A / N

The one where things start to pick up ;)

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0 8

k i l i g

[Tagalog]: The butterflies you get in your stomach when interacting with someone you find attractive.

"WALTER, I SWEAR on my life that I will castrate your ass."

The man in question sported a sly smile, his shaggy blonde hair ruffling and shuffling as Jenna wrestled him for the spatula. Walter turned to her and chuckled. "Technically sweetheart, you'd have to castrate my di—"

"I will fucking boil you both into broth if you don't quit this crap."

I shook my head with a laugh, before duly patting Gabby on the shoulder. Being the 'head chef' around here made her stick to the kitchen eighty percent of the time, and it didn't help when she had two twenty somethings bustling around the room, all the while belting out the lovely parts of their anatomy as though it was Rihanna's latest hit single.

At Gabby's pointed threat, Walter stopped short immediately, Jenna following suit. I couldn't help but be amused, seeing as the pair nearly looked like twins. All blonde haired, brown eyed, harebrained twins. Walter stared at Gabby's knife currently jabbed in his direction with a sheepish grin, while Jenna only elbowed him in the side, before stating that the former could shove the stupid spatula down his throat.

Then choke, then die.

And with that, she pressed a kiss to Gabby's cheek before sauntering out of the kitchen to continue her waitressing rounds.

"I honestly figured you'd be used to this by now."

The commander in chief scowled in my general direction, and I removed the net from my head. I took off my apron right afterwards, retiring from helping her with cooking, as I prepped for serving orders.

Gabby sighed. "I'm tired of getting used to zilch." With an exaggerated pout, she gestured to her frame. "I mean, look at me. I can barely do this dig anymore. I'm getting old."

Rolling my eyes, I hurriedly put my hair in a bun. Then for effect, I glanced down at her chest region, eyes darting from left to right. "I think those two beg to differ."

"Get out."

I snickered at her deadpanned face. If I was ice, Gabby was a fully built brick wall. Sometimes it made me wonder where the balance truly lied in our relationship, if it even existed at all.

I was just about to head out, before Jenna's loud voice cut through the background noise of the scene.

"Table eight!" she hollered, and then, her gaze shifted all over as though she was looking for something. When her focus finally found me, she beamed. "Cass, you're up."

I arched a brow, and nearly as soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, Magdalena rushed in with a scowl on her face. Not that it looked out of place.

"I can take the table," she offered with a tight-lipped smile. And like that wasn't suspicious enough, I ended up being quite confused once she added, "After all, my shift just started and you've been on your feet all morning."

Jenna shot her a glare before looking at me again. She had a stern look in her eye, as she repeatedly mouthed no, no, no.

"The table is Cass', Maggie," Jenna cut in. Just then there was a ding from outside, and she smiled, sickly sweet, while she turned to our other companion. "Ah. Order up. You could take ten."

Still regarding Jen with a puzzled brow, I turned to Magdalena with an equally fake smile. About as cheapskate as the concern she was tossing at me all of a sudden.

"Thanks, Magdalena," I said to her. "But I agree with Jen. I can handle my table."

And taking the order from Walter (which I came to find out was a grilled turkey sandwich coupled with dark coffee), I didn't wait to see her reaction as I made my way out. Although Jen did wiggle her brows at me, adding a you're welcome.

She was being far too weird.

Of course, I didn't like not knowing. But I figured I would soon find out what the matter was, anyway.

And I certainly did once I was out in the open.

At table eight, sitting by the window with his nose buried in files, I came to see the dark hair and broad shoulders I had come to call familiar.

Brian.

Even if his table wasn't mine, I just knew my eyes would still have found him first. He was like that, I had come to find out. A human magnet. Demanding attention without even asking for it. Without even wanting it, maybe.

Alright. This was unexpected. Taking in a small breath, I straightened my posture and proceeded to walk in his direction. Hot, familiar stranger or not, I was still a professional, and this was still my job.

Although I did hope my smile was just the right width.

"Turkey sandwich, and a coffee—straight black," I announced. Immediately, his eyes snapped up from the papers in his hands. I waited the little while until they met my face. "Hey."

Brian didn't look surprised, a spark of awareness glinting in his irises. "Hey, Cassidy," he said back with a tiny smile. "How's your hand?"

Alright, I had to admit it. My name rolled off his tongue rather nicely. "What?"

Immediately, he slightly tilted his head in the direction of the said hand. And then I remembered. Oh.

Broken glass. Blood. Shenanigans.

The events from a little over two weeks ago suddenly swirled back into mind. How with my consent, Brian took my hand and tactfully cleaned up my cuts. It was surprising—albeit a little startling—watching him take it upon himself to help me out. Especially when half the time, I didn't exactly expect him to even remember who I was.

Whirlwinds came and went, and I figured that was him for me. Always breezing into my life so abruptly, and then, disappearing even sooner.

"Oh, this. It's nearly perfect now," I told him, clenching and unclenching my fingers for effect. The marks from the cuts were still visible, so at most, I would have a few scars for souvenirs. "I think we had a pretty good nurse."

"May I?"

I blinked for a moment, studying Brian drop the files on the table so he could reach for my hand. He stopped just an inch away; his stare baiting, the rest of him, waiting.

I don't know. Apparently though, my mind was pushed into the farther corner, as I slowly slipped my hand into his large, open palm.

Brian overturned it, gently inspecting each of my fingers and their marks. He took his time, and I was all too aware of the friction. Every slow feel like a progressive music note. Each tone only building up to more want. His thumb traced a feather light path over center of my palm—the precise point which held the largest glass fragment, and now sported the largest scar by measure.

"It's healed nicely," he remarked.

Subtle enough that it wouldn't be considered weird, I pulled my hand away from his, willing my newly sprouted goosebumps away. "Mhmm," I confirmed. "What? Didn't think I could take care of a few little boo-boos?"

I could see the amusement glossing over his features. "I did," he spoke up. "I know you can take care of yourself."

Satisfied, and perhaps a little impressed, I nodded. But shortly afterwards, my eyes moved lower to the arrangement of papers in front of him, right beside the sandwich, and the cup of coffee which was turning more lukewarm by the minute. It looked familiar. It was odd, but the entire scenario simply looked like him.

I frowned.

"Do you ever take a break?"

Brian followed my gaze to the documents, before he looked back up at me. I didn't miss his slight confusion. "I am on a break."

I shook my head. "You've got to be kidding me." Tapping the binder for emphasis, I shot him a pointed look. "When are you not working?"

He paused for a moment, and that was all it took for me to know.

Like a time lapse, my mind was suddenly transported back to that night. The very first time we met. I remembered his suit clad form sprawled over table twelve with numerous papers stuck under him. Shoulders heaving, eyes closed. Tired. I remembered how utterly exhausted he looked, and even the flicker of annoyance shadowing over him once he realized he fell asleep. Once he seemed to realize that he too was indeed, human.

Granted, that situation possessed some differences to this one. The first one being he clearly was wide awake now. Still, in comparison, the fact didn't change that it was all too similar.

"Sometimes," was his safe answer.

"You haven't even eaten."

A slow curve formed on his lips, and he predictably aimed to bite back. "Well, that's technically not my fault, right now."

Unamused, I rolled my eyes. "Touché." Absentmindedly, I continued to leisurely trace the outline of his leather binder, the smooth yet firm material underneath my fingertips peculiarly soothing, I couldn't deny. But still, it wasn't enough to make me forget. "Brian, no kidding. You could easily continue all of this back at your office," I said to him, scanning the table all over again. "Why don't you try not thinking about work for ten, twenty minutes? Try doing something else. Maybe eat the food you're paying for, or I don't know, just breathe for a sec."

Brian's stare didn't waver, and I nearly stopped short when the next words escaped his mouth.

"Why are you doing all of this, Cassidy?"

I bit my lip. It wasn't lost on me that deja vú had clearly gotten a seat at the scene. And so, after a while, I simply shrugged, saying the first thing that came to mind, "I owe you." It was a subtle pin drop, and his face remained blank. "At least, I feel I do."

And it was no lie. Technically, Brian had done something for me, in contrast to his motives when the roles were reversed. Back then, I hadn't done anything for him directly. Still, he thought to presumably repay my good deed. What stopped me from doing it right back?

And since there were obviously no glass pieces in sight, and neither was he bleeding all over the floor, I supposed I would just have to speak his invisible cuts better.

Brian looked at me for a few seconds more, not doing or saying anything. But just when I started to think I might have overstepped, he began gathering the documents, afterwards, neatly tucking them into the leather binder. And all of that, before he finally shoved his pen into its holder.

I did it?

With a small smile, I nodded. "That looks right." Retreating from the table so I could stand straight, I continued, "Now, just eat and relax while I head back in. And don't go back to those," I warned. "I've got eyes everywhere, so I'll know if you do."

With a final glance in Brian's direction, I proceeded to leave. But I was halted in my steps almost immediately after.

"Stay."

I turned around, nearly unsure I heard him correctly. Apparently he took my raised brows as a cue to go on talking.

"I mean, why don't you stay to make sure I don't."

I paid no heed to the infinitesimal flutter in my chest when I saw him looking at me the way he was; almost like a mischievous little boy trying to be coy; almost like a wild teenager donned in playful smirks and charm.

Almost like a lot of things, actually. But the thing about it remained that he wasn't quite.

I placed a hand back on the table and raised a brow. "Are you saying I can't trust you?"

Brian stayed composed, but quick. "Maybe," he responded. And just then, one of his pulled back, dark locks fell out of place and onto his forehead.

I found myself fighting an itch. And not to push it back, but to twirl it around my finger.

"I-I can't. Sorry," I said afterwards, quite abruptly taking my chance to leave. It was tempting to stay. He was tempting to while away time with. But I just couldn't. "I'm still working, and I need to get back in. It isn't my break yet."

With Brian's facial expressions, I had assumed he was good at hiding a lot of things. Especially how he felt, if his barely there smiles, and phantom grins were any indication. I had to read harder with him.

And it was why I didn't miss the slight dim in his unusually brighter eyes. All—any minimal signs of playfulness I could decipher was gone.

"That's fine." He gave me a brief nod. "And I'll keep my word."

Technically, you didn't give it to me. I smiled at him. "I know."

Suddenly, the ding from the large clock traveled across the room, and like a startling jolt to my brain, I knew all too well what it meant. Judging by the look on Brian's face, I suspected he also had a hell of a good idea.

I refused to pin it as a sign, or a green light. A little nudge? Maybe. A distracting whisper? Maybe. I just wasn't sure I wanted to follow. Quite frankly, I already knew I shouldn't.

Still, the decision was clearly all mine, as the man in front of me said absolutely nothing about it either.

I could lie. I could shrug it off.

Heaving a sigh, I was well aware of what I would do regardless. Remember he has a girlfriend. "Would you look at that." Don't make a fool of yourself. Gradually conceding, I crossed my arms, also doing well to ignore the increased thumping in my chest. "I guess it's a milkshake for me, and cold coffee for you."