When Dakota reaches me, she immediately wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me to her. Our embrace lasts a few beats longer than usual and when she pulls away, she leans her head on my arm and keeps it there. She's nearly a foot shorter than me at five foot three. Her hair adds height, the wild mass of curls lets her add three inches onto her driver's license.

The tip of her nose is slightly reddened and her hair is particularly wild today. She's not wearing mittens though, instead she's not wearing much of anything. I'm not complaining.

"What are you doing over on this side of the tracks?" Dakota asks me, her brown eyes resting on mine.

"And what the hell happened to your face?" She adds, pressing her fingers against the side of my forehead. I wince from the contact and she frowns. 

"Is there a knot or something?" I touch over the sensitive spot with my fingers and sure enough, there's a knot.

"A knot and a bruise. Did you get in a street brawl on the way here?" She teases and I miss her.

There's no way in hell I'm telling her what actually happened to my head. Or my knee. Gah, I feel like a creep now that she's in front of me and I think of her every time I make myself come. I briefly wonder if she does the same. 

"Not quite, I fell in the shower. But I like your version better," I laugh, looking down at her. My answer humors her and she bounces on the heels of her tennis shoes. The taut muscles of her thighs are defined, dancing full time agrees with her.

"So what are you doing over here? Do you want to get a coffee or something?" She proposes. 

Her eyes dart across the street and she stares at the couple I saw earlier. Their hands are intertwined as they trot down the streets of Brooklyn. It's a romantic sight, him wrapping his coat around her shoulders, him leaning down to kiss her hair. Dakota looks up at me and I wish I could hear inside of her head. Does she miss me? Does seeing that couple happy and holding hands make her miss me?

She wants to hang out with me now, what does that mean? I have absolutely nothing to do, but I probably should act like I have somewhat of a life outside of school and work. Why do I have to overthink everything? 

"I have some free time now," I shrug my shoulders and she loops her arm through mine and leads the way.

The walk to Starbucks is only a block and Dakota has been next to silent the entire time. Something is off with her, I can tell by her affectionate embraces and her silent tongue. 

"Are you cold?" I ask her. 

I should have asked her earlier. She has to be cold, she's barely dressed.

She looks up at me, her Rudolph nose gives her away. 

"Here," I gently pull away from her and pull my sweatshirt up over my head and hand it to her. 

She cuts me a little when she smells the gray fabric, just like she always used to. She was obsessed with wearing my hoodies when we were in High School, I had to buy one every other week to keep up with her thieving ways.

"You still wear Spicebomb," she says, not asking.

She bought me my first bottle of cologne for our first Christmas together and one every year after.

"Yep. Some things never change." 

I watch as she pulls my sweatshirt over her head. Her curls push through first and I help yank the fabric down over her mass of hair.

She looks down at the design printed on the front. 

"Deathly Hallows," she touches the tip of the triangle with her unpainted nail, "some things really do never change," she whispers. 

I wait for her to smile but it doesn't come.

"Is it because you like the smell, or because you probably still have a stash from me?" Dakota laughs finally, but again, it's off. She's off today.

I hold the door open for her and she walks inside, letting go of my arm. 

"You grab a table and I'll get the coffee." I offer.

This is what we always did back in Saginaw, she would pick a table by the window and I would order our matching drinks. Two mocha frappucinos, an extra pump of liquid sugar for her, an extra shot of coffee for me. I always ordered two pieces of lemon pound cake and she always ate the sweet icing from the edges of mine.

My tastes have changed over the years and I can't bring myself to drink the sugary milkshake disguised as coffee anymore. I order her frappucino and grab myself an Americano. Two lemon pound cakes. While I'm waiting for my name to be called, I look over at the table where Dakota is sitting. She's staring off into space with her hands tucked under her chin.

"A mocha frap and an Americano for London!" The cute barista yells out. She's perky as she sits the drinks on the counter, like all of the employees that work for the mermaid chain.

Dakota perks up slightly when I reach the table. I hand the large plastic cup to her and she examines mine. 

"What's that?" She asks.

I sit down across from her and she brings my cup to her lips.

"You'll hate that-" I try to warn her.

It's too late, her eyes are already closed and her face is already crumpling. She doesn't spit it out, but she wants to. Her cheeks are full of the espresso and water mixture and she looks like an adorable little squirrel as she struggles to swallow.

"Ew! How can you drink that?" I slide her cup closer to her for a chaser. "It tastes like straight tar, ew." She's always been a tad dramatic.

"I like it," I shrug, sipping the hot coffee.

"Since when do you drink fancy coffee?" Dakota scrunches her nose in disgust again.

"It's not fancy," I chuckle. "It's only espresso and water." I defend my drink.

She snorts, "sounds fancy to me." 

There's something behind her words, I don't know what exactly, but it's like she's mad at me for some thing that I'm not aware that I did. It's like we are still dating.

"I got you some lemon cake too. Two pieces," I slide the brown paper bag across the table to her. 

She shakes her head and pushes her hands out, pushing the bag back to my side of the table.

"I can't eat stuff like anymore," she scrunches her nose and I remember her complaining about the change in her eating habits for her academy. She has to keep a strict diet and lemon pound cake doesn't fit anywhere into that.

"Sorry," I wince, and fold the edges of the bags to close them. I'll take it home and eat it later, when she's not around to witness my gluttony.

"How have you been?" I ask her after a long stretch of silence.

It's like neither of us know how to act when we aren't dating. We were friends for years before we dated, when I came around to hang out with her brother. A chill runs down my spine and I wait for her to answer.

"I'm okay," she sighs, her eyes close for a moment and I know she's lying.

I reach across the table and rest my hand next to hers. It wouldn't be appropriate to touch her, but I want to, so badly.

"You can tell me, you know. I'm your safe place remember?" I remind her of her claim on me. 

The first time I found her crying on her front steps, with blood in her hair, I promised that I would always keep her safe. Neither time or a breakup would change that.

That's not what she wanted to hear. Her eyes silently scream at me.

"Don't," she pushes my hand away. 

"I don't need a safe place Landon, I need.. well, I don't even know what I need because my life is fucking failing and I don't know how to fix it." 

Her eyes are dark now, waiting for my response. Her life is failing? What does that even mean?

"How so? Is it school?"

"It's everything, literally every damn thing in my life."

I'm not following. That's probably because she hasn't given me any information to allow me to help her.

When I was about fifteen, I realized that I would do anything to make sure she's okay. I'm the fixer, I'm the one who fixes everything for everyone, especially the curly haired neighbor girl with an asshole for a father and a brother who could barely speak in his home without getting a bruise along with it. Here we are, five years later, out of that slow town, away from that man, and like she said, some things really never change.

"Tell me something that I can go on." My hand covers hers and she pulls away, just like I knew she would. I let her. I always have.

"I didn't get the part that I have been training and training for the last two months. I thought this role was mine. I even let my GPA drop because I spent so much time rehearsing for my audition," she finally lets out a breath at the end and she closes her eyes again.

"What happened with the audition? Why didn't you get it?" I need more pieces of the puzzle before I can form a solution.

"Because I'm not white."

Her answers presses against the small bubble of anger that only holds things that I can't manage to fix. I can't fix ignorance, as much as I would love to.

"They said that?" I keep my voice down, even though I don't want to. They couldn't have possibly actually said that to a student?

She shakes her head, huffing out a held in breath. 

"No, they didn't have to. Every single lead they choose is white, I'm so tired of it."

I lean my back against the wooden chair and take another drink of my coffee. It's somehow hotter than the first time, or maybe it's just that my entire body is on edge. 

"Did you speak to someone?" 

We've had this talk before, a few times. Being biracial in the Midwest middle didn't offend our neighborhood, or hardly anyone at our school. But, there were a few times when someone would ask her or I why we were together.

"Why do you only date white guys?" Her friends would ask her.

"Why don't you date a white girl?" Trashy girls with white eyeliner and gel pens shoved into their mock designer bag from Kmart, would ask. Nothing against Kmart, I always liked that store before it closed down. Except the sticky floors, they were the worst.

Dakota slurps on the end of her straw for a few seconds. When she pulls away, she has a dot of whipped cream on the corner of her lip. I fight my instinct to gently swipe it away with my finger.

"Remember when we would sit in Starbucks in Adrian for hours?" She changes the subject. I don't push her to talk about it any longer. I never have.

I nod.

"And we would give them fake names every time?" she laughs, "and that one time that lady got so pissed because she couldn't spell Hermione and she refused to write our names on the cups anymore?" 

Her laughter is real now and suddenly I'm fifteen, running down the street after Dakota stole the woman's marker. It was snowing that day and we were covered in dirty brown slush by the time we made it home. My mom was confused when Dakota shouted that we were running from the cops as we ran up the stairs of my old house. We collapsed on the floor, undressing each other, kissing and touching, warming one another. That was the first time we ever showered together. 

"We actually thought the cops would waste their time on two teenagers stealing a marker," I join her soft laughter. 

A few customers look our direction, but it's pretty packed in here, so they are quick to find something else, something more entertaining than an awkward coffee date between two ex's.

"Carter said that woman told him we were the worst customers ever," she adds. 

The mention of Carter prickles at the back of my neck.

Dakota must see something in my eyes because she reaches across and puts her hand on mine. I've always let her.

Taking a page from her book, I change the subject. 

"We had some good times in Michigan."

Dakota tilts her head and the light above us hits hair, making her glow. She couldn't be more beautiful. I haven't realized just how lonely I am. I haven't been touched in months. I haven't been kissed in months. I haven't even hugged anyone except Tessa and my mom since the last time Dakota came to visit me in Washington. 

"Yeah we did. Until you left me alone senior year." The words bite at me and I can't tell by her expression whether she's joking, or not.  Something tells me she's not. 

(Author's note: I'm in Russia and having the best time! What country are you from? I'm going to bed now but I'll update either tomorrow or wed! xo)