Isaiah hopped down the steps of the campus building, feeling rather upbeat and better since he was able to see Hazel. He didn't need to bring her lunch, but he wanted to, it was an excuse to see her, hear her voice, and make her laugh.
His motorcycle was parked illegally on the curb, he hanged around for a bit smoking in front of a no-smoking sign. He watched the students walk by, enjoying the peace of the morning for a bit. That's when he spotted a girl he didn't recognize, she was in pain, she was limping, something was wrong with her shoulder. But there was another sort of pain about her, something else that struck familiar. A look in her eyes that Isaiah recognized, because he'd seen it in the mirror. He watched as she stumbled and tripped and spilled her books all over the ground.
Isaiah didn't hesitate, he flicked his cigarettes and went over, dropping down to pick up her books for her. He offered a smile, something told him that she needed company, needed to know she wasn't alone. Isaiah wasn't much, but he'd try.
Beatrice was too busy trying to control her thoughts that she couldn't walk properly. Between suppressing the thoughts of the mustache man, her parents and being kidnapped by a group of bank robbers, her limping leg caught on an uneven bit of sidewalk and stumbled to the ground, aggravating all her wounds- even the emotional ones.
Bea blinked back tears and when she collected herself enough to pick up her papers and books, a white-haired boy with a kind face was helping her.
Was she alright?
No.
Beatrice swallowed and looked at him, "I'm fine. Just...tripped. I just gotta watch where I'm going."
She had tears in her eyes, he was sure he saw them. He felt his chest tighten, God he knew that look, when everything was just so much and this one little thing was about to send you spiraling again. He could it as he looked at her.
"Tripping happens, what matters is getting back up," Isaiah said. That was stupid. He gently piled the books and straightened up, offering a hand to the girl to help her up. "You know. It would okay if you weren't, fine that is, looks like you might be having a rough day... week, I'm Isaiah."
Bea laughed softly, not sure how he managed to draw it out of her. He wasn't wrong. She just had to get back up. Being stabbed didn't mean the world ended. She needed to get a hold of herself. Herself and her three econ textbooks.
But his words hit Beatrice like a brick. It's okay if you weren't.
She took his hand and stood up, grateful for the assistance, "Thats very nice of you to say- and thank you for helping me. I probably shouldn't have been carrying these without a backpack in my state-" Bea squinted horribly for a second, and concealed her grey eyes behind sunglasses. On top of everything it was too bright for her eyes as well.
"I'm Beatrice, nice to meet you. Do you go to school here?" Normally she would have extended a hand, but between her arm in a sling and her things in her other hand, she had none to offer.
"Oh no, I just like trespassing," Isaiah said. That's dumb, you're dumb, it sounds stupid, she probably think you're weird, just apologize and leave.. Isaiah maintained his friendly smile, her laugh was a good sign, meant he said something right. "Beatrice is a pretty name, very old school, but in a nice way, it's nice to meet you too... were you headed to class? Do you like coffee? Tea?"It sound like you're flirting idiot.
"Thank you," Bea repeated. It was so ingrained her- the social niceties required to navigate wealthy social circles. To most if came off as stiff and aloof, and she hope he didn't see it that way, and so added, "I was named after my grandmother, so it probably does sound ancient...most people call me Bea."
She relaxed a bit around Isaiah. He had a friendly, disarming nature, and it eased her stress.
And then he asked her out.
Beatrice, for a single moment, froze like a deer in headlights. Strictly speaking she didn't do relationships. Between the constant reminders to keep her abilities suppressed, and the damage they had already done, she had accepted long ago that anything romantic wasn't...feasible. Not when she could potentially drive them insane.
But she took a breath, realizing it was more platonic. There was nothing...attatched, to this gesture. Bea smiled, "I love coffe."
"There's a cafe not far from here where they sell half decent coffee you could get at the grocery store for half the price, but the ambience is good, it's also a book store so you can feel well-read or something," Isaiah said. You're putting her off dumbass. "Bea is good, I like Bea, I can carry your books if you'd like if you want to walk, or we could take my baby over there." Isaiah pointed to his motorcycle which was parked right in front of a "No Parking' sign. "I have an extra helmet."
Bea looked tentatively at the bike, and back to Isaiah, studying him. The last time she had gotten coffee- Bea focused, shutting down her thoughts. She couldnt risk losing control. What had happened with Mary...she'd worry about it later. But Isaiah...there was a certain steadiness that made her think this coffee date might be a lot safer.
"I've...never ridden on a bike before and..." Bea gestured to her slinged arm, "Walking might be best."
"That's fair! Maybe when you heal up I can take you for a spin," Isaiah said. Still sounds like you're flirting, idiot.
"C'mon it's not far" He took her books from her and began leading her towards the coffee shop. He didn't really know what to do with his spare hand, he felt the strange urge to hold Bea's good one, or maybe walk arm and arm with her. Just to give her some kind of physical anchor to hold onto, to tether her to reality. He knew when he was in the hole that's something that would be so meaningful to him. But he didn't push it, Isaiah didn't want to put her out of her comfort zone. So he just walked as close to her as social convention would allow, and left his hand open and available. She won't take it you idiot, strangers don't hold hands.
"So, what're you studying?" He'd already seen she had economics and business textbooks, so it was obvious. But that wasn't the point, conversation was. Letting her know someone wanted to talk to her, that was the point.
Beatrice walked after him, managing to keep her limp to a minimum. Between Mrs. Walsh attention, and her own medical knowledge, and access to medical supplies, her leg was healing well. Her shoulder on the other hand...might never work the same. She didn't dwell on it, and focused on the conversation.
"I'm a business major, actually." Beatrice didn't mind it, but it wasn't her favorite. However, she at least wanted an MBA so she could manage the company properly, even if she had been training for it since she was thirteen. Even if she insisted on the black makeup and nosering, she looked the part too, wearing an office appropriate sweater and jacket with khakis. "Do you study anything? I havent seen you in any of my classes.
She noticed his loose hand. He was particularly subtle about it. However, Bea didn't want to be presumptous or give him the wrong idea. She compromised, resting her good hand gently around the crook of his elbow, as if letting him steady her.
When she put her hand on his arm Isaiah smiled at her softly, he wanted her to know it was okay and he didn't mind without drawing attention to it. It was good she was able to trust him on some level. Isaiah remembered feeling like absolutely no one around him could be trusted or relied upon just to Be There. No one to hold you hand, no one you could say anything to and not worry about scaring them away. Isaiah didn't even know for sure of Bea was that far into hole, but he was here just in case.
"I studied poetry for a while," Isaiah said. He decided not to mention he dropped out because he had a major depressive episode and legally died. "I liked it well enough, didn't finish though, not really a school guy I guess, I did learn some stuff that helps with my lyrics."
Isaiah could have rambled on about lyrical structure for three hours but he forced himself to keep engaging with her. "Never took anything business related though, do you like it? Is that what you want to do?" There was an unspoken question of what are you really passionate about. Isaiah knew what it was like for no one to show any interest in what you cared about, to feel like it was meaningless. Just someone asking about it could make your day, and Isaiah would be lying if he didn't want to see Bea's eye light up in excitement. It was a look he cherished with everyone he met.
He was smiling. It wasn't like Ms. Walsh, warm and sunny. But...soft and gentle. More like a candle than a star.
"I never really was into poetry," Beatrice admitted. She jumped on his next topic of conversation gratefully as they continued to walk, "You write music now?"
She was taken back by his next question. Did she like business? Bea, honestly, had never given it much thought. Even as a child, it was simply assumed she would take over the company, and while she hadn't any qualms with becoming CEO, Beatrice had never given much thought to her own interests, and what she would like to study- pursue. She thought for a moment.
"I don't mind business, and you learn a lot of useful things running a company," She said. "But...I really like medicine. I've always been more interested in the science and medical side of things than the business part. My parents used to get a lot of medical journals and pharmaceutical research papers that I would read."
Isaiah practically hopped at the chance to talk about his music. He's put a few out on Spotify and even a few cassettes, they didn't get much traction, and he often felt pretty subpar about it but he tried to keep his head up.
"Oh yeah, punk, emo, rock, that sort of thing, put out a few songs, they're alright, I think I'm pretty okay, but I'm not exactly Gerard Way," Isaiah said. He tried to force himself not to shit talk his own work, he knew it put people down. But it was a nasty habit to break.
"Medicine's really interesting, fixing what's broken, I can always admire that, what do you like about it? Any specific field?" Isaiah asked. He avoided asking why she was in school for business and not medicine, that could be a downer topic. He knew what it was like not being able to pursue what you really wanted to do.
"I don't listent to a lot of music, but you should definitely give me the names or links so I can check them out," Beatrice said politely. She could tell it was something he was shy about. It was personal to him.
Beatrice listened, and answered his next question, continuing to follow him down the sidewalk, "I just like the idea of making things how they should be. Fixing things, like you said, I guess."
"Maybe I'll send you a few signed cassettes, they might be worth something one day," Isaiah said, he knew that if he was too obviously insecure about his interest it made people uncomfortable sometimes. Bea was more important than his hatred of his own music. "So did you go into business because it had better jobs or?"
They made it to the cafe, it was a tiny little corner hole in the wall with only a few seats between bookshelves. Isaiah ordered an americano with cream, he patted Bea's hand on his arm. "Get whatever you want, my treat."
There was no good way to explain why she was a business major. Or why she was a CEO at eighteen. Or why she was rich. Or seemed "mature" for her age. The only way to truthfully answer such questions left the questioner flustered, embarrassed and apologzing for poening such a can of worms. Beatrice had heard it hundreds of times before.
I'm so sorry.
I didn't know.
That's terrible. My condolences.
Beatrice sighed. She'd endured it before, and it wouldn't be the last time, "My parents...they owned a pharmaceutical company and they left me controlling interest in their will. They died when I was eleven."
They entered the shop, an ordered coffee. It was a cute place, and she ended up ordering a caramel frappe, which Isaiah offered to pay for. Beatrice waved him off politely. She knew she had more money than him, and refused to let him waste his cash on her, "No, please. Let me pay. It's no trouble."
Isaiah paused and did his best to give no immediate reaction. He remembered when his father died, everyone was so sorry, and here for him, and eh hated the sympathy. Mostly because he'd hated his dad. He didn't know if Bea hated her parents, but he knew how grating it was for everyone to constantly say how sorry they were for something you probably got over years ago.
Isaiah suddenly realized with a slight panic that he didn't actually know what to say. He tried to think of what he'd want to hear, but his mind went blank. Just say anything you idiot.
"Oh so I'm getting coffee with a drug lord," Isaiah joked, that was stupid that was so fucking stupid.. Isaiah hoped beyond hope just to breeze past it. He raised his eyebrows at her when she refused him paying. "You're right, it isn't any trouble, I am buying you coffee" He paid for their coffee's before she could do anything, giving Bea a mischievous grin.
Once they got their coffee's they sat down between some of the bookshelves. Isaiah really did like the vibe in here. Soft lighting, smell of coffee and books. Gently jazz and swing playing over the radio somewhere just loud enough to provide background noise. He let himself loosen up a bit, he'd gone into some sort of protective mode when he'd recognized that Bea needed help. He still wanted to give her company, a place to talk. But that didn't mean he couldn't also enjoy having coffee with a new friend.
"So, smart, educated, rich, and beautiful? Anything else I should know about?" Isaiah smiled, now that had felt flirty. He didn't mean it to, but the compliments were real. He was impressed, girl with a whole business to her name, pursuing schooling to run it, and she was really easy on the eyes. She deserved to know that. Everyone deserved to be complimented. Bea just happened to have a lot to compliment.
Bea couldn't help it. He hadn't mentioned her parents or offered sympathy, but instead had told the funniest joke she had heard in a long time. She burst out laughing, stifling it with her good arm, flushing red. While she got control over herself, Isaiah paid. She didn't argue.
"I'm sorry, I actually never heard that one before...I'm not a drug lord, promise." Beatrice said, following him to the table, her already sore midsection aching. But in a good way. She hadn't laughed in a while.
What was there to know about her? A lot actually, but nothing she could tell him.
"Uh...not much. I moved from New York at the start of the semester- I'm from Brooklyn. Work and school keeps me busy. What about you, Isaiah. You bought the coffee, what should I know about you?"
Her laugh got him laughing, he loved the sound, both hers and his own melding together. Mutual joy. It made Isaiah feel good.
"You sure? Sounds more badass than 'pharmaceutical executive' but I guess it's all about branding," Isaiah said with a grin. The pressure of wanting to help her was easing off, and he was quickly forgetting why he'd even asked her out in the first place. He raised his eyebrows when Bea said she was from Brooklyn. "New York huh? Never been, born and raised Pittsburgh, haven't been much of anywhere else."
What about him though? Isaiah figured dropping he was a meta and a vigilante right now wasn't the best move. Though he had a feeling Bea wouldn't care, she had a easy going accepting air about her that put him at ease. Still though best not to derail the conversation too much.
"Well let's see, I have a motorcycle, but you knew that, I go to the gym a lot, that's not interesting though... hmm, well I'm albino, just in case you were wondering any of this was a fashion choice," Isaiah ran his fingers through his silver hair. "Freaky huh? But what do you do outside of school? Any hobbies?"
"Its not a bady city, and Im pretty NYC has less crime at this point," Beatrice shrugged. She was interested in his albinoism- a fascinating genetic mutation, but didn't press. White hair looked good on him anyway.
She thought again for a moment, buying herself time by taking a sip of coffee. Bea didn't like that there wasnt much she could share. Growing up around adults she wasnt super familiar with the things people her age were into. She didnt drink, had gone to private school and didn't watch movies a lot. Bea worked. She went to class. She focused on getting though each day without an incident.
"Uh...I crochet a lot. It's calming...every once in a while I try painting. I keep up with the news." Beatrice said, wincing as she adjusted herself in her seat. Her leg was still healing too. "I'm not very fun for a college student."
