A tall, slender man sat in the back corner of the coffee shop. His dark hair fell in his face, and he absent mindedly took a sip of his coffee as he read his book. His head was covered in a black beanie and a dark green scarf. His pants were black jeans and seemed a bit tighter than that of most men, but he didn't seem to notice. His torso was covered in a black lonsleave shirt with a band logo on the front.

"Sir, would you like a refil?"

An annioed waitress asked, all her weight on one hip.

"Oh, yes please."

He said holding his mug out. She filled it for him, and with out letting it cool off or putting sugar in it, he took a large sip. It didn't burn him suprizingly, and the waitress walked away.

Cree is a delicate thing, short and mild with little muscle and little fat. His blue jeans are black too. Or would that just be black jeans? They're a little bit snug but that style seems to be coming back amound the young men anyways, as was the longer hair cuts. Cree's blond hair is buzzed. Hazel eyes are non-descript. His shirt is dark green with black lettering for AC(lightening bolt)DC. Over this he's wearing a thin black jacket and a dark green scarf drapped over his shoulders and wrapped around a thin throat.

It was cool, the tail end of winter that feels like the begining of autumn. It's a 'hot chocolate' day according to his mother. It's a shame she was staying home with his father today. The man wouldn't be too thrilled if Cree showed up wanting hot chocolate, so Coffee shop it is.

The bell jingled when he entered and the steamer whistled while heating the thick milk up and Cree stood off to the side, counting out a few wrinkled bills and turning his eyes across each of the other customer's faces.

He looked amused at the huffy waitress and then frowned when the young man took a drink, wonder if the coffee was as hot as the steam proclaimed or if it truely wasn't scalding.

Vincent. set his book down and looked up. He took another large drink of his coffee, but the steaming liquid didn't seem to warm him up as it used to. Not paying much attention to the fact that he was not so much as warmed by a liquid which should give his throat a 2nd degree burn, he looked around the room with his orange eyes, which seemed to gleam a bit more than usual. As he drummed his fingers on the wooden table next to him 5 black burn marks appeared under his fingers. Vincent still took no notice.

He looked over to another customer, another young man.

"Cold, huh?"

Vincent asked, trying to make conversation.

Cree failed to notice as well. He's gone through twenty-two years of life in complete ignorance to everything that happens around him, not for lack of looking so much as lack of looking at the right time and lack of interest. He smiled.

"It is." He turned around and passed the money across the counter and collecting his large mug of hot chocolate before turning around once more. "But it's warming up."

Cree crossed the distance in what should be called strides opposed to steps and dropped a gloved hand, the fingertips cut out and hemmed to avoid freying, to the back of a chair on the other side of the table. "Slowly but surely. May I?" His voice is light, almost feminine, musical.

"But of course."

Vincent said, motioning his arm in a gesture of welcome. He sipped his steaming coffee and sat back in his chair comfortably, glad to have company for atleast a few minutes.

"Yes. Well, the cold does have it's beauty, even if part of it is frost bite and runny noses. You take the good with the bad."

He said in a sort of mellow way. Vincent seemed rather at peace with himself for someone so young, but didn't seem to take himself too seriously. His face had a small smile at it as he looked in to Cree's eyes. As he saw their hazel colour, Vincent wished that his own eye were a normal colour instead of orange. No when people asked, he just said they were contacts. Whenever he tried to claim they were real people just labeled him as a liar.

You take the good with the bad. Sometimes, you take the bad with the good. The orange eyes for example, may not be likable to one's self but not everyone thinks they're terrible. Cree happens to like the orange eyes, they remind him of autumn. Or fire.

"Bad? That's in the eye of the beholder." Cree loves winter. And Summer, and spring, and autumn. And chocolate and it smells wonderful but he can't drink it yet. Vincent can drink the scalding content of his cup but Cree isn't numb and he's not crazy.

Cree, like Vincent, is far more relaxed then most people his age. He wasn't always but things in life happen to some people that make them realize spilled milk isn't worth getting upset over and if you don't care you have little to get mad about. Cree's one of them.

Vincent nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. He set the mug down on the table, and ruffeled his black hair in thought. His smiled faded for a moment as he noticed the burn marks on the table, but shook his head, forgetting it. Vincent's smile returned as he looked back up at Cree.

He set the mug down on the table top and dropped his eyes to follow Vincent's, noting the marks but, as often the case, shrugging it away and forgetting it. He sat down, putting one heel up on the edge of the seat. He looked small there.

"I'm Cree." Lucretia actually but that's like admiting your name is Shannon or Brandi. It's not like his mother hadn't expected a son, she just liked the name. In reality, so did Cree.

Vincent held a hand out for Cree to shake. It was warm and dry, but luckily not so hot that it would burn Cree's hand.

"I'm Vincent. Vinne, whatever you want to call me really. Nice to meet you, Cree."

He said, a wide smile on his face, his orange eyes gleaming.

"Vincent," Cree leaned forward and took the hand, his own dry and warm as well, warmed by the hot glass of the mug he'd carried. His hands are small and frail but confident, accompanied by a wide smile.

"Nice to meet you too. Vincent," pasue. "If you don't mind." He liked the name, probably because it was classic. Releasing the hand, he sniffed and touched the side of his mug, waiting for it to cool.

"Not at all."

Vincent dropped his hand back to the table, each finger coralating exactly with each burn mark. Of course, he didn't pay any attention to this as he ran his hand through his hair in a slightly girly way, subconciously in attempt to get his longish black hair out of his face.

"Ah, you were the smart one. Hot chocolate is far better at warming someone up than coffee."

Finishing his cup of coffee up, Vincent held up one finger to Cree, to motion that he'd be gone for just one moment, and went to the counter. He came back with a mug of coffee for himself and two muffins, sliding one over to Cree's side of the table. He took a sip, it still not burning him in the least. However, the taste did more to remind him of warmer places and times, and a small smile played on his lips.

"Ah, much better."

Cree smiled. The truth of the matter was that he simply didn't (couldn't) drink coffee. Despite enjoying the smell and taste, coffee wired him and he found himself staying awake all night and resembling a wide-eyed zombie by the next day.

He nodded and slumped down, getting comfortable. When Vincent returned and took an immediate drink from his mug, Cree stared, then lowered his eyes to his own mug. He lifted a thin finger over the lip and dipped the tip of it into the content, whincing just slightly and pulling his finger back out, reaching for a napkin.

Apparently, Vincent had more balls then he did.

"I don't know how you do it." His tone was amused.

As for the muffin, he looked at it while drying his finger, then smiled. He has a pleasant smile that falls somewhere between mommy's boy, teacher's pet, and potential rogue or rebel. Not quite making it in either direction. "Thank you. You really didn't have to." He picked a piece off and put it in his mouth.

Vincent shrugged.

"Well of course I didn't have to. But if people only did things only when they had to, there would never be anything good in the world. Don't think on it, you're the first enjoyable company I've had in a long time."

He took a large bite of his muffin, and closed his eyes as he savored the flavor.

"It's a good thing I'm poor and can't cook, or else I'd be very fat."

Vincnet laughed softly.

"How I do it? I don't know, nothing seems to warm me up these days, a side from a good fire coming from the stove. It's probably just a wierd cold or something."

He said, dismising the fact that steam was rising steadily from the cup he had just drank out of. Cree's smile was infectious, and Vincent soon found himself smiling back.

"This is very true." His mother used to tell him not to be selfish. Then other times, she would tell him to be selfish. Her reasoning: you have to be happy yourself before you can make anyone else happy. "Well, it's always a pleassure to be enjoyable." Then he frowned, grinned, and added, "company that is."

Laughing at Vincent's comment, Cree put his foot down and leaned forward, cupping his hands around the mug and blowing on the content, sending steam in a curving wave towards Vincent. Doing this two more times, with long easy breaths, he picked off another piece of muffin.

"I couldn't survive if I couldn't cook." He just stayed small geneticlly. "My mother would call me a disgrace." He looked just faintly concerned, then nodded. "Probably. The chest colds been getting passed around." He seemed to draw back just slightly (getting sick, after all, is something he can't aford really), lifting his face away from the mug, warmed by the steam and left with a thin residue of the steam on his skin, shinning.

"Are you new in the city?" Why else would Cree be the only good company for a while?

Vincent bit his lip in attempt not to laugh at Cree's first comment.

"No, I've been here a few years."

Vincent said as he took another sip of his hot chocolate. As the steam of Cree's drink blew over him, he sighed with comfort.

"I can't cook anything aside from ramen. It's a good thing I like it."

He leaned back in his chair, his mug in one hand and the other resting on the table. Vincent smiled, looking Cree in the eyes. Already he felt a tinge of attraction to him, even if Vincet had met Cree only 10 minutes ago. Vincent shook his head lightly, laughing at himself. He took another bite of his muffin.

"Have you been here long?"

He asked softly.

"My ramin usually turns into an elaborate italian dinner." He grinned and lifted his cup to his lips, finally cooling through the glass was still uncomfortably warm. The chocolate running down his throat felt hot, the taste on the tongue firmiluar and reminding. Cree closed his eyes and savored it with a smile.

"All my life," he smiled, faintly, almost sadly. A lot of good and bad can happen in twenty-years in one place. He's always wondered if he should get out and do something with his life. Right now, he's a bum. "I've moved around the city some, from one end to the other and back again, but I've never left it for longer then a week and never further away then a few cities over."

Vincent nodded as he listened to Cree.

"I'm from Toronto. Not bad, but I like it here much better. Struggeled for a while, but now I seem to be doing alright."

He finished his muffin, rolled up the napkin, and tossed it into a near by trash can as if he were playing basket ball. Taking another gulp of his hot chocolate, Navene set the empty mug down on the table, his orange eyes looking into Cree's. He blushed slightly for a moment as he smiled.

"I know this is going to sound wierd . . . and I might be a bit of target. But . . . would you like to hang out maybe, sometime?"

Vincent hoped that this guy wasn't A. straight or B. freaked out.

"Toronto." He sounded almost impressed. Almost. It sounded like a hard ass place to live, but he wouldn't know, he's never been there. All he knows is shit happens in this city. Scary shit. Some areas were pretty and pampered but there wasn't a single place in the city where he hasn't heard stories that could give a child nightmares.

He picked another piece off of the muffin and glanced up only in time to see the blushing smile and he smiled. Now he knows what's coming next, because, well, it happens often and once you've seen the look you know it.

Cree is a flamer. There is no mistaking his thoughts of his gender role.

He looked as if he were contemplating this and took another bite of the muffin, chewing and swallowing before smileing and replying.

"I think that could be possible."

Vincent smiled softly. For a moment he had been worried that Cree had thought of him as a creep. Lifting his arm, his smiled vanished as he looked at his watch. He turned back to Cree and reached into his pocket for a pen.

"I hate to cut it short, but I'd got to get going. I'm already going to be late getting back to work."

In sloppy hand writing, Vincent scrawled a phone number down on a napkin and passed it over to Cree's side of the table.

"If you ever want to hang out or what not . . . just call."

Vincent stood up and faced Cree, putting his scarf around his neck and buttoning his jacket. He seemed to be going a bit slow about this, wanting to spend more time here.

Cree smiled still.

"Work? Who does that anymore?" He sounded like he was jokeing but well, who knows. Could playing drum buckets and selling your artwork on the street corner be called work, technically?

He lifted his chin to watch the pen scrawl over the paper, then slid his hand across the table to meet the paper and pull it back and into his lap, then into his pocket.

"I most certianly will." He would exchange numbers but the phoneline was cut off before the power, which was cut six days ago, two before the heat was shut off. The heat used to be priority but with winter coming to an end he's not so worried.

"Soon," he added, watching the slow process of redressing against the chill outside. Cree winked and it looked adorable.

Vincent laughed as Cree made a joke, or what he thought to be a joke, about work. Shrugging, Vincent finished buttening his coat and looked to Cree. As the young man winked, Vincent all but melted inside from how adorable he looked.

"Nice meeting you, Cree. See you again sometime."

Vincnet walked slowly to the door, and upon reaching it stole one last glance over his shoulder at Cree. Smiling, he went out the door and began to walk briskly back to work.

"Like-wise," he replied and slouched back down when the other left the shop, dragging his foot into the seat again and cupping his hands around the warm mug, his mind on the phone number in his pants pocket.