to do in lieu of what hidden eyes may be watching.
 

“I apologize,” the words rushed out in an almost exasperated wind, “I have had a less than pleasing day thus far and should not be taking it out on you.”
 

Beside him, a voice bobbed slightly as the rocking started up again, smile spreading slowly to reveal bright teeth and too much fun.
 

“We thought so,” she chimed happily, “but everything is better with pie.”
 

There was a pause inside his mind as something fought for recognition, an odd glimmer of thought that told him he had missed something important.
 

“We?” He questioned, turning in his seat to face the waitress...but she was already off to her next exciting delivery of caffeinated water and cake.
 

His coffee crinkled on its saucer as he set it down and the vague thought that coffee didn’t crinkle passed him by before he looked to where it had landed.
 

Tucked beneath the saucer on which the oversized white cup rested was a slip of paper that he had become rather accustomed to in the past few weeks. A strip of paper from the register with the diner’s name, a phone number he had never seen anyone actually make use of, and a string of numbers with a total. This one was full of creases, torn at one corner and stained in one spot...and that was only what he could see sticking out from its porcelain prison.
 

Gently, he pulled it loose and nearly dropped it almost as quickly. The gentle loops he had been taught by an elderly man from the British Isles were easy to recognize. Refined letters marred only slightly by his overly-fast style where it spelled out three words. He recognized them because he wrote them, could remember the day and the time; the way the table was sticky from where he had knocked over the carafe holding maple syrup when the redhead walked by, the way the entire diner smelled of pancakes and orange juice despite it being well after dark...the way that he couldn’t explain why but his mouth wouldn’t work and he had fought to find some other way to say hello.
 
He had considered it just another in a long line of stupid decisions, but even so couldn’t keep himself from coming back even though he was never sure why. It was just something to move on from, to forget.
 

Another failure...
Another mistake...
Another...
 

His thumb traced the almost unreadable, purple scrawl where it ran across the abused paper underneath the only word he hadn’t crossed out and even though his mouth was twisted in confusion...
 

‘My name’s Colin’
 

...there wasn’t any tightness behind his eyes.

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