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fifteen minutes ;
Seven minutes late.
Elsa wasn’t even sure why she was surprised; had it really been too much to hope that not all of Anna’s friend’s shared her unusually strong disregard for punctuality?
Apparently so.
The sky was gray, just the way she liked it, and the rainy Sunday morning had most of the city still asleep in their beds, no doubt. All the better, Elsa thought, because it meant that she could sip her coffee in peace.
After a minute more, Elsa glanced to the watch on her wrist—last year’s birthday gift, from Anna—and barely withheld a sigh. She’d been waiting for quite some time, but she was patient and she was comfortable here, in this quiet nook of the neighborhood where Elsa went when she wanted to be out and about while still finding solitary comfort in the anonymous din of background coffee grinding and indistinct conversation. It’s why she’d chosen it for this endeavor… this unusual favor for Anna.
Tutoring, she’d said.
Elsa tapped her fingers to the table, atop the glory of old, rich-lacquered wood, marked and scratched from extended use. The only other patrons were a few elderly individuals, reading their morning papers (front page news, as usual: “MYSTERIOUS GUARDIANS SAVE CITY FROM BLACKOUT, THIRD ATTEMPT BY NEFARIOUS PITCH IN SINGLE MONTH”), and a few other young professionals like herself, all busy at work. Elsa glanced around curiously, but there was still no sign of a blue hooded sweatshirt, or anyone who appeared to be looking for her. She supposed it wouldn’t truly be such a bad thing if Anna’s friend never arrived… then she could at least tell her sister honestly that she had tried, that she had been ready and waiting, so really, it wasn’t her fault.
(She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t already hoped this very scenario might happen, and perhaps it meant Elsa was doing a poor showing in the realm of older-sisterhood, but she had a feeling she was being handed a gift from Lady Fate, and she wasn’t about to squander it.)
At fifteen minutes past, she’d leave.
(“He’s just having a little trouble with his lit class,” Anna had said, innocent and vague, but Elsa had seen that look in her eyes one too many times to believe it for even a second. “He could really use your help! Jack is like, so busy with stuff, especially for a junior—it sorta reminds me of you, actually, which is funny because I don’t think he’s actually into all that academic stuff, and he’s never really seen around campus all that much—but. Whoops. Yeah— but anyway! I figured you’d be the perfect person to help him, ya know, because in college you were like, President of the Club of People Who Read a Lot, or something—“
“Executive Director,” she reminded her, not bothering to correct her entirely.
“My point exactly! So. Whaddaya say? Just an hour? Maybe even less? Just take a look at his essay and see what points you can offer… please? Pretty please? Because you love me?”)
She’d said yes, of course.
She’d agreed to meet him here, at the coffee shop of her choosing… even after clearly seeing the not-quite-so-subtle task-bullet in the mess of a notebook Anna called a ‘planner’, in which the heavily italicized, bolded, and underlined phrase of blind date trickery for elsa??? was situated directly next to help Jack return to his old self/chill the f*ck out by hooking him up my hot sister, which of course was directly above the parenthesized, bolded, underlined annotation of (NEITHER MUST KNOW).
Fourteen minutes late.
Elsa sipped her coffee and began to ready her things. She gathered her pens and flipped the cover of her notebook closed. Her bag, once packed, made its way into her lap, until she waited half a minute more. At precisely fifteen minutes past 10AM, Elsa shouldered her light jacket, readied her umbrella, and rose to her feet.
She’d ordered her coffee to-go.
As she made her way toward the front door, she caught sight of another newspaper an older gentleman was reading, which read, “PITCH ATTACKS LATE LAST NIGHT, GUARDIANS RISE AGAIN,” and Elsa indiscernibly shook her head. It wasn’t to say that she wasn’t grateful for the protection of a few supernaturally-equipped law-enforcers, but she still found herself both bewildered and amused by populace’s love for superpowered celebrities and the media’s shameless obsession with vigilante superheroes. Honestly. Was it any wonder that the Guardians, or whatever they called themselves, might always be forced to lead double-lives?
Elsa thought she might have known a thing or two about that, once upon a time.
The air outside was cold and wet, and smelled wonderfully of springtime petrichor. Elsa waited just under the awning for a brief moment, allowing the chill to seep through her clothes, and bring her mindfulness to a happy calm. Anna would be disappointed by the missed 'opportunity', of course, and would no doubt try again; Elsa, for her part, would not bother to play along. After loving Anna with all her heart for so many years, and knowing what chaotic, unpredictable adventure danced inside that beautiful head of hers, Elsa had learned to pick her battles long ago. She had no time nor any interest in dating, which worried Anna endlessly, but Elsa knew her sister would come to understand her reasons in time. Until then, she kept Anna’s anxiety underfoot with just the right amount of acquiescence and skillful ambiguity, and a few strategic demonstrations with just enough ambivalence to hold it all together.
Anna’s many strengths may not have laid in the areas of stealth and misdirection… but perhaps some of Elsa’s might.
Feeling blissfully content, Elsa allowed herself a private smile, and opened her umbrella for the walk back home. It would be a long one without taking the subway, but Elsa would cherish the early morning stroll, which was—arguably—a much better use of her time.
Merely half a block down from the coffee shop’s entrance, Elsa caught the rather unusual sight of someone sprinting down the sidewalk at an alarming rate. The fact that a young man was fiddling furiously with an uncooperative umbrella as he dashed down an empty sidewalk in the peaceful lull of a rainy Sunday morning was more than enough to draw Elsa’s attention… and wariness. She stepped to the side long before he was in range and watched in earnest as he hastily discarded the broken umbrella into a nearby trashcan and prepared to barrel past her… or into her, if he didn’t look up very soon.
“Good morning!” she called out, alerting him to her presence, and she flinched when he stumbled. A small twinge of guilt inevitably rose up for having surprised him, and also for probably having disturbed the neighbors.
“Good morning—!“ he called back, cheerful and bright, which Elsa thought was rather strange for someone who appeared to be quite late. He was almost in close enough range to see his face, and when she did, Elsa blinked in alarm at the wide-spreading grin he wore as he raced off in the direction from whence she’d come; discreetly, Elsa pressed herself more deeply into the fence as he flew by. She’d resolved this year to pass less judgment, but Elsa was not sure that accounted for cheeky young men racing down deserted sidewalks without umbrellas in the rain wearing—
“Jack?” she said, before she could think any better of it. Her eyes were locked onto the sight of his blue, hooded sweatshirt.
The stranger in question skidded to a halt, unsurprisingly, then promptly tripped into the fence. Elsa winced.
“Ergh,” he said, which did not sound like a word at all.
“My goodness,” she whispered, eyes wide. Elsa watched as he lifted himself from the ground, wiping at his face with his hand. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was drawn with a strange mixture of exhaustion, embarrassment, and something suspiciously close to resignation. Elsa hesitated.
“Are you alright?”
“Yep,” he groaned, slowly raising himself to his feet, like every joint was stiff and every muscle was sore. “Totally peachy. Sorry about all that,” he laughed, still grinning, though Elsa noticed that there was a hint of self-deprecation to it that she hadn’t picked up before. She watched in curious silence as he braced himself against the metal gate, and lifted his face, “I’m guessing that you’re—“
He froze.
Elsa blinked, taken aback by the purely unabashed gape of his unwavering stare. His mouth was open.
She glanced at it rather pointedly, as if to alert him to this fact.
To make a point.
“Elsa,” he said finally, very quiet in his declaration, with a very suddenly guarded face. His eyes were a shocking shade of blue, and she couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind. Elsa was beginning to feel very winded by the whole ordeal.
She noticed that he was still getting wet in the rain.
After only a brief moment of hesitation, Elsa gently shifted her coffee cup from one hand to the other, cradled her umbrella against the bone of her collar, and extended a hand for his.
“Nice to meet you,” she greeted politely. Someone had to turn this trainwreck around. “I’m Elsa, Anna’s sister.”
“I… yeah,” he trailed off, taking her hand and shaking it once, before letting his hand slip silently away. His skin was chilled from the rain, and his face was a disconcerting combination of disoriented and dejected; what a startling change. “Your, uh. Your sister’s told me all about you.”
“I’m sure.”
Jack blinked, rapidly. “Sorry?”
But Elsa was looking at her watch, pursing her lips. “I’m afraid we’ve already lost a great deal of time,” she murmured, for she’d not forgotten that he’d not yet apologized for his tardiness. So like Anna, she thought. “But if you’re up for it, I still have half an hour to spare.”
Jack’s eyes widened almost comically. “Oh, shit—was I that late?”
Elsa stared at him, astounded.
“Oh, man, I am so sorry—I totally lost track of time, and I didn’t—jesus. Wow, I am—I am really not making the best first impression here.”
She pressed her lips together thoughtfully, and watched the way one hand snaked nervously to the back of his neck. In truth, Elsa would have liked to have said something to reassure him, but as it was—she was rather at a loss for words.
The dark-blue half-moons beneath his eyes were severely pronounced against the early morning gray, and Elsa wondered at what hour he’d woken up, what time he’d gone to sleep. His movements were sluggish and choppy, but that didn’t seem to at all fit the description Anna had so determinedly drilled into her head, which presented Jack as some sort of buoyant, joking life-force that pulled pranks on the least suspecting. In the awkward light of morning, Jack seemed half-dead on his feet.
Interesting.
Would you like to start over? she almost asked, then remembered herself and said, “We can still get you a cup of coffee before the rush, if we hurry.”
“Oh,” said Jack, as if returning to himself, and a tiny quirk of a grin found its way back onto his mouth. “Yeah. I could use a tall one. Or a venti. Uh... I don’t really know the fancy jargon.”
Elsa bit back a smile—then felt herself start, imperceptibly. She was feeling warm, all of a sudden, and inexplicably alarmed.
“Aren't you cold?” Elsa asked distractedly, nodding to the now nearly-drenched fabric of his blue sweatshirt. It hadn’t been raining very hard, but he must have been running for quite some time. The thought sent a strange flutter of butterflies through her stomach, and she quelled them, brusquely.
Jack glanced down, as if realizing his state for the first time; a slight flush spread across his cheeks, and Elsa, for absolutely no good reason at all, felt her own cheeks needlessly begin to warm. Is blushing contagious? It must have been.
“Uh,” he hesitated, pressing his hands to his chest and his stomach, as if to check. Elsa’s eyes lingered on the lengths of his slim fingers. “Not really, no.”
Well. That may have been so, but Elsa had been raised well, and good manners, as it just so happened, were a part of that.
Elsa was reaching out her umbrella to share even as she started speaking. “Walk with me and tell me about this essay of yours,” she invited, though she had the unfortunate (fortunate?) tendency of speaking in commands. Belatedly, and rather pointedly, she added, “Please.”
Jack was looking pretty astounded himself, but Elsa could already feel the novelty of the morning wearing off. It’d been a rather strange encounter, for certain, but now it was time for the heart of the business, with the ultimate goal of humoring Anna’s fruitless request so blindly that she eventually lost the will to match-make ever again.
(Anna, as Elsa knew, would never lose the will to match-make.)
But then Jack slipped underneath the cover of the umbrella with her, and—well, he was awfully close, wasn’t he? Elsa nodded a perfunctory smile with all due grace, willed her heart to stop its awful racket, and politely asked him to hold onto the umbrella while she switched her coffee to her other hand, which would have been fine, except—
“Ah!” Elsa gasped, retracting her hand so quickly from the metal handle of her umbrella that she nearly dropped her cup, and Jack nearly dropped the umbrella.
“Sorry!” Jack exclaimed with a look of sheer mortification, his expression set all in concern with wincing and grimacing and the whole package. “Did I scratch you? Crap, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
“No,” Elsa insisted, heart pounding wildly in her chest, much louder than before.There was a sense of something in her gut, swirling and sudden. Was that—? Did he—? “No, I’m alright… I just wasn’t…”
Expecting his hands to feel like ice.
“I’m fine,” she reassured him, forcing a smile, even while her mind whirled. “Though I think we’d better hurry to the coffee house, before you get pneumonia.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “What?”
Elsa was gripping the warm cup tightly in both hands. She’d covered her fingers over the cardboard sleeve for warmth; she realized not long after, however, that her hands were actually shaking.
“Oh,” said Jack, with dawning realization. “Oh. Yes. Here we go, then. Er. Thanks.”
Her smile was close-lipped and mostly genuine, but curiosity infiltrated the swell of her thoughts like a plague. He held the umbrella for them as they walked in tandem, with Elsa’s hands placed steadfastly to her cup all the while, and the side of his body brushing against her shoulder. He was very, very cold.
He held the door open for her as they entered the coffee shop, then nearly got the umbrella stuck in the frame, but he looked almost delighted by the stray looks of curiosity and bewilderment sent his way over the sodden mess he was inadvertently making on the floor, and Elsa, through it all, was helplessly amused. Bemused. Fascinated?
Curious.
He chatted easily as they stood in line for his cup of coffee, and actually ordered another hot drink for her (“Consider this merely the first step in a long series of apologies for being a total ass. A tardy, total ass. Well. Wait, not total—“), then ambled over to her favorite table with her. Already he’d settled into a misleading explanation of why he was struggling through his literature review—it was clear that he hadn’t done the reading—and all the while, Elsa considered him, deeply and curiously, and wondered.
(A stand of newspapers stood by the counter of the barista, each shelf filled with a different source but all centered around a single story, and in the corner of one front page was a blurry picture, easily misconstrued, with the caption, “NEWCOMER 'JACK FROST' JOINS GUARDIAN BRIGADE.”)
Elsa sat at the small table with her sister’s good friend Jack and helped him sort through his thoughts on a series of stories he’d never read so that he might arrange them into some sort of respectable essay, and tried to push the notion from her mind. She stared at the dark blue hoodie that hung over his chair while he hunched over his draft, and she eyed the stark, unusual paleness of his slender fingers, and while she was at it, she examined the deep blue of his eyes. (She pretended not to notice, when he stared.) After long, she caught sight of the strange twitch to his fingers, the slight hint of blue to his lips, and all the while Elsa—well. She wondered.
Elsa was not one for jumping to conclusions, nor would she ever be. Elsa did, however, have a wide arsenal of impressive strengths and, as it just so happened, perception and intuition were amongst them.
When Jack haltingly asked her, bright eyes and stuttering mouth (and just the barest trace of some suave sort of smoothness, buried within) to meet him again the following week—for a response paper, he said, on eighteenth century British poetry—if it wasn’t too much trouble, of course, and if she wasn’t busy or anything, although that would be totally understandable, if she was—
She said yes.