After Philip's trial, the testimonies, all that court shit, he got let off with a thousand dollar fine and 18 months community service. Usually they would do worse, but apparently Alexander Hamilton has a way with words. Philip's father was pissed, though. He straight up yelled at Philip for an hour after the trial. After Mr. Hamilton left, Philip approached me. I was in semi-casual business clothes - y'know, suit and trousers kind of shit. He smirks. He was still in the outfit that I first met him in, except he recently washed them.
"You still owe me a pizza, coppa'." He says. I cock an eyebrow.
"I said I'd think about it."
"You've had time to think about it." He says. "So what's your answer?"
I thought for a few moments. This guy was a vandal. I hated those people. Yet he was so fucking beautiful, I couldn't say no. God dammit, [name], why is your weakness cute and beautiful things?! I groan.
"Fine." I said. "But only coffee. Meet me at the Starbucks by Times Square."
His eyebrows fury. "There's, like, twenty by Times Square."
I smirk. "Good luck finding me."
~~~~
I was sitting in one of the Starbucks in Times Square, waiting for Philip. I've been waiting for twenty minutes, sipping on my creamed coffee. I check the door every once and a while. I was in uniform, people looking at me in terror, confusion, or just contempt. Finally, Philip enters.
"Oh my god, I've been searching for you for forever." He said. "I've checked every Starbucks twice now."
I cock an eyebrow, checking my watch. "I've been here for twenty minutes."
"I've been out for an hour." He says.
"Not my fault you were early." I said. "Take a load off, Phil."
"Don't call me Phil." He says, turning the chair around and sitting down. "Or else I'll call you honey."
I roll my eyes. "What should I call you?" I ask. "Philip?"
"Pip." He said. "Call me Pip."
"And why should I call you such a childish name?" I ask.
"Because it'd be cute." He says, crossing his arms on the back of the seat. I sigh.
"Look, I'm just looking for a friendship, I don't want anything serious." I say, rubbing my temples.
"I'm gonna get something, I'll be right back." He said. He then winks. "Don't wait up."
He gets up, and I rest my head in my arms on the table in despair. God, this kid won't stop trying. He's probably, like 17. I'm 21, almost 22! He comes back with a black coffee.
"How old are you Philip?" I ask.
"22, I turn 23 in a few months." He said. "Why, 'fraid I was too old for you?~"
I sigh in relief. "I was afraid you were 17."
He cocks an eyebrow, smirking. "Does anyone look this good at such a young age? I don't think so, toots."
"Don't call me toots."
"Sweets."
"Don't call me that, either."
"Boo."
"No."
"Babe?"
"N. O."
"[nickname]." He says in defeat. I hum in satisfaction. Short for [name]. It's nice.
"Yes."
"B- wait what?" He asks.
"I like it, it's nice." I say, sipping my coffee. He smiles.
"I think we've reached an agreement, [nickname]." He says.
"I'll raise a glass to that." I say, raising my cup and taking another sip. He does the same. After about an hour of chat, we started walking back to my house, and the conversation had gotten to his family. He had given me his sweatshirt that he had wrapped around his waist.
"I try to talk to him like a normal son, but nooo he has to be a bitch and work 24/7." He says. "I have 7 siblings. He talks to none of us. Not even mom."
"Woah." I say. "Is work his, like, fetish or something?"
"Yeah, I guess." He says. He scratch the back of his head, one hand in his pocket. "I guess that's why I do this, just to get the slightest bit of attention from him."
I smirk, cocking an eyebrow. "Daddy issues much?"
"Shut up!" He says, rolling his eyes and smiling. "He's been addicted to it since this guy named John Laurens died, its weird."
I freeze for a moment, my hands trembling. He stares at me. "Is something wrong?"
"Did you say..John Laurens?" I ask. He nods slowly. "He was my partner before he died."
Philip stares at me wide eyed, then at the ground. He faintly whisper "woah". I nod.
"How'd he die?" Philip asks. I motion to a park bench by the bus stop.
"It was four years and one month ago, when John and I had an assignment. It was one of my first. John showed me all the ropes. We were supposed to go downtown and breakup a drug deal that was going to happen that one of our snitches told us about." I start. "We go down there, and when we first try to break it up.....John got shot in the ribs by the dealer. I called back up, since all of his guys just came out of no where with al sorts of guns..."
There was a small pause. Philip looked at me in sadness and remorse.
"...and I had use his dead body as a shield until back up came. The entire thing happened almost in slow motion, yet it felt so fast. It wasn't until a year later they would let me go back on the job since they made me go to counseling. I was 18, for god's sake, I wasn't ready for that kind of emotional blow." I say. "To this day, I can still see John's face when he got shot, and his chest when the bullet entered."
"Holy fucking shit, that's heavy." Philip says. (Philip, catch up, people haven't used that phrase since 1985)
I nod solemnly. He smiles, then laughs. I whip my head over to him.
"What is so funny?!" I ask. He laughs a bit more.
"God I still remember your face when you first saw my face, God it was hilarious." He said. "You had that 'oh my god he's hot' look on your face and it was amazing."
I start laughing too. "What the fuck, Philip?!" I say through my laughter.
"You have that look on your face right now!!" He says, pointing at me.
"God, your such an idiot." I say, pushing his shoulder. He chuckles.
"Y'know you love me." I blush.
"Since when?" I ask suspiciously.
"You just love questioning me, don't you." He says, getting really close to my face. My blush is suddenly intense. I don't respond. He stands. "C'mon, let's get you home."
