Work Text:
You can't go back to sleep. Waking up at 6 a.m. and just lying in bed for an hour makes a person hungry, so you finally get up, figuring that you might as well get breakfast before work, even if you'd be early.
A walk afterwards could be nice anyways, or maybe a stop at the library. You throw on the forest green t-shirt with Silas’ logo on the front. You're through your morning routine with tired eyes, messing up only once by putting on socks before jeans, which you deem only slightly ridiculous.
The opening door and chimes of the elevator are the only noise in the halls. You squint at the bright sky. The paths barely have students, thank god, because it's the morning, and on a weekend nonetheless.
You head to the dining center and scan for something easy and filling.
Your eyes zone in on the croissants. Tongs hang on the clear pastry door handles. You pick them up and grab one, depositing it on the conveyor belt toaster. It takes some time so you look around at the other items. Muffins, cereal, and fruit are laid out on the other stations. Glancing back at the toaster, you expected anything except what you see.
It's on fire!
Shit.
Find an adult.
You look around and inform an important looking woman and old man standing by. You're relieved at their proximity. "Excuse me," you get their attention. "That's on fire."
They follow your gaze.
Okay, now they're panicking. The slender, dark skinned woman leaps towards the burning pastry and you bite your lip. She grabs the tongs.
"You're not supposed to toast croissants."
She shakes the croissant. It’s still on the upper layer, not able to go down. The elderly man talks your ear off about grand responsibility and youth recklessness. You've seen other students toast them and put one in too. It doesn't make a difference right now to say that, so you ignore him.
Your eyes remain on the fire.
The lady puts it out. She breathes out in relief. "There's a sign.” You bite your cheek. She looks for it and frowns. "Where's the sign?" Her voice croaks at the end in annoyance. The male goes forward and searches with her.
They only find one sign that tells students to inform an employee about their allergies. She puts it down with a huff because even then, that sign was facing the wrong way, hidden from students' view. She heads to the back room where the chefs are and you hear her scream, "Where's the sign!?"
You flinch, but are relieved. The old man frowns at you (seriously?) and finally leaves. You take another croissant and plate and bring it up to the cashier. "I guess you can charge me for the other one, too."
The cashier looks at you without malice. "No, that's okay. There was no sign."
"I didn't know we couldn't toast them," you say sheepishly.
"Yeah! I didn't know either. They do that at Starbucks, I think.
You two make more small talk before you head towards the exit. You walk a lot, trying to rid your embarrassment.
It sucks to admit that the natural light and quietness is soothing, especially since waking up early is something you rarely do. After going around several winding paths, there's someone that stands out. Someone at the end of the pathway shaking anxiously.
"I just did it. I wasn't thinking!" She says hurriedly into her phone, walking randomly to get rid of her nerves. That’s...a little odd.
You're about to pass around her when you see it. The sun's rays shine against something rested on the bench. It hurt your eyes. An olive backpack, presumably the girl's, has something silver sticking out. You almost choke when you look closer at the offending object. There's not much of it sticking out, but enough for you to see a thin silver edge of a frame holding white paper, and on it, the red arch of a stop symbol around the golden end of a croissant.
The panicky girl turns back in her pacing and freezes, phone in hand, when she sees you. She looks between you and her backpack—you've moved rather close to confirm your suspicions—and she pales, putting the pieces together. "I gotta go," she tells her recipient. She pockets her phone and moves a step closer.
"This is not what it looks like."
You raise your eyebrows. Of course that's what the adorable cupcake goes with.
The girl sucks in her lips.
"So you didn't take that sign?" you ask. Did she do it so you wouldn't get into trouble?
She rocks on her heels and composes her thoughts. "Okay I did, but it was immoral and wrong. My body acted before my brain could catch up and I just ended up taking it."
This girl is too cute. And also very innocent. Her shoulders sink as if her actions broke some moral code that her life is based on. You want to laugh and comfort her at the same time.
"Hey, don't beat yourself up about it. I'd do the same for you."
You end up comforting her.
She pauses, twisting her fingers. "Thanks. It's unethical, but thank you." She says softly. "I didn't want Vordenburg to bother you every time you got food, especially for an accident."
You ask who that is and she tells you it was the old guy who never stops telling stories. You sit down on the bench and pat the space next to you in invitation. She sits. And talks again, guiltily, in all but two seconds. She says she did it because he's in charge and more lenient with the chefs than with young students like yourselves. She took the sign when you were looking for help.
You offer to take it from her and put it somewhere in the dining center because she looks rather uncomfortable having it in her possession.
She relaxes and thanks you, holding out her hand, introducing herself as Laura. "Carmilla." you say, shaking her hand. She gives you the sign and you put the object in your backpack.
You both sit in silence, You throw a sideways glance her way. Laura's beautiful. You want to see her again, but there are many factors you don't know about her. She could be straight or have a girlfriend. Who knows? She could be completely uninterested in continuing this brief relationship that was based on a favor. You want to ask her out, give it a shot.
"Lau—"
"Do you—"
You both stop. "Ladies first," you encourage with a small hand gesture towards her.
A blank look passes through her honey eyes before it settles into something that you might dare call, fond. “Do you want to get lunch sometime?” She honestly blushes mid-sentence.
“Are you asking me out, cutie?” Your features stretch into a grin.
“I may have,” she responds playfully, “had other reasons for helping you, specifically.”
Huh, well, maybe she's not that innocent. There is just something about her. Laura’s presence is a freaking magnet.
“I’d like that a lot,” you say.
Your fingers tremble when you take out your phone for her to put in her contact information. It ruins the smoothness of action you were aiming for, but it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that Laura wants to see you again.