a/n: this is a prequel of sorts on how elliot jensen's parents met and got together. i took this story down a while back but then a lot people said they missed it so i'm just going to post it on here. i dont have the time to finish it but where i left it is a great ending for the story. and anyway, you all know that jensen's parents end up together.

Type: Canon
Pairing(s): Charlie Jensen/Stella Eisenhardt
Word Count: 20k
Summary: In which fate brings Charlie and Stella together.

NOVEMBER, 1980

MANCHESTER, ENGLAND

i.

Stella Eisenhardt is pissed off.

She's fuming with an uncontrollable wave of anger as she slams the door of the taxi shut and marches with a fiery determination towards the pub. Stella ignores the biting wind that whirls around. It stings her face and causes her teeth chatter. It's the last week of November and the city has been blanketed in a thick sheet of pearly white snow for the past two days. Stella's jacket is flimsy and does nothing to keep away the cold, it only encourages it.

The White Rabbit is a new pub that just opened three weeks ago. It used to be an Italian restaurant but it burnt down under mysterious circumstances. It was bought and renovated into a traditional English pub. Stella's only recently heard of it, apparently it's the place to be. All the Manchester University students have been flocking to it on a daily basis. She can hear jaunty Christmas songs playing inside and it only adds to her rage. She pulls down on the strings of her woolly hat and clenches her fists tightly.

She's not exactly dressed for winter but she was in a rush to get the hell out and didn't have time to consider the weather. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, her anger increasing with each passing second.

Blood is going to spill tonight.

Her knee-length boots trudge in the thick layer of snow, leaving deep footprints behind as she reaches the pub. She pushes the double doors open with an annoyed grunt, she would kick them down if it didn't mean she would get fined for it. Warm air and the smell of spices and beer instantly washes over her as she enters the bustling inn that is filled with university students.

Her eyes, bright with fury, scan the busy area for her boyfriend. Within a few seconds she spots him. He's standing by the snooker table near the back, a pint of beer in his hand as he chats to a dark-haired boy.

Stella takes a deep breath to momentarily calm herself and storms forward. The irritating and cheery Christmas music is only managing to her piss her off even more. As if sensing her presence, Nathaniel looks away from the dark-haired boy and glances at her. His features break into a wide grin.

"Stella!" He greets, "Hey babe, what-"

She punches him. Straight in the face. As hard as she can.

ii.

Nathaniel yelps, his hand flies up to cover his nose as he stumbles backward and falls onto the snooker table. He immediately pushes himself up and stares at Stella, his face painted with a mixture of confusion and oncoming anger. He glances down at his hands to see they are stained with blood from his bleeding nose.

"What the fuck Stella!" He shouts.

Her breathing is ragged and her chest is moving rapidly up and down as she seethes. Her eyes narrow. She opens her mouth, "Eleanor Hirsch? Eleanor fucking Hirsch!"

Nathaniel's face falls and his eyes widen. He sputters, "Babe, wh-what are you talking-?"

She punches him again. Harder this time. Hits him right in his left eye. She moves again and roughly elbows him in his stomach. He screams like a fucking girl and barely manages to stop himself from falling. Stella breathes in. She's too pissed off to notice that the entire pub has fallen silent and everyone is gathering around them to watch the scene unfold.

"You've been fucking Eleanor Hirsch for the past three months you absolute piece of horseshit!" She spits, "Not even a week after we started dating and you jump into bed with the first girl that bats her eyelashes at you? I saw you snogging her this morning! You didn't even try to be subtle!"

Nathaniel is too busy nursing his broken nose and quickly darkening eye to answer her. He keeps making pained groaning noises. She's really fighting the urge to knock him over and break his legs.

"It's over!" She snaps, "I'm fucking done with you! I've thrown all the shit you've left in my dorm out into the snow! Good luck finding it, arsehole!"

She turns to leave but at the last moment decides against it. She steps forward to kick him in the balls and make him sterile when she feels a pair of hands grasp her shoulders and pull her back.

"Don't," a male voice says behind her, "He's not worth it."

"Get off me," she hisses.

The person immediately releases her and she turns to her right. He's tall, he must stand close to six foot, she has to lift her chin to look at him. It's the dark-haired boy Nathaniel was chatting to. He's an irritating reminder of her measly height of five foot four. He offers her a warm smile that shows nothing but sympathy and if she wasn't so pissed off and close to heartbreak she would return it.

"Move," she orders in a cold tone.

He steps aside. In fact, everyone that has gathered round immediately parts as she storms out of the pub. She needs a drink. Like fifteen bottles of Vodka or something strong enough to make her forget her arsehole of an ex-boyfriend.

iii.

He watches the girl with the striped woolly hat angrily slam the door shut as she exits the pub. Charlie Jensen glances back over at his friend who leans against the wall, covering his bleeding nose and complaining about how much pain he's in. He steps forward, arms folded across his chest as he grins, "Eleanor Hirsch? Seriously though, Nate, Eleanor Hirsch?"

"Fuck you," Nathaniel responds, "Jesus, someone grab me a tissue!"

One of the waitresses behind the counter disappears into a door and comes back a minute later with a handful of toilet paper. Nathaniel murmurs a thanks and shoves the tissues under his nose. He groans, "I think she broke my nose."

"Eleanor Hirsch," Charlie says and laughs, "Oh my God, you idiot."

Nathaniel glares at him, "Will you shut up?"

"Didn't she drop out last month to work in that chip shop?" He asks, "Eleanor Hirsch! What the hell were you thinking?"

"It wasn't just Eleanor Hirsch!" He suddenly snaps.

And Charlie's eyebrows rise, "It wasn't just Eleanor Hirsch? Jesus, Nate, how many girls?"

"Does it matter?" Nathaniel grumbles, his hand goes up to touch his eye. It's darkening and soon enough it will be black and swollen. Charlie fights the urge to whistle in appreciation. For such a small girl, she sure can throw a punch. Nathaniel frowns, "Shit, wait, did she say something about throwing my stuff out in the snow?"

"Yeah."

"Shit, shit, shit," he curses, "I've left all my...shit, I need to go."

"No, you need to go to the hospital mate," Charlie tells him, "I think she might have blinded you in one eye."

Nathaniel doesn't respond, he just pushes past him as he mumbles about getting his stuff out of the snow before the police or anyone else finds it. Charlie doesn't stop him.

He smiles.

Nathaniel did deserve that beating. The idiot never learns. Maybe a broken nose and blackened eye will make him learn from his mistakes. With Nathaniel gone, the pub returns to its previous state of loud chatter and upbeat Christmas songs.

Charlie sighs. He needs a cigarette. Annoyingly enough this place has a no smoking policy so he has to go outside. He grabs his green coat and easily shrugs it on. As he walks out of the pub and into the snow covered street, he pulls a packet of cigarettes from his inner coat pocket.

He decides to stop a few metres away from the double doors of The White Rabbit. Charlie knows he shouldn't be smoking. For one his mother would kill him if she knew but whatever, he's in university now, he's eighteen for crying out loud, and he'll smoke if he wants to.

Not when his mother is around of course. The air is frosty, the icy wind pricks his skin as he pulls out a cigarette from the packet. He places it between his lips and shoves the packet back in his pocket. Now, he had a lighter somewhere. He begins to pat his coat and a few seconds later he hears the familiar clink of glass against metal. The lighter clinking against his keys.

He immediately pulls it out from his left pocket and he's about to bring the flame up and light his cigarette when he notices someone not far ahead. It takes him a few seconds to realise it is Nathaniel's girlfriend. Correction. Ex-girlfriend. She's sat with her back to him on one of the many circular picnic benches in the extensive front garden of the pub. Curious, Charlie pulls the cig from his mouth and walks forward until he is standing before her.

She doesn't notice his presence, he clears his throat, "Uh, you okay?"

Her head immediately snaps up to look at him and he realises something else. She's been crying. She starts to quickly scrub the tears from her cheeks. She nods, "Yeah, yeah, m'fine. Perfect."

Charlie doesn't have to be an expert in women or even body language from that matter to know that she's lying. He's pretty sure even a blind chimp would know this. The bench hasn't been covered in snow thanks to the large black umbrella that is stuck in the middle of the wooden table. Charlie slumps down onto the seat opposite the girl. He ignores her questioning look and places the cig back in his mouth.

"You want one?" He asks as he takes out the lighter from his pocket. He brings the flame to the tip and lets it burn for a second or two before he shuts it off.

The girl is quiet for several moments as if contemplating the offer before she mutters, "fuck it," and nods. Charlie reaches into his inner coat pocket and pulls out the packet. She takes a cigarette out and his gaze follows as she pops it into her mouth.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers that she has rather pretty lips. Naturally coloured red and in the shape of a cupid's bow. The girl leans towards the lighter he holds in his hand. He flicks it on and a flame comes to life, dancing in the winter wind. She places the tip of her cigarette into the flame and after a few seconds sits back down.

He shuts the lighter and dumps it in his pocket. They stay like that for a while. Sitting in silence, huffing and puffing away at their cigarettes. Charlie glances at her. What was her name again? She has the cigarette clutched between two fingers and is staring resolutely at the pattern in the wooden table. Unruly curls of pale blonde hair are spilling from the woolly hat she wears. And he notices how her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold. She looks up then.

Large hazel eyes meet his.

iv.

The last thing Stella needs right now is a witness to her mental breakdown.

All because of that stupid pig Nathaniel Waters. So, when the dark-haired boy comes over and sits himself on the bench like it's okay, she's five seconds away from telling him to piss off when he offers a cigarette with a warm smile. She doesn't smoke but she sure as hell needs one right now.

As soon as she holds the cigarette between her lips and inhales, she feels the smoke course through her lungs and the anger boiling in her veins simmer down several temperatures. She's tracing patterns in the wooden table as she smokes, ignoring the bitter wind that is quickly making her numb. She looks up, surprised to find the boy is already staring at her.

She was too angry to notice before but, he has brilliant eyes. A bright, startling shade of electric blue. Eyes that are heavily contrasted by a messy head of chocolate brown hair. He smiles and compliments her on beating down Nathaniel.

She scoffs and sucks on her cigarette, "that prick deserves more. He's lucky I didn't cut off his balls."

She has the strong urge to smack a bitch. That bitch being Nathaniel Waters or Eleanor Hirsch. She decides to focus on the anger built up in her chest because if she doesn't, she'll end up breaking down and crying in front of a perfectly handsome boy she's only just met. The handsome boy in mention is currently grinning at her. And she notices how his eyes crinkle as he does so. She looks away.

"I'm guessing your mates with him?" She asks.

"Yeah," he says as he blows out a puff of smoke, "He's my cousin."

"Well, your cousin's a pig."

"I know," he says, "I didn't even know he had a girlfriend."

Stella holds onto that sentence and lets the rage it ignites latch onto her heart. How the hell did she manage to get into a relationship with an arsehole like Nathaniel Waters? What, was she best mates with Adolf Hitler in a past life? Silence rushes in between them and it stays there for a minute until the boy opens his mouth to speak, "So, what's your name?"

She considers lying and giving him some random name but soon decides against it. She holds the cigarette away from her lips as she says, "Stella."

"Stella," he repeats nonsensically, "cute name."

She wants to roll her eyes. She's had a growing dislike for her name ever since she found out she was named after a race car. Red Stella. Fastest car this side of the continent, her dad used to say as he showed her pictures of the sleek (and a little rusty looking) red Ferrari.

Her dad (her real dad not that prick of a stepfather) told her once it was because of that race car he and her mother even met. She doesn't care. You just don't name your kids after bloody race cars. It's not a classy thing to do. Then again, her parents weren't particularly classy people.

"Jensen," he tells her like he's James Bond, "Charles Jensen but everyone calls me Charlie."

There's the smallest quirk of her lips. She says, "I like Charles, very...classy."

He grimaces.

She bets his parents didn't name him after a rusty old race car that only won once and even then it was a fluke. (It's the taking part that counts, her dad always said when she brought up this fact, Red Stella had determination. That's what's important kiddo.)

"Charles," she says rolling the name around in her mouth and savouring its feel, "Hm, Charlie Jensen?"

He nods. Oh. So, he's the one Yasmin has been crushing on for the past three months. She can certainly see the attraction. Nice eyes. Strong jawline. Charming smile. He's definitely gorgeous. And definitely out of her league.

"Why?"

"No reason," she says as she stands up and taking one last drag, she flicks the cigarette onto the ground. She stamps on it with her boot and crushes it into the ground, imagining it's her ex-boyfriend. She glances at the boy - at Charlie, "Well, I, uh, I need to go. Thanks for the cig."

Charlie's mouth widens into a charming smile, "No problem Stella."

And she shouldn't like how he says her name. She really shouldn't. Stella just nods and she can feel him watching her as she walks away. And she's about to turn a corner when she hears his voice again, "Hey Stella?" She pauses and glances back at him. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth. Blows out the smoke and grins at her, "For what it's worth, I think you deserve better."

Stella doesn't know how to respond to that, so she ends up staring blankly at him. Secretly marvelling at the way she can see the piercing blue of his eyes from so far away. Her hands curl into fists. She nods curtly and spinning on her heels, she leaves.

v.

DECEMBER, 1980

A week after the fiasco at The White Rabbit, Yasmin drags Stella to a night club in central Manchester. It's an attempt to cheer her up and make her forget about her cheating ex-boyfriend. Yasmin coaxes her (how, Stella doesn't even know, she's starting to think Yasmin is capable of voodoo magic) into wearing a clingy red dress and towering heels that will break her neck and kill her if she falls.

Stella spots Nathaniel.

She's been at the Godforsaken club for a little over twenty minutes - Yasmin has wandered off somewhere - when she sees Nathaniel by the bar, shamelessly flirting with some redhead. It's barely been a week since they broke up and the prick is already fishing for another girl. So, it's understandable that she should be pissed off at this. Stella instantly downs the shot of vodka she's been handed and slamming it back onto the table, she wipes her mouth as she slides off the stool. She marches to Nathaniel.

He's whispering in the girl's ear when Stella finally reaches him. She practically had to fight her way through that sweaty dance floor. She taps his shoulder. Nathaniel turns around and his eyes widen. Well, one eye widens. His right eye is dark purple and swollen shut. She happily notes the band aid that covers his slightly askew nose and the cut on his lower lip.

She greatly admires her handiwork. Yasmin's right, she should go into boxing. It's brilliant because Nathaniel looks absolutely shit scared to see her. She laughs. She was going to say something to him, like a long rant about how hurt she is, how pissed she is but looking at him. Looking at how badly she beat him. She finds this entire situation hilarious.

She should find it rage-inducing but right now all she can do is laugh and laugh as Nathaniel stares at her with a combination of confusion and fear. She thinks it's all the alcohol she's drank. Stella shakes her head, finding it hard to breathe as she walks away from him. She needs to get drunk. Like pissed out of her mind drunk. She finds Yasmin and throws an arm around her best mate.

"I want to kill him," she tries to shout over the raucous music playing.

"I know baby," Yasmin says, "Just forget the loser, have a drink, there are plenty of guys to choose from."

The night is an honest to God blur. At one point Stella wanders outside and stands underneath a street lamp. She takes deep breaths, trying to stop the buzzing in her head. The world keeps tilting. She glances up at the blackened sky.

It's started to snow.

Christmas is less than two weeks away and her mother asked her to come home. She wants to say no. Christmases are always the same. Arguments and broken plates. Stella wants to say no but she knows she can't leave her mother alone with Frank. Her stepfather tends to get very, very drunk on Christmas and do stupid things.

"Stella."

She looks to her left, expecting it to be Yasmin or one of the new friends she's made today but is surprised to find it's the dark-haired boy from last week.

Jensen, she remembers him saying, Charles Jensen but everyone calls me Charlie.

He's stood a metre from her, wearing that green coat and holding a lit cigarette between his lips. Even in the dim lighting his blue eyes seem to burn brighter. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and blows out the smoke. He walks towards to her.

Fuck sake. She really doesn't want company right now. Stella keeps her face neutral as he stops before her and smiles.

"Aren't you cold?" He asks. Those bright blue eyes lazily travel down the length of her body and Stella feels her stomach knot. She hopes she's not blushing.

"No," she lies.

He gives her a sceptic look before he places the cigarette back in his mouth and begins to shrug his heavy green coat off. If Stella wasn't so drunk, she would protest a little better than the weak, 'no', she sputters. He steps closer to her until there is a small gap between them and drops the coat onto her shoulders. It's heavy and ridiculously big on her but it warms her icy skin like the summer sun.

"Uh, thanks," she mutters as she pulls the coat tightly around her. It smells woodsy and clean and it makes the knot in her stomach tighten. She glances at him. He's now standing in the lightly falling snow, a cigarette in his mouth, dressed in dark jeans and a grey hooded jumper. Through the haze of Stella's drunken mind, the word beautiful surfaces.

He looks beautiful like that. She glances away.

"I didn't think you were into nightclubs," Charlie says, his deep voice ringing in the empty midnight street.

"I'm not," she replies lamely, "just needed to...to blow off some steam." She looks up at him. He's holding the cigarette in his fingers now, occasionally taking long drags and puffing out clouds, "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs, "I need to keep an eye on my cousin."

Stella scowls, "Nathaniel?"

"Yeah," he says, "He made me come, he was afraid you were going to find him and beat him up."

"I was going to."

Charlie laughs. It's soft and low and Stella thinks it's the best thing she's heard all year. "Yeah, well, he's scared of you now. I think most of the guys on campus are after they saw what you did to him."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Scared of me."

"Nah," he says, "It's more...respect, I suppose. I respect you."

Stella barely, just barely fights off the smile that is tugging at her lips. The two are quiet for several seconds, the only sound coming from club's obnoxious pop music to their far right. She bites her lip.

"Yasmin tells me you can speak eight different languages," she says and cringes inwardly at how stupid she sounds.

"You know Yasmin?" He asks.

"She's my best mate."

"Yasmin may be exaggerating there," he says, "If you don't count English, I only speak four. French, German, Spanish and Italian."

She cocks an eyebrow, "Impressive."

He shrugs, "my dad is an interpreter for the UN, so he's pretty strict about learning new languages and widening your horizons."

She thinks that if she'd had another vodka shot she would probably be tipping an imaginary hat right now. She wants to tell him she's fluent in bullshit and not far from mastering the art of sarcasm but realises that would make her look like a complete arsehole in front of a very gorgeous boy.

"You should go home," he tells her, taking another drag of his cigarette, "It's getting cold and you look tired."

"Maybe," she mumbles. She is exhausted and she is not at all looking forward to the hangover that will greet her tomorrow morning. She starts to take his coat off but the boy shakes his head. "What?"

"Leave it," he says, "it looks good on you anyway."

He settles the cigarette between his lips. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and heads back toward the club. Stella stares at his retreating figure with parted lips and a ruby blush on her cheeks.

vi.

Christmas was utter shit. She bloody well knew it was going to be shit, she didn't know what else she was expecting. Frank set the Christmas tree on fire. The prick. Her mother went to buy milk but didn't come back until a day before New Year's Eve. The idiot.

So she was left to handle Frank for almost a week by herself. She called Yasmin every other day and stamped down the jealousy she felt when Yasmin told about the big family dinners she was having and the presents she'd gotten and just how she much loves Christmas. And Stella remembers just how much she hates Christmas. She's suddenly looking forward to going back to university. More than anything, she's looking forward to returning a green coat to a certain blue-eyed boy.

On Christmas Day, there is no big meal like she used to have with her mum and biological dad when she was a kid. Her mum is passed out on the sofa for half the day, her head on Frank's lap as he watches replays of football matches and gulps down bottles of beer. Stella cooks herself some fish and chips, goes into her room and does some work for uni.

She tries her best to ignore her mother and Frank's insufferable laugher which will soon turn into a heated argument, which she will have to intervene and stop. New Year's Eve is no better. They're invited to a party that is attended by a vast majority of people she hates.

To get away from the insufferable idiocy that threatens to kill her, Stella sneaks out onto the back garden. She sits on a children's swing and stares up at the black sky as the fireworks explode.

Midnight.

1981.

She briefly, just for a fleeting moment wonders what Charlie Jensen is doing right now and wishes him a happy new year. .

JANUARY, 1981

MANCHESTER, ENGLAND

vii.

When Stella goes back to Manchester after yet another atrocious Christmas, she finds out she needs to take up an extra-credit class. It's the requirements of the course apparently.

Mandatory.

Most of the classes are full and there's only two left. It's either Analytical Number Theory (What the fuck that even is she doesn't know but she's not surprised there's only four students in the class) or Social Neuroscience. She really doesn't want to do more psychology, she already has three hour lectures on the subject.

She ends up tossing a coin. Heads: Analytical Number Theory and tails: Social Neuroscience. Five tosses and tails wins. Social Neuroscience is scheduled every Thursday at half past two. It's in the eastern wing of the Social Sciences department and is absurdly hard to locate. So, she's almost twenty minutes late to the lesson. Professor Schopenhauer, a tall and gangly woman in her early sixties is stood at the front when she pushes open the door.

"Uh," Stella begins awkwardly, "Is this Social Neuroscience?"

The professor nods, "Yes, come in."

Stella's eyes scan the small classroom for a seat. In an instant she spots the familiar pair of bright blue eyes that are already locked on her. Charlie. A lazy smile forms on his lips. He nods his head to the seat beside him. The class of about fourteen students stare at her as she awkwardly holds onto her folders and walks over to Charlie. She slumps down next to him and dumps her bag on the table.

"You're a bit late for this class," Charlie says in a low voice, leaning a little towards her. She has the urge to pull him closer.

Stella pulls out her pen and notebook. She forgot to bring her psychosociolgy textbook that would be really handy in this class. God knows it has saved her arse numerous times in many of her lectures. "I'll catch up," she says and looks forward to Professor Schopenhauer. Stella guesses this extra-credit class will help with her upcoming exams anyway.

She looked at the module content and there's some pretty interesting stuff. The professor rattles off for ten minutes about Milgram's experiment and its controversy before she tells everyone to get into pairs. About five girls and two other guys attempt to partner up with Charlie but he waves them away with that charming smile and points to Stella.

"I've already got a partner," he says to the sixth person that comes up to him.

Stella's eyes narrow as each person casts her an unsavoury glance and reluctantly slink away. Fuck you, she thinks to each one and she feels a small victory at Charlie choosing her, though she can't pinpoint why. Charlie shuffles his seat closer to her and opens up the Social Psychology textbook he has, "What are we doing?"

"Making up arguments for the neuroscience of human relationships," she answers, taking the book from him and flicking to the required page.

They have the rest of the lesson to work in a pair and write an introductory essay that explores the attachment and social behaviour within relationships. It's relatively straightforward. Stella is surprised to find that they work well together. He gathers the important information on the topic and she can dilute and edit it into persuasive points. Two hours later, the class is over and the professor tells them next week they'll be presenting their arguments to everyone.

"So, what do you have now?" Charlie asks as they walk down the narrow corridor. He shrugs the straps of his rucksack onto his shoulders and shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat. It's not the green one. She still has the green coat, it's in her dorm, hanging in the closet. She's rather embarrassed to admit, she takes it out sometimes and wears it. She like how it feels.

"Nothing," she answers. Her next lecture is tomorrow and that's in the late afternoon but she does have a few essays to finish but they're not due until next week.

It's cold when they exit the building. The sky is plagued with heavy grey clouds that dispense snow onto the streets below. Charlie nods, "Wanna grab some coffee?"

"Coffee?"

He nods again. She somehow starts staring at his mouth, because of the cold it's turned an attractive shade of red that makes his lips highly kissable. Lips that are now parting to hold a cigarette. He easily lights it and takes a long drag before he blows out smoke and stuffs the lighter in his pocket. He meets her gaze, "You want one?"

"No, you're always smoking," she says, "every time I see you."

"It's relaxing."

"It's not healthy."

She can tell he's fighting off a grin, "Are you going to lecture me on the dangers of smoking or are you coming with me to have some coffee?"

Stella frowns. They stare at each other for a few moments as she contemplates his offer. Actually, there's nothing to contemplate. It's cold and she's hungry. According to Yasmin, hunger tends to turn her into a crabby bitch.

"Fine," she says, "Coffee it is then."

* *

He takes her to a café not far from the university campus. They chat idly as they walk side by side, so close their arms brush occasionally. C'est La Vie is a cute little café that sits between a charity shop and a vintage record store. By the time they've reached it, Charlie has finished his cigarette. He lets it drop to the snow covered ground.

Stella follows Charlie as he opens the door, the bell chimes, and it shuts behind them. Inside a familiar seventies song is playing, it's moderately busy with many people dotted precariously around the place. Charlie walks to the back, to a small circular table next to the extensive double arched windows. They slide onto the wooden seats and drop their bags to the floor.

"It's cute," Stella comments, eyes wandering around the café.

"I know, found it on my way to a friend's," he says, "Y'know, this summer I went to America. I stayed in Seattle with my dad's brother and his family. There's a coffee shop not far from where they live. Let me tell you something, they sell the best coffee that side of the Atlantic Ocean."

"What's the place called?"

"Starbucks," he says.

Stella hums, running the name through her mind, "Never heard of it."

"It's new. It's pretty small and real quiet inside but the coffee is delicious. If I had any money, I'd invest in the place. I think it's going to be big in the future." He stands up, "Hey, I'm gonna order, what do you want?"

"Hot chocolate."

He nods, "Be right back."

She watches him turn and walk over to the counter. He places his elbows on it and leans forward, wearing that easy smile. The woman behind the counter is grinning widely at him as she begins to make his drink. He says something, Stella can't quite hear because of the chatter and the Elvis Presley song playing. The waitress laughs and gestures rather provocatively to her uniform.

Stella frowns and looks out of the window. The snow is getting heavier and in a few hours it will be near impossible to drive anywhere. Charlie returns three minutes later with a tray of coffee mugs and donuts. He sits down opposite her with a sigh. He rubs his hands together before picking up his cup.

He takes a sip, "So, judging from your accent you're not from around here right? Somewhere down south?"

She blows the steam off the hot chocolate and wraps her fingers around the mug, relishing the warmth. She clears her throat, "Yeah, uh, London. Enfield to be exact. I fancied a change of scenery and plus I know Manchester is one of the best universities in the country...What about you?"

"Leeds," he grins and Stella is finally able to place a location to that Yorkshire accent of his. "My mum wasn't exactly happy about me moving away."

She swallows her hot chocolate and nods, "What are you studying?"

"Economics and Finance," he replies, "Not as boring as it sounds. I'm actually thinking of doing a Master's degree later on. You?"

She answers, "Mental Health Nursing."

He quirks an eyebrow and she finds it hard not to find it endearing. He says, "Why mental health?"

With the quizzical expression he's giving her she has the sudden urge to tell him everything. Everything about her father, her real biological father who actually cared and loved her not that arsehole Frank Rodgers who's intent on treating her mother like shit.

She keeps her mouth shut.

It's none of his business.

She shrugs and idly says, "I don't know, I just think diseases of the mind are a lot more interesting than those of the body."

"You want to work in a psychiatric hospital then?"

"Yeah," she says, "well, it would be fantastic but I've heard places at mental institutions are a low at the moment, so I might have to work in a general hospital for a bit."

And it goes on like that for God knows how long but she does know she feels comfortable with Charlie. It's easy to talk to him and he's so engaging with his goofy enthusiasm and his charm. Stella eagerly absorbs the information she learns about him. Hoarding whatever morsel she can get and she doesn't why she's so greedy for it.

She learns that she is older than him by a year and three months and that he's had a growing obsession with Led Zeppelin ever since he heard Kashmir when he was twelve. Stella tells him little about her home life, she censors out the fact her stepfather's a drunken arse and her mother's a co-dependent fool who can't seem to see Frank is nothing but a leech. She keeps it PG, doesn't want to scare him off or worse, gain pity from him.

And it's in that café named C'est La Vie, on the snowy January afternoon of 1981 that Stella first feels like she belongs. And for the first time since her father's death, Stella laughs. It's not forced or half-hearted or even sarcastic. It's real and rises from her stomach and bubbles out of her mouth in a successive way that resembles a chime.

And the smile that Charlie gives her as she laughs is bright enough to light Paris and is enough to make her heart stutter in her chest.

viii.

"Here," Stella says three weeks later just before the start of Social Neuroscience.

She hands him the green coat he let her borrow. She tries not to look so reluctant to let it go but it's been almost two months and she'd look rather weird if she kept it for longer. She won't tell him or any other soul about the fact she has occasionally taken it out of her wardrobe and worn it, just because it's his and she loves how it looks on her. Oh and it kind of smells like him. It's ridiculous how addictive the smell of Charlie Jensen is.

Charlie takes the green coat with a smile and a nod, "Thanks."

"Yeah, sorry," she says, "I kind of forgot, only remembered yesterday."

Lies. All lies. She's grown a little too attached to that coat. To how warm it is and how safe it makes her feel.

"Y'know," Charlie says as he pulls the green coat on and Stella tries not to show how much she wants it back, "You actually looked cute in this. You should wear my clothes more often."

And he winks. The fucker winks.

Stella casually places her hands over cheeks to hide the ruby blush that has developed. It's pointless because Charlie's eyes momentarily flicker to her red cheeks and laughing, he turns round in his seat to face the front.

Last week, Professor Schopenhauer sat everyone in alphabetical order. Christ's sake, she's nineteen years old and in her second year of university. She's pretty sure she doesn't need to be put in a seating plan like she's in fucking secondary school. To be honest, she's only angry about the seating arrangement because she no longer has that lovely view of Charlie Jensen's profile. Stella kicks the back of his chair and he laughs again.

A minute later, Professor Schopenhauer rushes into the small seminar room the class is being held, she's holding a stack of paper as she sputters apologies for being late. Nobody cares. A large majority were hoping she weren't in.

It takes the professor a few minutes to get herself together before she introduces the main module of this term. Stella is half-listening, her eyes keep skipping to Charlie who sits in the chair in front of her, just a little to her right. He's leaning forward in his seat, an elbow on the table and his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he stares in boredom at the Professor. Stella forces herself to look away. She vaguely remembers someone telling her there's a Social Neuroscience exam coming up next month.

She needs to focus on her studies, not Charlie Jensen. Who may or may not be the best thing at this university.

ix.

APRIL, 1981

Charlie and Stella have been coming to the café every Thursday after Social Neuroscience. It's become a bit of a tradition that he's gladly grown accustomed to. Honestly, along with cigarettes, the one or two hours in C'est La Vie, spent talking with Stella Eisenhardt are the best things in his life right now.

It's the second Thursday of a rather windy April and the two students are sat in the café. Charlie has a bacon sandwich and Stella has a coffee with donuts. Charlie is munching on his sandwich as he listens to Stella rant about her psychotherapy professor, calling him an idiot and a bigot. He tries not to smile. She's quite adorable when she's angry. (A little hot too but that's not relevant right now).

"Fucker," she says angrily and takes a rather vicious bite from her donut, "I mean, who the fuck does he think he is? That essay was an A not a B! All because I disagreed with his views on the morality of electro convulsive therapy."

Charlie is trying really hard not to smile because Stella's London accent makes everything sound so brilliant.

"That toupee wearing piece of horsehit," she mutters, "He's going to cost me my final grade for that module."

She swears a lot.

"You swear a lot," he says without thinking and abruptly intercepting Stella's rant.

More than any other girl, no scratch that, more any person he knows. It's odd that he finds her excessive cursing so attractive. He thinks it's because she looks so opposite to her personality. She's small, maybe five foot four or five with a mass of unruly curly hair that she always pulls back in a ponytail.

She has quite an elfin appearance, what with her small stature and large hazel brown eyes. He would love to see her dressed as one of Santa's elves. Not for weird kinky reasons, he just thinks it would not only be hilarious but she would look adorable. He doesn't voice any of these thoughts obviously. She would punch him, aim straight for his eyes.

"I'm angry a lot," she answers.

His mother, Matilda Jensen, would have a heart attack if she ever met Stella Eisenhardt. She's an old fashioned woman, a product of her time who believes women should be graceful, that they should prepare their lives to be good mothers to their children and dutiful wives to their husbands.

He has never heard her swear once and she always carries herself with an air of dignity and grace. She may be a strict traditionalist but she's a great mother, she has always doted on him, always picked him up when he fell. Despite Charlie's delinquent antics from primary school and all the way through secondary school, his mother is one of the few who can bring him down to earth.

Still.

He would love to see the look on her face if he ever brought Stella home. Oh it would be priceless. His brothers would love her. Although, he's not so sure about his sister.

"Fuck sake," Stella frowns into her drink, pulling Charlie from his reflective thoughts, "I have a headache now."

"Do you have any siblings?" Charlie asks, surprised he hasn't asked this question in the five months they've known one another.

Stella shakes her head, "No. Only child. And thank fuck for that, I don't think I could deal with another sibling."

"Isn't it a bit...I don't know," he says, "lonely?"

She shrugs, "I'm used to it. What about you? Lots of siblings to annoy you?"

"I've got three younger brothers, Carlisle is nine, Freddy is nearly twelve and Oliver is fourteen," he says and he can feel a smile forming at the thought of them, "And I have an older sister, Augustine, she's twenty-three and just graduated from York University. I think she's going into journalism, wants to be a newsreader at the BBC or something like that. I don't know, I don't really pay attention when she goes on about that stuff."

Stella's eyebrows rise, "Wow, that's a big family. Doesn't that get annoying with so many siblings?"

"Nah, I quite like it actually," he smiles, "I mean it's hectic and the mornings are messy and Christmases are noisy but I wouldn't want it any other way."

Stella nods slowly as she takes a long sip of her coffee before she opens her mouth to speak, "So, say in the future, you want to have a big family?"

"I wouldn't mind." He sees the slight purse of her lips and chuckles, "Big families not for you then?"

"Marriage, families, whatever," she says, "Not into that. I just don't see myself sat around a table with a bunch of noisy kids. And...and anyway, I doubt I would be a good mother."

"Why not?"

"Short temper," she replies, "I have no patience and I think kids need a lot of love and care that I...I...I don't think I can give. Not enough anyway. They would probably end up hating me."

She's staring down at her drink like it suddenly holds the world's most interesting information as she tightly clutches it with both hands. Her hair, wild curls coloured an ash blonde, fall in front of her face and he has the sudden urge to lean forward and tuck it behind her ears. Better yet, a thought briefly flickers in his mind. He wants lift her chin and lean close and -

She looks up, her eyes locking with his. Whatever was plaguing her as disappeared, no signs of any such trouble can be seen on her face. Her features are calm and she stares at him with eyes that tell him she's bored of the conversation.

"Stella -" he tries to say but she interrupts him.

"Four boys huh?" She says with an amused smile, "How does your sister do it? I would have thrown you lot out of the window."

Charlie wants to ask her what that was just then but he knows she would brush it off. She won't tell him anything. Stella Eisenhardt is stubborn that way. He forces a laugh and nods, "My dad has three brothers and all his siblings children are boys. It's a miracle my parents had a girl first time to be honest."

"I feel sorry for your future wife," she says, "Geez, all she'll have are boys."

Charlie finishes off the last bit of his sandwich, "How come you don't want to get married? I'm sure you would be a cute wife."

She barks out a laugh, "And whose wife would I be? I don't think I'm wife material. God, I'm just not marriage material."

"What if the right guy came along?"

Stella gives him a pointed look that implies he has the intelligence of a dead pigeon. "What guy? No one is crazy enough to marry me."

I would be, he thinks.

He squashes that thought as quickly as it appeared and shrugs. He steals a donut from her plate and much to her protest and rather descriptive threats, he shoves it in his mouth. And his heart beat quickens when he sees the brightness of the grin that breaks across her features.

JUNE, 1981

MANCHESTER, ENGLAND

x.

The twenty-fourth of June brings Stella's birthday.

She can't believe she's twenty years old, she doesn't feel it. Birthdays are difficult occasions for Stella because they always remind her of her father.

When she was a kid, he would go out of his way to make sure she had everything she wanted. His death has shattered whatever rosy outlook she had or ever will have on life. She feels no need to celebrate something that brings so much pain.

She has no lectures or seminars or anything university related that day, so her and Yasmin just lay in bed together watching old movies and re-runs of their favourite television shows. Yasmin makes her breakfast in bed and in the evening they go to this new sushi restaurant everyone's been raving about.

Stella has no expectations because she can't see anything appealing about cold rice and raw fish. However, her mind is officially blown when she tastes the sushi and she decides right then and there, sushi is the best damn thing on this planet. Yasmin knows Stella doesn't want a party or anything extravagant, it's just the two of them for the whole day and Stella couldn't ask for anything more.

* * * *

Two days pass and Charlie is not happy to find out he missed Stella's birthday. And she does feel bad about not telling him, so tries her best to reassure him, she forgot and that it really doesn't matter. He doesn't seem convinced, as they stand outside the classroom of Social Neuroscience. He looks a little hurt and Stella wants to reach out and hug him, but he does something to surprise her.

He leans forward and presses his lips mere inches from hers. Her eyes widen. His mouth is warm and soft and her heart stops beating. Something close to electricity is shooting through her spine. He pulls back, his bright eyes flicker to her inflamed cheeks and he laughs. She would hit him, because the bastard takes pleasure in seeing her so flustered like this.

"You're really cute," he smiles.

And he leans forward once more and kisses her forehead and Stella thinks she's five seconds away from having a heart attack.

"Happy birthday, Stella," he says. He opens the door and disappears into the classroom.

Stella is left in the empty with her heart hammering in her chest and the spots where he kissed her burning.

Oh fuck.

For the life of her, Stella honestly cannot remember the rest of that day.

xi.

JULY, 1981

Stella's second year at Manchester University ends six days after her last exam. It is now nine weeks of sunshine, alcohol and late nights. It's the summer of 1981, Stella Eisenhardt is twenty years old and she fully intends of making the most of it.

The thing that makes this summer different, better than all the rest is that she doesn't have to spend it in London with her mother and stepfather. Nope, this year, Stella is spending nine glorious weeks in the United States with Yasmin. Studying Mental Health Nursing means Stella gets work placements in different medical institutions.

This year Stella managed to bag a two month work placement in one of the top mental wards in Florida. Almost every student taking Mental Health or any psychology related degree wanted it but Stella worked her arse off all year (and also kissed some ) and Professor Huxham chose her. What's even better about this whole thing is that Yasmin is coming along.

She has family in Florida and also secured a job, so the two of them are living together in a small apartment by the seaside for the whole summer. The only downside is that Stella won't see Charlie until the new term starts at university. He's stuck in merry old England, spending summer with his family back in Leeds. He calls them every now and then to check how they're coping in America and Stella is embarrassed to admit those have been the highlight of week.

"Don't you just love America?" Yasmin grins two weeks into the summer holidays.

Stella and Yasmin are shopping in Walmart, buying ingredients for tonight's dinner. Every Friday, she and Yasmin agreed to make a homemade dish and it's her turn this week. She's going to make Shepard's pie from a special recipe she devised herself.

"It's hot," Stella answers as she picks up a bag of carrots and examines them. "Great but...really hot. I don't think my pasty English self can take the heat."

"I'll tell you who else is hot," Yasmin grins as she smiles rather flirtatiously at a topless boy to their right. She laughs when he blushes and smiles back, "The boys."

Stella throws the carrots into her trolley and pushes forward to the section of potatoes. They're on sale. Buy two get one free. It's a good deal. Stella grabs two bags and drops them alongside the carrots. She leans forward, walking slowly as she lazily pushes the trolley.

She's thankful this place has air conditioning, she very nearly dropped to her knees and shouted hallelujah when she felt the cool air wash over her. She's already dreading going outside and facing that scorching heat that rivals the Sahara. She'll have to wander around the store for a while until she feels she can take the heat without wanting to jump into a graveyard of ice.

"There's a beach party tonight," Yasmin tells her. Stella can see about three boys circling around them, all eying Yasmin and undoubtedly waiting for the moment to swoop in and introduce themselves. It's pathetic really. "You're coming right?"

Every time they go to the beach, like bees to honey, all the boys flock to Yasmin. Stella thinks that if she had long envious legs, the body of a goddess and manageable hair all the boys would be fighting to carry her everywhere. Sadly enough, Stella is barely five foot four with frizzy blonde hair and can't even walk up a flight of stairs without running out of breath. She blames her parents for not having beautiful genes.

She shakes her head, "Nope, I have a late shift at the ward."

Yasmin actually pouts. "You're missing out on all the fun, all the boys."

Stella has no interest in any of the boys here. The only boy she wants is back in England. It's barely even been a month and she misses his bright eyes. She opens her mouth to tell her she doesn't give a shit when the trolley collides with something. She stumbles back. Yasmin and Stella's head snap forward to identify the cause of collision.

A tall boy with short raven black hair is glaring heavily at Stella. He has dark eyes that even in this lighting look almost black and a light smattering of freckles all over his nose and cheeks.

"Watch where you're going asshat," the boys snaps in an American accent. "You almost killed me!"

Asshat. Stella wants to congratulate him for teaching her a new insult. She glares back at him, "Killed you? Don't tempt me. Why don't you watch where you're going? Are you blind?"

The kid steps away from the trolley and frowns, "Why don't you go suck my-"

"Hey!" Yasmin interjects, "Bloody hell, calm down."

The boy's eyes move away from Stella and land on Yasmin and the hostile frown that tightens his mouth, melts into a smile one of pure charm. He grins, "Why hello sweetheart. You're British huh? What's a beautiful thing like you doing in the States?"

Stella rolls her eyes. Oh fucking hell.

Yasmin laughs and the boy's grin widens. Stella notes that he has surprisingly snow white skin for someone living in Florida.

"I'm Lewis," he says taking her hand and giving it a firm shake, "and, uh, you may be?"

"Yasmin."

His voice drops an octave, "Beautiful name for a beautiful lady."

Stella snorts and the boy momentarily glares at her. Jesus Christ.

Yasmin raises an eyebrow, "Just how old are you?"

"Sixteen and ready to mingle," he answers with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

He's pretty tall for a sixteen-year-old. The kid must be close to six foot. Not to mention he's a cocky little knob.

Yasmin laughs again, "Sorry kiddo but I'm a little too old for you."

No shit. She's turning twenty-one in six months.

"Now if you'll excuse us," Stella says, "We need to go, so you need to move."

Lewis ignores her and continues smiling at Yasmin. He says, "Well, I work at the record store on Fifth Avenue...so if you change your mind and need someone to give you a guide of Miami, you know where I am."

Yasmin nods, "Thanks for the offer, I'll keep it in mind."

Lewis grins once more at Yasmin and shoots Stella a glare. She watches him leave with narrowed eyes and the word prick ringing in her mind.

"Aw," Yasmin coos, "He's cute isn't he?"

Stella grumbles some incoherent curses.

xii.

Much to Stella's dismay, eight days later she runs into Lewis again.

She's at the beach waiting in line to get an ice cream from one of the many refreshment and snack stalls dotted across the scene. She's been queuing for ten minutes, a period of time that feels like ten years. The line is long and the sun is bent on scorching the state of Florida this year.

Stella thinks she's going to burst into flames any second now. She's not sure how long she can stand the heat. She's slathered herself in sun block and is wearing the biggest hat known to mankind. She looks like a complete twat but she doesn't give a shit because it's hot and she's a pasty Brit in the acclaimed Sunshine State.

Stella rises onto the tips of her toes and looks ahead at the front line of the queue. Some old lady is taking her sweet time deciding what to order. She wants to scream. Three whole minutes pass until the old lady orders and leaves. And it's nine minutes later that Stella is standing before the van and more than ready to punch someone.

"Two vanilla ice creams please," she tells the chubby man with literally only two hairs on his shiny head.

The man shakes his head, says, "Sorry sweetheart, we're out."

Stella blinks. Once. Twice. "What?"

"Ice cream."

She blinks again. "Ice cream? You're out...out of ice cream?"

She's praying, really fucking praying to whoever the hell it is that resides on a puffy cloud up there, that she misheard him.

"Yep," he says, crushing her dreams and confirming her worst fear, "Sorry baby doll, it's been busy day. We're all out."

"What?" She spits. No. No. No. She did not wait in line, in the scorching sun, risking skin cancer to find out there is no ice cream.

"Yeah, just come back tomorrow. We'll have plenty then."

Stella feels her control slipping and her frustration transforming into anger. She stares at him with an incredulous expression, "Are you kidding?" Stella asks, "Are you actually fucking with me?"

"No," The man says, "We're out."

Stella snaps. "What the hell kind of ice cream van doesn't have ice cream?"

He glares at her, "Lady if you don't leave, I'll have to alert the cops."

Stella opens her mouth to tell him exactly what she thinks of him and his shitty little ice cream van that runs out of fucking ice cream when she feels a cool hand grip her wrist and yank her away. Her head snaps up to whoever grabbed her and her eyes narrow when she sees the familiar dark gaze staring back at her. Oh god. Lewis.

"I don't know what it's like in England," he says, "but we generally don't harass ice cream workers here."

Stella rips her wrist from his tight grip and continues to glower at him, "Whatever."

She's hot and thirsty and thoroughly pissed off because she's craving ice cream like never before. Stella turns to leave but the boy reaches forward and grabs her wrist again.

"Wait," he says, "I have a small preposition."

And again, she yanks her wrist away and coldly replies, "I'm not interested."

"It involves ice cream," he says, "Lots of ice cream."

Stella's hazel eyes flit over to him, she maintains her grimace as she says, "Really?"

He nods eagerly, "Trust me, I know this great place about five blocks from here that sells the best ice cream."

"Uh-huh...and what do you get out of this."

"Yasmin," he tells her, a slow smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Yasmin?"

"Yeah."

Stella scoffs, "Fucking hell, you're like ten-"

"Sixteen," he interjects, "I'm sixteen and I'm turning seventeen in just three months."

"Oh wow, sixteen," she says, "that's so much better. Yasmin is twenty-years-old and you've barely started puberty."

He looks insulted, "Hey, I-"

"Sorry, mate, but Yasmin isn't into little kids. I'm afraid you've lucked out, Yasmin just...isn't a pedo."

"Look," Lewis says returning to the cold demeanour he greeted her with when they first met only a week ago, "All I want to do is invite her to this party. I think she'll like it. And no, it's not full of high school students. It's all college kids."

"If it's all uni students," she says, "why are you there?"

A rather smug smile forms, "I know people, what can I say, I'm a cool kid."

Stella would love to object and fit in a witty remark as she does so but the boy is probably right. Tall, dark and handsome, he seems like the type to not only be loved by the girls but the entire population of his high school. He's the type of boy Stella would never had had a chance with when she was sixteen.

Stella hums, tapping a finger on her mouth as she contemplates his offer. She soon shrugs, trying to act casual when inside she's rejoicing at the chance to finally have some ice cream. "Fine, you've got yourself a deal kid."

And the pleased grin he gives is almost blinding.

xiii.

"I didn't catch your name," Lewis says as they leave an ice cream parlour about a mile from the beach.

Stella was sceptical about the existence of such a place as the American boy led her there, for a while, due to her inability to handle heat, she thought he was taking her to some seedy brothel. And so, you can imagine how delirious with happiness she was when she entered the shop with air conditioning and fucking ice cream.

Lewis and Stella are walking back to the beach, after almost an hour in that icy heaven.

"That's because I didn't throw it," she says.

Stella holding a large vanilla ice cream that is melting in the sweltering summer heat and she almost cries when she tastes its icy sweetness. If there is a heaven, this is what it must taste like.

He gives her an easy smile that suddenly reminds her of Charlie. "Are you going to tell me your name?"

Stella pretends to ponder this for several moments before she says, "I'm not."

He shrugs, "If you don't, I'll just have to make one up for you."

She throws him a warning glare, "Don't."

"Elliot?" He says, dark eyes scanning her features a little too intently, "You look like an Elliot."

Stella merely raises an eyebrow in response. They've arrived at the section of the beach she was in. Not far ahead, Stella can see Yasmin. She's joined a game of volley ball and Stella is surprised to see that Yasmin's team is winning.

He says, "My father's called Elliot, and so is my grandfather and my great grandfather. I guess it's a tradition."

"So, why aren't you called Elliot?" She finds herself asking without meaning to. It's the heat, she thinks, the heat is her making her want to socialise with this boy.

"My mom isn't a fan of the name," he replies, sucking on the straw of his raspberry slushy, "So, they named me after her uncle or something."

"Stella."

"What?"

She rolls her eyes, "My name, it's Stella."

"Well, Stella," he says, "You should come to the party, you could make another cool American friend."

"Okay so there are three things wrong with that sentence," she says as they continue walking down the shops and houses that face the noisy beach, "one, I'm not going to any party, I don't like parties, mainly because of the people. Two, I have no cool American friend and three, you're not my mate."

Lewis stares at her with dark eyes that remind her of winter nights, he grimaces and looks away, "You're rude."

"I know," she says returning to her ice cream.

"Well, as much as I enjoy talking to you," he says with so much sarcasm Stella almost laughs, "I have to go, my job at the record store starts in ten minutes."

They've momentarily stopped walking and are standing at the end of the street, icy snacks in hand. Stella nods and begins to turn and walk away, heading to the pedestrian crossing that will take her to the beach. Behind her, she hears Lewis shout, "I'll see you at the party! Remember, Saturday at nine p.m.! 634 Alcazar Avenue!"

Stella glances back at him. She scoffs, "I'm not going to your party!"

xiv.

Stella is going to Lewis's party. Not because she wants to but because she has to pick up Yasmin, who must be drunk out of her mind with absolutely no idea what planet she's even on. No but seriously, who the throws a party at this time in the fucking night? It's nearly four o'clock in the morning, why is this thing still going?

Stella's shift at the mental institute ended an hour ago. So, she's still in her blue and white nurse uniform and she feels like a right tit as she marches towards the house that is blasting one of the worst songs she has ever heard.

She would be asleep in bed right now but she can't leave Yasmin alone in a party, completely drunk, with no way home. She doesn't trust anyone not to take advantage of a beautiful girl like Yasmin Graham, especially when she's in a state of mind to say yes to anything.

She looks around the street.

This is definitely 634 Alcazar Avenue.

There are dozens of cars parked on the street, and the front of the house is dotted with students. Stella hops over a few boys that have passed out on the lawn and steps into the corridor of the house. The music is louder, the smell is overwhelming and so many people either dancing embarrassingly bad to the awful music or have fallen asleep on the floor.

It takes Stella no less than five minutes to find Yasmin. The twenty-year-old Jamaican is in the kitchen, being groped by some weird pothead who looks like he belongs in the Brady Bunch. His head is buried in her neck as he presses her against the kitchen counter, one hand is on her bum and the other is quickly making its way up to her boobs.

Yasmin looks panicked, she keeps murmuring for the guy to stop, and trying to push him off but failing each time. Stella scowls. Walking forward, she kicks him in the back of his knee. He buckles, almost falls. She grabs the pothead by the back of his collar and roughly drags him off of her. The boy stumbles back, eyes wide and confused.

"What the fuck?" He hisses.

Stella takes a deep breath, feeling red hot anger rise in her chest. She glares at the pig, "What the fuck do you think you're doing? She said no, she doesn't want you. Now piss off back to your hole, you goblin."

"What the...This is none of your business," he snaps at her, "get the hell out of my way."

"Touch her," Stella warns in a tone dark enough to scare the devil himself, "and it will be the last time you have hands."

Yasmin's eyes keep skipping between two, she edges closer to Stella and links their arms together, seeking comfort.

The boy laughs, "Who do you think you are?"

"I'm the person who will give you a black eye if you come near my best friend again."

Yasmin tugs at her, and says, "Leave it, Stel, I'm tired. I just want to go home."

As much as Stella would love to knock the pothead's teeth out, she needs to get Yasmin the hell away from these stupid people and this stupid party. She glances at her friend and seeing the exhaustion and worry etching her face, she nods. With their arms firmly linked together, the two friends head out. They haven't even reached the front door when the pothead makes the stupid mistake of placing a hand on Yasmin's shoulder.

"Wait, baby," he says, "stay a little, I wanna-"

Stella snaps. Unable to take his shit anymore, she promptly elbows him in the face. And with another move, she lifts her knee and roughly collides it against his crotch.

The pothead gasps as his hands instantly fly to cup his groin. He stumbles and crashes onto the ground.

"I told you," Stella tells him as he writhes on the floor, "Don't touch her and you didn't listen, now you probably won't have any children."

With one last distasteful glance his way, Stella pulls Yasmin along with her as she exits the godforsaken place. Her friend's head drops on her shoulder, "Thank God, you came, I thought he was gonna...gonna..."

Stella pauses her infuriated march away from the house, to turn and pull Yasmin into a tight hug. "It's fine, he's an idiot. Don't worry, I kicked him so hard, I think his dick fell off. It won't be any use now."

Yasmin laughs into her shoulder. "I love you, Stella."

She smiles. If it weren't for the cheesy sound of Physical by Olivia John-Newton coming from the house, the hug the two best friends are sharing would be quite a sweet moment.

"Yasmin!" A familiar voice shouts.

They separate and simultaneously look towards the house. Lewis swiftly jumps over the banister of the front porch and jogs over to them. The kid is topless and wearing some rather tight jeans and converses as he stops before them.

There are so many signatures and random phrases scrawled all over his bare torso and Stella wonders how this kid manages to have a body like that at only sixteen. When she was sixteen, all she did was eat and sleep. Lewis pulls the lit cigarette he's been smoking from his mouth, a cloud of smoke escapes from his lips as he pushes his raven-dark hair back, "Are you going?"

Stella doesn't let Yasmin answer, "Where the hell were you?"

Lewis blinks, black eyes skipping over to her, "What?"

"I told you to look after her," she tells him, "Some pothead was groping her in the kitchen."

"I went to the bathroom for like two seconds," he says, "I've been with her all night...wait, what pothead? Was it Danny Oakley?"

Yasmin nods, "Yeah, he...he was being really creepy."

"Shit," Lewis frowns, "Sorry, I should have warned you about him, are you okay?"

Yasmin loops her arm through Stella's again and says, "Yeah, m'fine. Stel, came just in time."

Lewis takes another drag of his cigarette and Stella frowns at him. She says, "You shouldn't be smoking, I'm pretty sure it's illegal to have a cig at your age."

"I'm seventeen in a few months," comes his lame reply.

"So? You keep smoking and chances are you're gonna get lung cancer."

He shrugs, "You only live once right?"

Stella stares at him. She opens her mouth, "That is the most stupid philosophy I have ever heard, what the hell-"

"Lewis!" Another voice interjects, this time unfamiliar and female, "Lewis Fintry!"

He glances back. An redhaired girl is standing on the porch, her hands on the banister as she leans forward. She wears an annoyed expression and a skirt so short, it would be easy to mistake for a belt. Lewis stares up at her and chuckles rather nervously as he scratches the back of his neck, "Oh hey, Lavender."

The girl, Lavender, flips her never ending ringlets of ruby hair behind her back and stares pointedly at him, "Lewis Fintry, you said you were going to take me home an hour ago."

"I am," he tells her, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his foot, "I just need to talk to these ladies."

Lavender's brown eyes flit to Stella and Yasmin. Her mouth tightens for a few seconds before she sighs and glances back at Lewis, "be quick."

With that she spins on her heels, her hair sweeping in the air as she does so, and walks back into the house. Lewis looks over at them. "I gotta go, Lav isn't the most patient person in the world."

"What...she your girlfriend?" Yasmin asks.

He presses his lips into a fine line. "Mm, it's...complicated."

Stella would ask why the kid is pursuing Yasmin when he is already in a relationship with another girl but she really doesn't give a shit. "Right," she says, "We're going."

Lewis nods and she's rather surprised when she sees him smile at her because this kid rarely smiles and when he does it's either smug or sarcastic. This smile he gives her is neither of those. This smile is genuine. He says, "I'll see you guys later?"

Yasmin glances at Stella, who's too be busy trying to make sense of the smile Lewis is giving them, and nods too, "Yeah, we'll see you later Lewis."

"Uh, yeah," Stella says, finally realising that there is no malice, sarcasm or even a flirtatious tone to the boy's question. He's serious, "Later, we'll see you later kid."

Lewis gives them a mock salute and turning around, he runs back into the noisy house. Stella glances at her friend, "c'mon let's go, my car is over there."

The two friends turn and begin walking through the late night street, arms interlocked, huddled close with exhaustion weighing down their bodies.

xv.

As with everything in life, the summer holidays come to an end and Stella and Yasmin must return to England. To Manchester University. Yasmin is sad, practically distraught that it's their last year at university.

Stella doesn't really care. She's kind of looking forward to it because it means no more exams and stressful essays. There's not much she's going to miss about university. Well, there is one thing and it's a certain blue-eyed boy whose name she's not going to acknowledge.