Sometimes she just wants to kill him. Figuratively, of course. He's just so infuriating, it's really annoying. Once again, she vents her anger into one of those notebooks implied boy offered her after she got out of the hospital two years ago. Ugh, she wants to curse him to hell. Velica takes a sip of her coffee –black with sugar– and a big puff of her cigarette. She's only nineteen years old but she doesn't care. People send her disapproved looks once in a while but she couldn't care less about what they think. It's not like she's the only teen who does, some younger than her do too. She likes to smoke and that's it no one is going to change her mind about that apart from herself. Another sip of coffee as her pencil continues to attack the innocent black notebook.

Rock music at almost the maximum flows in her ears through her earphones, she doesn't realize that she's slightly bobbing her head to the beat. She's annoyed and the music takes her anger away. Coffee, cigarettes and writing helps. This combination is the best. Plus there isn't anything else to do. Trying to get her memory back is futile, she had tried many times but each time she got close to remembering something, a massive headache comes. So, until something happens – anything that can help – she is going to leave her head alone.

Her pencil still scratches the notebook, not once stopping. She manages to smoke her cigarette with her left hand. Same with the coffee. After trying many times, it's now easy.

Drink finished. Velica takes a sip of water for , her coffee didn't have enough sugar. Suddenly, a figure appears in front of her. Well, she shadow of someone. She blinks once, stops in the middle of her sentence and looks up. She technically doesn't need to, she already knows who it is. Dressed with fashion, totally in black, dyed red hair that seem to attract more girls than usual since he did it, she sends the guy her darkest scarface. She sees him gulp. Good, she thinks. This time, it's no joke she's really annoyed.

Usually, he isn't scared of her – she can't hurt him – but those rare times when he pushes her buttons...well, it never ends well for him.

“I can help you get laid if it–“ She narrows her eyes at him, her glass of water in her hands ready to be thrown. He shuts his mouth and looks away. Maybe that wasn't a good thing to say.

Silence for six seconds. Plan B is heading down, he has come prepared.

“No but really if you want to–“ Water in his face stops him speaking. That was not plan B.

He wipes the liquid with his sleeves and stares at the girl in front of him. Dirty blond hair and green eyes that turn slightly gray some days. Casual black shirt with black jeans. Black Doc Martens. She looks like she tried to be Gothic and failed. He snorts disgustingly at his thought. She sends another glare. People are looking at them.

He sighs. Every time she gets that annoyed he has to lower down his pride until she's calm to think reasonably. He knows her, he always come prepared. Well, he thinks that he comes prepared, maybe he doesn't most of the time. Opening his bag, he takes out one of his sweaters (her favorite), dark chocolate (with a pinch of salt, her favorite) and two new books (thrillers) he bought just a little bit earlier. Indeed it does the trick, she's eying the three things. He smirks, proud of himself. That's a good plan B, right ?

Velica glares at the books for a few seconds, wondering if she can destroy them with her mind. Those books probably have a good 300 pages of suspense and mystery. (“No romance, I don't want to swim in my own vomit and die because of that ty stuff,” she had once said to him. Brownie points to him for remembering.) It annoys her that he knows her well. It makes it hard for her to hold a grudge. She grabs the book, curiosity fills her as she starts to read the summaries. The chocolate and sweater remain untouched for now. One of them is in French but that's not a problem. After two years of living in Paris, both of them can almost call themselves fluent. She can easily pass as a French girl. The accent has to be perfected but she's almost there.

The other book is in Korean, to make sure she doesn't forget the language. She has to be fluent in it, she has to. They mastered the English language when she had woken up so that's no problem. More than half of the time they speak in English.

“So about what happened earlier...” He tries to get to the point, maybe it's too early but he doesn't think so. Maybe he can avoid having a second glass of water thrown at him this time. His shirt is already hit, no need for it to be completely soaked.

“You're just a anyways. Do whatever you want the next time.”

Okay, so the path is clear. Nice. Amazing.

Sarcasm.

The coffee shop is in the nineteenth district, just on the verge of the Canal Saint Martin. Calm place, people jog at all times of the day, bicycles roll sometimes and the view is pretty nice. Plus, it's near their place. Just a ten minute walk. It's the place they always go to, at any time of the day. At night too. It's one of those rare cafés that is open late at night.

“Baekhyun–“

“The man on your right.”

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