A cigarette finds itself tipping over an ash tray. Embers fall on top of another into their little mountain on the ceramic dish before she sticks it back in between her lips. The hollow of her cheeks already smoky, but the unforgiving taste of black coffee combines above her tongue.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He’s gonna kill me.” Another drag of a cigarette.

He still hasn’t put his lighter back into his pocket, fidgeting with the little metal box as he sets it on the table, picks it up, turns it onto another side, he sets it on the table, picks it up, turns it onto another side. The brim of a hat saves his expression from being too indiscernible, rude -  “He just might.”

“I don’t think I can go another night until nine.” She ashes her cigarette once more, nicotine-stained fingers lacquered with wine-red polish. With a dress that shade of pink, you’d have thought smoking wasn’t her habit as it appeared to be

Eyes bore down on the counter, and he almost seems nervous. “Me neither.”

“...Hey.”

They make eye contact, her line of sight to his nervous pupils almost confronting. “You aren’t avoiding me, are you?”

He meant for it to come out steadily, yet, he fumbles. “N-No.” You just scare me, that’s all.

She lets out a husky chuckle trapped in her chest, her orange curls shaking in tandem with her head as she closes her eyes and brings the cigarette to her mouth once again. “You new kids are all the same.”