Coffee, Tea & their respective issues (one shots/fluff)

This is going to be a series of somewhat connected, or sometimes disconnected one shots. I'm a first time writer so please forgive any issues, I'll be very grateful for any and all feedback :D

Also, I'm probably going to come back and re tweak certain chapters, so don't be surprised if things change a bit.

Disclaimer: first chapter is. . . bad, I didn't have any idea what I was doing yet.

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I am standing in the entrance lobby of Bradford Airlines, holding my small red suitcase. The bright lights are glary but I’m glad to be on solid ground again.

The glass walls let in the harsh morning light. 6 hours time difference is quite the mind fuck.

I look around, taking stock, but I can’t see Jack anywhere obvious, so I pull out my phone to ask where the hell he’s hiding.

But just as I pull my phone out, it buzzes with a text:

“Behind you, Win.”

I spin around to search for him. But no searching is actually necessary.

My trainers squeak on the floor as I turn, but the blood rushing in my head keeps me from hearing it.

He is there.

Perhaps ten feet away, he must have been hidden behind the pillar. He is standing just beside a rather elderly lady, dressed in solid pink loungewear and holding a complimentary pink suitcase.The contrast should have made me laugh. Would have, if not for the tremors in my hands.

People are walking past us, but i don’t even notice them.

Jack Is tall. Tall enough that, over the past four years, I have damn near exhausted my supply of ”how’s the air up there?“-style jokes. Still, in this very real morning, he seems so much taller than I expected.

How am I supposed to greet him? Hug? Shake hands? Shaking hands would be weird... but so would hugging.

Since i have been staring for so long and haven’t yet moved an inch, he takes action.

Jack starts walking.

The distance between us shrinks:

Eight feet.Six.Four.

And suddenly he’s right in front of me.

“Hi.” My voice breaks on the barely audible sound, and I try again.

“Hi.” Better, I think

But Jack had never stopped moving closer, and now his arms are around me.my face is buried somewhere in the expanse of his chest and I can’t see his face.

He smells like coffee. I try to relax my body, hoping he won’t feel the tension.

i mutter something to complain about the lack of a “Hi” or any kind of verbal greeting. But against his chest all that comes out is an incoherent mumble. I hear Jack laugh then, the sound is just a vibration from my position.

After another few moments he loosens his hold, and i can pull away far enough to see his face.

“You’re way too fucking short, babe” He breaks the silence.

“Seriously? you don’t say,“hi how are you?” or ” how was your flight?” the first thing you do is make fun of my stature?” I retort, quite indignant.

“It’s not my fault you’re short,” he says.

And I know him again.

I laugh pushing the lock of hair he had displaced back behind my ear.He grins back, and I notice that he too is at a loss for words.

For a moment, we just stand there, In the middle of the lobby, looking at each other.

Then his expression changes.

He bends down, onto one knee.

Is he tying his shoe?

He looks up at me with a slightly mischievous smile while searching in his jean back pocket.

“I promised”

“No, that was a joke, jack,” I stammer.

“You’re not proposing to me!” I insist, quite pointlessly.

After some more hunting in his pocket, he pulls out a folded and rolled piece of paper. Meticulously unrolls it, and starts....reading?

He must have his contacts in, I think absently.

He clears his throat dramatically and, in a practiced, public-speaking sort of voice that seems much too loud, begins:

“Edwina, I’ve known you for four years no---”

I interrupt his words by kneeling down beside him to grab his hands, hoping to pull him back to standing.

He doesn’t budge.

“Get up! You’re such an idiot.”

I keep tugging, to no avail.

“Win, I have two pages, I’ve rehearsed this.”

He taps his pocket for emphasis. I am painfully aware that people around us have paused to watch.

“And you’ll need to put the ring on too, babe.” He adds, reasonably.

“I haven’t said yes!”

“I haven’t asked you yet,” comes his rebuttal.

At last I give up tugging and stay kneeling with him. My hands still on his.

He gives me a questioning look, his expression asking if I dare interrupt the performance again. When I don’t, he continues:

“I’ve come to learn that you’re stubborn, argumentative, Fucking pedantic too. You have these incredibly niche interests and blurt out the most random thoughts,”

“Jack,” I hiss at him.

Just behind his head, I see the old lady in pink smiling at us.

I glare into his brown eyes, feeling hotter and hotter, he might have no sense of shame, but maybe i can transfer some of what I feel through eye contact.

“You always manage to turn a mundane sentence into a 2 hour existential conversation, You can turn anything into an argument --”

“I do not --”

“You did yesterday,” he replies.

I accidentally glance at the lady in pink again.

She probably can’t hear us, but she’s smiling and watching.

And why not?

We’re a perfect “Romantic couple.”

I resolutely stare into Jack’s face again, deciding to pretend he’s the only person looking at me in this moment.

“You, Win, are the closest thing to perfect. Better than anything i could have imagined.”

I scowl at him.

“Could I get the TL; DR, please?” I plead.

Seeing my face’s uncanny resemblance to a tomato, he gives in and starts digging in his pocket again.

After a moment his hand reemerges brandishing a candy ring.

“I love you,” he says quite solemnly.

“Will you do me the honor of shackling yourself to my sorry ass for life, and marry me?”

“No.”

There’s a moment of silence.

The kind people observe when respecting the dead.

In this case, the corpse of our oh-so-romantic future marriage.

Jack’s mouth twitches, he folds the little scrap of paper neatly and tucks it away.

Our audience is breaking up. Quite expediently, not wanting to be too blatantly nosy during such a “heartbreaking” moment.

“Thank God,” Jack says, standing back up and dusting himself off.

“I thought you lost God,” I respond on reflex.

“I have.” He smiles at me.

“I didn’t realize you liked public humiliation, then.”

“I said thank God because my back was starting to hurt in that position.” He clutches at his back demonstrating the degree of pain and waggling his thick eyebrows.

“You’re such a twat,”

“Your twat.”

We smile at each other for a bit in silence, I feel my face turning pink and glance away.

He moves to take my suitcase, and this once, I let him.