AUGUST, 1981

MIAMI, FLORIDA

xvi.

Approximately three days before Stella and Yasmin have to go back to England, Stella Eisenhardt finds herself standing outside a record store. The beating sun is threatening to burn her to a crisp and she's sweating like a pig.

She glances at Yasmin.

The taller woman manages to look graceful and beautiful in just a pair of shorts and a tank top. Stella has pale, almost porcelain white skin, which means she burns easily. It takes weeks for her to gain a tan and even then it looks pitiful. Yasmin's caramel complexion means she doesn't need the cake on the sunblock like Stella.

Whatever, Stella thinks, she may have bathed in enough sunblock to fill the Atlantic Ocean but at least she gets to wear this cool hat. Oh who is she kidding? The hat is massive and she looks like a dick.

"Why the hell are we here?" Stella asks more gruffly than she means to. The sun is pissing her off. Can't the damn thing stop trying to burn her skin for a day or two?

Yasmin doesn't answer. She merely smiles rather enigmatically, the same smile she gives a boy to weaken his knees. Yasmin walks forward and pushing the door open, she enters the store. Stella sighs. They've been wandering around downtown Miami for almost three hours now and she'd really like a drink. She follows her best friend into the store and she feels her mood lift as soon as the cool air washes over her. Thank God this place has air conditioning.

Inside, it's like any other record store except it smells nicer. Back in England, she's been to a few record stores with Charlie, that kid is obsessed with Led Zeppelin. He keeps trying to find this acclaimed original special edition album. It's the equivalent to the Holy Grail. Every record store she's been to always, always smells of weird spices or sweat. She only ever goes because she likes spending time with Charlie. He has the most infectious smile and Stella finds herself anticipating the sight of it again.

Maybe that's why she's been so moody lately because she wants to be in England already. She wants to see Charlie again. Although these nine weeks in Florida have been amazing, she really misses that blue-eyed boy.

Stella is pulled out of her moody thoughts by a familiar voice calling her name. She spins around and is surprised to see Lewis Fintry standing behind the counter. She momentarily wonders what he's doing here when she remembers that the kid works here. For the past six weeks, all he's been doing is asking her and Yasmin to visit him.

Lewis smiles, it's overconfident and charismatic and Stella briefly thinks about all girls and all the things that smile has gotten him. "So, I see you've finally caved in. I knew you wanted to see me."

"Actually," she says as she folds arms across her stomach and stares blankly at the dark-haired teen, "Yaz wanted to see you, I just want to get something to eat. I'm starving."

Lewis looks at Yasmin who nods and says, "yeah, well, we're going back to the UK in like three days and I thought we should finally see where you're working."

"Wait," he frowns, dark eyes flickering with confusion, "you're leaving? I thought you were here to stay."

"Nah, only here for the summer," Yasmin replies, pouting slightly, "we have to go back to uni."

"Ah college," Lewis says wistfully, "I'm really looking forward to it. The parties, the girls, the parties...the girls."

Yasmin laughs, "that's not all uni is about, do you even know what you're going to study?"

"I know where," he says, "California! Caltech, maybe Astronomy or Philosophy. One of those two, I haven't decided yet."

As the two friends continue to discuss this topic, Stella turns away and glances at the shelf of music records on display before her. The sight of a Rolling Stones poster stuck to the wall reminds her of Charlie Jensen and a thought flits into her mind. She thinks about getting him a record. Not Led Zeppelin, the boy already has enough.

"Lewis," Stella says.

The teen looks up from a magazine he's flicking through with Yasmin. He has crossed the counter and is standing a little too close to Yasmin and she doesn't seem to notice his flirtatious nature. After nine weeks of rejections, the kid still doesn't get that Yasmin is not going to go out with him.

"You got any good Rolling Stones records?" she asks him.

He grins then and he looks like an eight-year-old on Christmas morning. "You like the Rolling Stones?" He says, sounding quite surprised, "I didn't think you were the type."

"The type?" she says, "what type did you think I was?"

He shrugs as he leaves Yasmin to inspect the magazine by herself. He weaves through the aisles of records and heads towards to her. "I don't know," he says, "pegged you as more of an ABBA girl."

She snorts, "ABBA?"

Her stepfather loves ABBA, it's all that prick listens to and thanks to him she has grown to dislike that band.

"Don't be offended, ABBA has some pretty good songs, y'know Penelope, my girlfriend's sister loves them."

"And how old is Penelope?"

"Twelve but-"

"Brilliant," she says and then sighs, "look do you have Rolling Stones or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, one second," he says and walking past her, he pats her shoulder and disappears behind the beaded curtains at the far back of the store. As she waits for him to return, Stella begins to lazily roam the shop, keeping an eye out for anything that strikes her fancy.

Yasmin has hopped up onto the counter, sitting with one crossed over the other as she continues to read the magazine. Stella peers at it. The Rolling Stone. Since when does Yasmin Graham read rock magazines? She's pretty sure Yasmin hates rock. Every time Stella has put on the occasional Led Zeppelin album she borrowed from Charlie, Yasmin has complained and said she just doesn't get it.

Get what? Stella always responds, there's nothing to get.

She blames Charlie if she's being honest. Before him, Stella never had the faintest interest in rock, all she's ever listened to are Jazz and Blues. Her father was a real fan and she grew up on the likes of Thelonious Monk and Nat King Cole. Ever since his death, she's seemed to cling onto those sounds.

She has all of her father's records, she took them all with her when she moved to Manchester University. There are three boxes full, lying underneath her bed, safe and kept away. There was no way she was leaving it her stepfather's grubby hands, who wouldn't know quality music if it punched him in the eye. Stella frowns. She'd like to punch him in the eye. One day she will.

Charlie introduced Stella to a world of rock and roll and even though she's not obsessed with it like he is, she can easily appreciate a good Pink Floyd track. There were days in the spring and summer months, when all she and Charlie did was sit in his dorm and listen to his rock albums as they exchanged Social Neuroscience notes. In return, as soon she's back at uni, Stella plans to introduce Charlie to the brilliance of Jazz and Blues.

"Are you reading a rock magazine?" Stella asks Yasmin. "You don't like rock."

Yasmin looks up at her, "sure I do"

"No," she says with narrowed eyes, "you don't."

Yasmin huffs, "fine, there's this cute guy in one of my classes and he totally loves rock and when he talks about, all I can do is smile and nod along. Stella, he's not like the other boys, he's really sweet and funny and smart. So, if I want even a chance with him, I need to know something about rock."

Stella doesn't get a chance to respond because Lewis returns. He strides towards her with a confidence in his step and the Rolling Stones record she requested. He hands it to her and she begins to turn it around in her hands, examining the cover and the record itself.

"That," Lewis says as he slings an arm around her shoulder and points to the record, "that is vintage. You know what that means, Eisenhardt? That means, not only is that old but also one of the rare editions. It has a bonus track that not many people have heard and lemme tell you, that bonus track is beautiful, nearly gave me a heart attack. Steve was saving it for some special occasion but, well, seeming as you're one of my favourite Brits, I'll give you it for free."

She looks at him, her eyebrow raised, "free?"

"Free," he says giving her that charming smile again, "have that as something as to remember me by."

Stella has to admit. In the six weeks that have passed she has warmed up to him. Behind the arrogant façade is actually a pretty decent boy. Normally she would push him away when he places his arm around her like this but right now, she's doesn't mind so much. Yasmin slides off the counter and places the magazine back on the display rack.

"Lewis," she says, "me and Stella are going to get some food, you wanna join us?"

"Sure," he says, "my shift is over anyway, one second, lemme just-" He remove his arm from around her shoulder and walks through the beaded curtains once more. Yasmin jolts in surprise when the bellowing shout of Lewis's voice echoes in the store, "Hey Steve! Steve! Listen, dude, I've finished! I'll see you later!"

There's a barely audible reply and Lewis curses at the man presumably named Steve before he re-enters the room wearing a jacket and a pair of sunglasses resting atop his messy black hair. Stella doesn't understand how the hell he doesn't burn without sunblock when he has such pale skin and yet she does within five seconds of stepping outside.

"I know a great place we can eat," Lewis says as they exit the cool asylum of the record store and step onto a busy street and into the scorching late summer heat of Miami. "They have the best shit, I'm telling you."

Stella and Yasmin walk either side of him, listening to him talk about the sheer wonder of this Chinese restaurant about six blocks from here. Stella listens to their conversation, occasionally inputting her slightly derisive opinion, but she mostly just walks in silence with a faint smile on her lips as she clutches the Rolling Stones album to her chest.

She thinks, she thinks Charlie is going to freak when she gives it to him.

* *

Lewis accompanies them to the airport on their last day in America. The three friends are standing in the middle of the airport terminal and Yasmin is gushing about how sweet he is and she really does think he's adorable. Lewis disagrees and so do most of the teenage girls in the airport who can't stop staring at him with hearts in their eyes.

"I really am gonna miss you," Yasmin says. Stella is sure Yasmin is going to burst into tears any second now. Over the summer, she's grown attached to the dark-haired teen. Lewis grins and opens his mouth to say something but she pulls him into a hug. Lewis is still grinning when they part.

"You guys are coming back next year right?" Lewis asks, his dark eyes look hopeful.

Yasmin and Stella glance at each other. Stella shrugs, "I don't know, maybe, Miami's a pretty nice place."

Yasmin nods, "we really should, hey, you should come to England sometime."

Stella glances down at her wristwatch and frowns, "we have to go, our plane is here."

Lewis looks lost for a few seconds as he stares at the two women. Yasmin is right, he is adorable. "Uhm..."

Stella thinks about hugging him but she doesn't know she would go about that. And anyway, she doesn't really do hugs. She doesn't really do affection to be honest. She finds hugs kind of awkward and she never knows how long they are supposed to last. So, she thinks about patting his shoulder or shaking his hands. That's much better and doesn't involve an overly amount of touching.

Stella cracks a smile, "well, I guess-"

Her sentence is cut short when he steps forwards and hugs her tightly. She lets out a squeak and she hears Yasmin laugh beside them. Stella smiles and awkwardly pats his back. She won't ever admit it to him or anyone else for that matter, but she's going to miss Lewis Fintry. She counts a good six seconds pass before Lewis let's go and steps back. Yasmin takes both Stella and Lewis by surprise when she cups his face and gives him a quick kiss on the lips.

Lewis looks so damn happy, Stella can't help laughing.

xvii.

SEPTEMBER, 1981

"How was America?" Charlie asks the first Thursday of the new semester.

The two students are walking out of C'est La Vie and slowly heading back to campus. Charlie ignites the tip of the cigarette he holds between his lips and stuffs the lighter back into his inner coat pocket. It's his green coat, the one she has grown unhealthily attached to. She tries not gawk at him because he looks a little bit breathtaking in it.

"Good," she smiles, "but it was really hot, I couldn't go out for ten minutes without getting sunburnt."

It's the third week of September and autumn has not made any appearance yet. The sun is more than happy to and frequently warms the busy streets of Manchester. Today is a typically dark day in which the skies harbour leaden clouds that cast the landscape in a dull grey tone.

"What about you?" Stella asks as they turn a corner to enter a narrow and relatively empty street. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Not because she's cold, but because she has the urge to reach out and hold Charlie's hand.

"Boring," Charlie answers, taking a drag of his cigarette and letting out a steady stream of smoke. "We went to stay with some of my cousins in Sweden for the whole summer. I've never wanted to gouge my eyes so much. Y'know I was almost betrothed? I don't even know how it happened but one second I'm grabbing a drink and suddenly this girl's father is shouting at me about dishonour and restoring it by marrying his daughter."

Stella laughs, "did you try it on with her?"

"No, all I did was smile and act like a bloody gentleman and the next thing I know the bloke's tackling me to the ground and screaming at me," he says and frowns, "I would much rather have been in Florida with you."

Stella waits for him to say, and Yasmin but no such thing comes out of from his mouth and Stella's heart reacts to this in a succession of rapid beats. She stops walking and stares at him with pursed lips. Her brain is working at a million miles a minute as she tries to divulge the meaning of that sentence. Charlie seems to notice she's stopped walking and pauses. He turns and glances back at her with a questioning look. He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and blows the smoke to side.

"What?" he says.

Stella almost, almost asks him what he specifically meant by that but quickly aborts the plan at the last second. She would just end up sounding like an arsehole. It's just another one of things that Charlie Jensen says, it has no real importance or meaning. Stella pulls herself out of her reverie and schools her face into a blank stare. She realised a long time ago that the best way to keep people out is to silently advertise the explosive mines that encompass her life. The point is to hide your heart from those who wish you harm, from invaders and spies. To keep it hidden, locked away in a crevice so dark no one can retrieve it. Not even you.

But.

But ever since she met Charlie Jensen, it's becoming harder and harder to maintain. She shrugs and continues forward, making sure to brush his shoulder as she passes him.

"Nothing," she says.

If she glanced back, she would see the confused expression that paints his features and her heart would probably go into overdrive. She keeps walking, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets. She doesn't look at him when he jogs forward and falls into step beside her. He takes a drag of his cigarette and blows out a puff of smoke. They walk in silence for several moments, the only sounds coming from their feet hitting the cobbled pavement and the rustle of the quiet street around them.

"Did you make any friends?" he finally asks after almost a minute of silence.

Stella thinks about Lewis Fintry, the cocky and devious American teen she hung out with for the whole of summer. She wonders what he's doing right now. He should be back at school and she can imagine he is the most popular of all the students, the focus of so many girls' dreams and the envy of so many boys. She says, "Yeah, one, this American boy...I didn't like him at first but, I guess he grew on me."

Charlie glances at her with those electric blue eyes she's missed so much. He looks like he's about to say something but is interrupted when a potbellied man in a business suit comes crashing between them. Charlie stumbles to the side, almost falling onto the road and Stella curses rather colourfully.

"Are you okay?" she asks him. Charlie nods but he looks forlorn as he stares down at his cigarette, it's fallen onto the pavement and lies pitifully in a small puddle. She glances back at the chubby man who rudely barged past them. He's stopped by the pedestrian crossing. Stella frowns as her eyes zero in on the strange brick-like object he's holding against his ear.

"What the hell is that?" she asks. She notes that he's talking into it and he appears to be quite stressed as he shouts and waves the free hand that isn't holding the odd contraption.

"I've heard of those," Charlie says behind her. She glances at him, his blue eyes fixed on the man's device. "It's, uh, what is it called now? A mobile phone. I think they call it a cellphone over in America."

Stella's frown remains, "a mobile phone?"

"It's this new device," he tells her, excitement lacing his tone, "it's basically a portable phone, no cords, no wires, nothing. You can carry it anywhere and talk to anyone, anywhere at any time. It's brilliant."

"Sounds stupid," she says as the two continue to watch the chubby man and his so-called mobile phone. "I mean look how big it is, who's gonna want to carry something so huge around? And I bet it's expensive."

Charlie shrugs, "It's possible they could make it smaller, just simplify its modelling."

She scrunches her nose, "I'll pass."

"You're such a cynic."

"Realist," Stella corrects him, "I'm a realist."

He smirks, "what's the difference?"

"I have a sense of humour."

xviii.

OCTOBER, 1981

Charlie Jensen likes working at The White Rabbit.

The pay isn't too bad and he gets to choose the days he works. If he's being brutally honest, the only reason he even applied for a bartending job here is because all the employees get fifteen percent off everything and their third drink free.

He's searched (really hard by the way) the entire city of Manchester for a pub that offers the same deal, maybe better than The White Rabbit but much to his dismay none exist. Getting the job was surprisingly easy, he thought he would have to turn on the ol' Jensen charm and bullshit until golden words fell out of his mouth but the owner was desperate and indeed of some staff.

Apparently the bartender before Charlie, some kid called Colin Firth, had a slight mental breakdown. Something about having had enough of Manchester and wanting to pursue a career in acting. Whatever, Charlie doesn't care. He has a part-time job now and his mother can stop nagging at him.

He stands behind the bar, wiping a series of glasses with a cloth as he talks to Nathaniel Waters, his man-whore of a cousin who totally got beat up by Stella Eisenhardt last year. To be fair, he did deserve that beating. The guy cheated on her with Eleanor Hirsch (Eleanor fucking Hirsch of all people) and probably a dozen other girls.

Stella, Charlie thinks as he listens to his cousin rant about the blandness of this Contemporary Religion class he's taking, Stella deserves a thousand times better than Nathaniel Waters.

"Long story short," Nathaniel says as he takes a sip of his beer, "Professor Cyrus doesn't know shit about the Christian Doctrine of Creation, I mean, I could teach that class."

Charlie finds it ironic that Nathaniel is studying Theology when he's one of the most immoral people he's ever met. He says, "why don't you teach it then Nate?"

He scoffs, "fuck that, that's his job. I shouldn't - no - I won't do it for him." Charlie picks up another glass cup and begins wiping its misty interior. "Right," Nathaniel says as he stands up from his stool. He slams his hand on the table, "I'm off to the loo, I'll be right back."

He has had two pints of lager and he'll probably continue until his liver flat out dies. Fortunately, Charlie makes sure to cut him off on his fourth drink because he promised Aunt Louise he would look out for her son. Family first, his father always told him, Jensens stick together. Nathaniel may have a different surname and yeah, he can a bit of a dick but he's still a Jensen.

Charlie turns around and slots the tray of glass cups into the compartment under the shelf of whiskey bottles and liquors. When he turns back around, he's surprised to find Stella Eisenhardt standing on other side of the counter.

Her hazel eyes, warm and flickering with something else he can't quite place, are trained on him. She slides onto a stool and placing her arms on the countertop, she interlocks her fingers together. Her blonde curls are spilling out of that striped woolly hat he's come to a little too much.

He feels a grin stretch across his face, "Stella, what can I get you?"

She just as easily returns his grin, which is an amazing feat because Stella Eisenhardt doesn't do smiles. She tugs at the strings on her woolly hat, pulling it further down and shrugs, "nothing, I'm not staying for long."

She looks adorable today. Charlie just wants to reach out and kiss her face all over. Of course, that would probably earn him a punch in the face. Another thing he's learnt about Stella Eisenhardt is that she likes her personal space.

He frowns, "why?"

She stares at him like he's an idiot, "um, because we have Social Neuroscience in twenty minutes?"

"Shit really?" he says, eyebrows knitting together. He completely forgot, he was kind of hoping he had a day of no lectures or classes. Now he has to sit through two hours of Social Neuroscience with Professor Schopenhauer's grating voice.

"Uh, yeah?" she says, her tone still indicating he's an idiot, "seriously, why did you even take Social Neuroscience? It doesn't relate to Economics."

"There was nothing else," he tells her, "it was either that or Analytical Number Theory."

She snorts, "what the fuck even is that?"

"I don't know but it sounds painful."

"Actually," she says pushing blonde curls from her face, "I'll have a pint of beer. Carlsberg, please."

Charlie nods and gives a mock salute before he picks up a large glass cup from the shelf and turns towards the beer pumps. He fills the cup with the honey-coloured alcohol and lets the foam reach the top because he knows she likes it that way. He swivels round and hands her the drink.

Stella gives him a tight a smile as she picks it up and brings it to her mouth. He watches, impressed and a little surprised as she takes a long gulp and drains the entire glass in less than twenty seconds. Stella sighs and places the glass down. His blue eyes track her thumb as she brushes it across her bottom lip.

"Wow," he laughs. He stares at her, thoroughly awestruck and suddenly wanting to lean across the bar and kiss her. "Are you okay?"

"I just had a two hour lecture on Kohlberg's theory of moral understanding and it's killed me," she groans, "Professor Del Vecchio has the most boring voice I have ever heard."

"Can't be that bad," he says. He's starting to worry that he's become the go-to-guy to complain about classes and lectures. He supposes he doesn't mind it as much when it's Stella, but that's because of her London accent and the fact that she's kind of hot when she's angry. He leans forward on the counter and grins at her, "look on the bright side, you now have two hours of Social Neuroscience with your favourite person ever."

"And who's that?" she asks.

"Joseph Stalin, " he answers with an equal amount of sarcasm, "you better make the most of it because I won't be here next week, you'll be by yourself."

Her hazel eyes instantly snap straight to him, he notes mild alarm swimming in them. She says, "what? Why?"

"October 20th, it's my birthday," he tells her, "I'm going to back to Leeds for it and well, a close family friend is having a baptism and my mum is pretty insistent on me coming to it. I'll only be gone for like four or five days, I have one lecture that week and it's not really important so it's cool."

Stella bobs her head slowly and she smiles at him, "I'll make sure to get you something."

"You don't have-"

"Yeah, I am, so shut up," she says as she slides off her stool. She tugs down the strings of the hat once more, "when does your shift end, 'cause we gotta go to Social Neuroscience."

"Only ten minutes left," he answers.

She nods, "alright, I'm gonna go to the shop right around the corner and get some paracetamol 'cause Professor Del Vecchio gave me a headache...uh, do...do you want anything?"

Charlie grabs a cloth from the compartment underneath the counter and starts to wipe the wooden surface clean. Don't get him wrong, he likes Sharon. His boss is funny and kind but she's a serious clean freak, her approach to hygiene is similar to that in Nazi death camps. He has to make sure the bar is spotless, because he doesn't really fancy getting fired like Eugene Stiksova. He could hear Sharon screaming and eventually him sacking all because he didn't put up the Wet Floor sign.

"Nah," he says as he attempts to wipe off a suspicious looking red substance on the counter, "I don't want anything."

"Alright, when I come back we can go to class," she says.

He gives her a mock salute and smiles when she rolls her eyes. Just as she turns to leave, she comes to an abrupt stop. Nathaniel stands before her and he seems just as frozen. Stella's momentarily surprise dissipates as an icy expression takes over her features. Nathaniel visibly gulps. His eyes have widened a fraction and he stares at her, a little dumbstruck and a whole lot scared. He manages a shaky smile, "uh, hi Stella."

Her mouth purses into a fine line and Charlie can tell she's fighting the urge to punch him in the face. Even though it has been almost a year since she found out about his cousin's infidelity, she hasn't really gotten over it. Stella doesn't strike Charlie as a type to get into serious relationships, her thoughts on marriage and family express that pretty clearly and he guesses for someone like Stella, someone who guards their heart behind barbed wire and cold indifferences, she must have really liked Nathaniel to go into a relationship with him.

"Get out of my way," she commands.

Nathaniel doesn't hesitate because in a mere nanosecond he has stepped aside. Stella throws him one last distasteful glare before she walks past him and out of the pub. Charlie snorts and starts laughing, "aw mate, you're totally shit scared of her aren't you?"

Nathaniel scowls, "I'm sorry, did she beat you up? Jesus, do you have any idea how painful her punches are? I don't think you do. Charlie, she knocked two of my teeth out that day and nearly blinded me in one eye."

"You shouldn't have cheated on her with Eleanor Hirsch then," he says, "I still can't believe that, seriously Nate, Eleanor fucking Hirsch?"

"Shut up, that was a onetime thing and I haven't seen - oh whatever, like you'll even listen...twat." Nathaniel says and then suddenly breaks out in a grin, "y'know, she usually calls me a dirty whore or kicks me. This is progress! I think..." he nods to himself, "yeah, I think she might still like me."

Charlie stops wiping the counter and glances up at his cousin, "What?"

"You think she would consider getting back together?"

It's Charlie's turn to scowl, "Are you an idiot? No - no, she wouldn't."

Nathaniel gives him the most moronic smile known to man, "we'll see."

xix.

"It's fine," she tells herself, "it's fine, just...be cool, be cool."

Taking another deep breath, Stella Eisenhardt curls her hand into a fist and rapidly knocks on the door.

She waits as butterflies flutter and make a mess of her stomach. She bends and quickly checks her reflection in the metal door handle.She spent almost two hours this morning trying to comb her hair and make it look less frizzy. She even tried straightening it but when that attempt failed, she gave up and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail. Stella frowns at the distorted reflection in the handle and as she prods her face, trying to determining why her cheeks look so chubby today, the door swings open.

Stella's eyes widen because she's staring directly at someone's crotch. She looks up and almost squeaks in surprise when she sees its Charlie. It's Charlie's crotch. She feels her cheeks heat up as his electric blue eyes meet hers. He blinks at her, looking confused.

"Stella?" he says, his voice is deep and thick with sleep.

Her response is delayed because she's a little preoccupied with the fact, Charlie Jensen is standing before her completely topless and wearing nothing but a rather tight pair of boxer briefs. She swallows. She wants to reach out and touch his biceps. She really wants to feel the bumps of muscles along his abdomen and maybe sweep her hands across his broad shoulders and -

"Stella," he says her name again, instantly shattering her whatever trance he inadvertently caused.

She bets her face is the colour of a tomato right now. "Oh err, hi."

It's only then that she notices he's smoking, a lit cigarette lies between his lips as he stares at her with a confused expression. His chocolate brown hair is a dishevelled mess, unruly and sticking up at all angles. He pulls the cigarette out from his mouth and blows out a cloud of smoke. He gives her a lazy smile that causes her heart to flutter, "hi."

Stella straightens. She pulls the strap of her bag back onto her shoulder and clears her throat, "hi." She spots the dog tags that hang around his neck. Macaulay Arthur Jensen, along with a series of numbers and letters are stamped into the silver metal. The tags flicker with light from the bright afternoon sun. She points to them, careful not to touch his bare chest. "These are pretty cool, where'd you get them?"

He glances down at the tags and back at her. He says, "they belong to my granddad, he served in the first and second world war. I've always wanted them so before I left for uni, I managed to guilt-trip my dad into giving them to me."

"Lovely," she laughs softly, "uhm, anyway....I came to...to, er, give you your birthday present."

His smile widens, it's only a centimetre away from being a fully blown grin, "Stella, I told you, you didn't have to get me anything."

"Well, if you don't want this Rolling Stones album, then I'm sure Nathaniel will-"

"Whoa, whoa, Rolling Stones?" he looks alarmed, "don't give it to that idiot, he doesn't even like them."

She says, "well if you don't want it --"

"Whoa, where did you get this? I didn't say this," Charlie tells her as he takes another draw of his cigarette. It's then that his smile transforms into a full blown grin and Stella takes a moment to really appreciate his killer jawline. He says, "come on, we can listen to the album together."

Stella blinks in surprise because she didn't expect this. She was just planning to quickly hand him the present, go back to her flat and finish off whatever assignments are due. Spending her afternoon with a topless Charlie Jensen and listening to the Rolling Stones does sound a a lot more appealing than writing an essay on psychiatric assessments.

She returns his grin, "okay."