Sweet Dreams [open]

She'd always hated places like this.

It was an impersonal room, white, clean, and sterile. Spotless. Everything had its place, and Kayla knew it better than anybody. The syringes were in a plastic box in a bottom drawer, there was a stack of first-aid boxes under the head nurse's desk, and the medicine cabinet was filled with rows upon rows of orange pill bottles, alphabetized, their names and labels written out in cold precision. She knew the lines, the instructions, the directions. Don't stare. Don't ask questions. Smile, but no smalltalk. Don't make them feel damaged. Don't make them feel broken.

Her broken wrist was covered in a plain hard cast. Even with her injury, even though she was a volunteer, she felt like she didn't belong here. White, clean, sterile. It was nobody's room. The head nurse, so familiar and so friendly, might as well have been faceless.

Kayla didn't want to stay here long. Being a volunteer though, even half against her will, had its upsides.

She walked over to an unmarked medicine cabinet over by the window. Kayla always left it half-open; she could never stand the smell of medicine and plastic that seemed to choke the room whenever she walked in. A cool summer breeze rolled in, stirring the curtains, but she ignored it. Electricity sparked down her uninjured hand as she raised it to the small silver lock, and with a twitch of her fingers, it clicked open.

Pills.

Medication. In a place like this, a lot of people needed it. The bottles were all labeled with names she could barely pronounce, but there were only a few simple names she was looking for, and it wasn't long until she found them.

Zolpidem.
Oxycodone.

Ambien and Oxycontin.

Sleeping pills and painkillers.

Kayla Croft did not have a prescription, but she wasn't about to sit down for a chat with the nurse. A few bottles would be okay for now, and when she ran out, she could always just come back for more. Nobody would notice a bottle or two going missing.

She leaned up on the tips of her toes, a pale hand wrapping around her two bottles. No more dreams for me.

As it turned out, Miss Preppy-Hipster had a far greater swing that he'd been expecting. They'd had a slight run-in on his way over to the infirmary, something about not answering her calls or ignoring her on Esper, even after the sweet times they shared. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened to him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last either, but he couldn't help but feel slightly bad. She'd been a nicer one than most. It reminded him of another girl he'd known, with tattoos on her face and a knack for spraining her wrist.

At least if she wasn't there, he'd have some sort of excuse for showing up in the infirmary. The red on his cheek was seemingly refusing to go away. He rubbed at it and held back a few choice curse words under his breath. Before he stepped inside, Preston looked down into a cheap plastic bag he was carrying, a rather large goodie inside. He thought to himself that his roommate had better damn well appreciate it, for all the trouble it was proving so far.

The Autumn stepped inside, glancing around the front room and looking behind the desk, but there didn't seem to be anyone there. Maybe they were out for lunch, he thought. He was too lazy to leave and come back later, though, stepping back into the hallways and glancing around. "Pikachu?" He called, stepping off in a random direction and peeking into every room he passed with an open door. "Where the hell are you?"

The muffled voice coming from the hallway made her freeze in place.

After a couple of seconds, she relaxed with a small sigh, slipping the bottles into her pocket and closing the medicine cabinet door. The lock clicked back close again with a small spark when she brought her middle finger down onto the tip of her thumb. Preston... what the hell was he doing here? One of his hook-ups give him a black eye? There were other nurses here too, and if he was looking for her, then it was probably so he could make all of his stupid jokes.

She walked out of the room, broken wrist hanging limply at her side, with her good hand stuffed inside her pocket. The idiot was snooping around all of the open rooms from the hallway. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a flat tone, the usual hint of annoyance in her voice. Electricity crackled around her head. Her dull gaze almost looked lifeless in combination with the dark bags under her eyes. There was a red mark across his cheek, but nothing life-threatening. "How'd you get that?"

Finally, Kayla showed her face and he could stop poking his head into every door like an idiot. Wasn't she supposed to stay at the front desk, like a good little nurse? "Misery likes company, right? And this place is about as shitty as you can get." Preston's gaze fell on the ugly, obvious wrap on her wrist, thinking back to the month or so she'd been stuck under his care. It could've been far worse. His hand moved to his cheek again once she mentioned it. "If you're gonna bitch slap someone, do you need to wear you're entire fucking jewelry box while you're at it?" He scoffed, crossing his arms, a bit awkwardly with the bag still in hand. "Had a bad run-in with a bitter lady is all."

It was miserable in here. They could agree on that much, at least. "And you came to me to cry about it?" she asked in a flat tone, tilting her head. Pres seemed to have a lot of those bitter run-ins. She couldn't say that he didn't deserve every slap across the face that he got. In a school like this, he was lucky that a slap was all he got. In a place where people carried knives, scythes, bows, and swords, and could shoot fire out of their palms or summon demons or manipulate the blood in your skin, a bracelet was hardly the worst weapon you could come across. He still hadn't really answered her first question. "Or are you looking for a nurse to make it feel better? Ethan and Logan are out, and I'm not sticking around here."

Preston sniffed a little at her first question, holding back a laugh as if she'd said some kind of joke. "I think you're the last person I'd ever come crying to," he said, shaking his head. "And I'm sure I'll be just fine, as long as I don't run into her on the way back home." He had never actually stopped to consider her gift, or if it was potentially deadly. Maybe it was better he didn't think about it. He brought up his plastic bag and held it out to her. The look on his face didn't seem to give much away, but the delicate way he was holding it might've.

If the bag shook or tilted too much, the plastic package would shake around. If the package shook around too much, it would mess up the icing, and if the icing was messed up, his perfect creation would be ruined. That was, the giant chocolate cupcake he'd spent all morning working on. It was twice as big as most other of it's brethren, and he'd been certain to get the flavor, texture, and appearance all up to nothing short of perfection.

"Here. Don't fucking drop it," he said, pushing the bag a little closer towards her.

The last person... That sounded about right, but it still didn't answer why he'd come looking for her. It wasn't like she was in a wheelchair. She watched him with vacant eyes, only blinking when he held up the small bag in his hand. That was the first time she'd even really noticed it, and it took a few silent moments before it even registered that he was handing it to her. Awkwardly, she reached out, every movement measured and cautious like he was handing her a bag full of explosives. Her fingers wrapped around the bag, careful not to touch his hand, and delicately brought it back.

With only one hand, it was hard to look inside, but she could glimpse it through the half-open top. A cupcake. Well, to call it just a cupcake would've been an understatement. It was one of the biggest cupcakes she'd ever seen, crowned with a rich chocolate swirl. Did he get this from the bakery? It looked professional, almost picturesque, like the kind of sweet you'd see in a commercial or magazine or something. "What's this supposed to be...?" she asked in a small tone, not taking her eyes away from the prize inside.

The young man stared at her for a moment, wondering at first if that was a joke or a serious question. "What do you think?" Preston said, gesturing to the bag again. Maybe if she stuck her head inside the plastic it'd clear up her question a little. "It's a cupcake, Genius." He threw his gaze to the side, looking at the cheesy paintings of sunsets on the infirmary wall and shoved his hands back in his pocket. "Figured I'd make you one, since that other gas-station shit you had decided to take a swan dive into the pavement." And maybe to make up a few other things that he wasn't too stupid to bring up again.

Yeah, she knew it was a fucking cupcake. Asshole. She wasn't an idiot. It still just wouldn't click in her mind why he'd hand it over to her. Kayla never moved, or tore her gaze away from the bag. "But what for?" she asked with a small awkward half-grin, looking like she was trying her best to play it cool. "Kinda late for a birthday present, isn't it?"

Preston's eyes narrowed at her question, clearly not having thought anything sort of conversation through before he sought out to find her. "Do I need a damn reason?" Jesus Christ, couldn't she just say 'Thank You' and take a bite like a normal person? He was about to rattle off some other smart-ass comment before he was caught off guard. "Birthday present?" He repeated, looking back at her in clear confusion. "When the fuck...?" Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure how old she was exactly.

"Shit, it was just a question," she cut in with a small forced smile, letting the bag hang to her side. "If you still wanna play butler, then I guess I can't complain too much." It was a pity gift. If it wasn't for the diamond girl crushing her wrist in that courtyard, it'd just be a normal day, but all her nursing had taught her that you had to be nice to cripples. Don't stare. Don't make them feel damaged. Don't make them feel broken. Electricity flit across her good arm. She didn't see a reason to try and answer his other question. Kayla preferred it if they kept things superficial. He knew and had seen too much from her already.

She only spoke again after a few more moments of silence, her eyes still focused near the floor. "Thanks." That was all. Kayla finally raised her gaze to his. "I'm getting out of here. Are you sticking around?" Misery loved company, after all. Either here or with her.

A funny look crossed Preston's face, only he wasn't laughing. In fact, he couldn't look anymore off-put by her response if he tried. "Jesus, can't you fucking let go of the butler thing already?" He muttered, staring her down. Something was off in the way she stood or talked, or maybe it was the way she was looking at him? He wasn't sure what it was, but something about her seemed beyond weird. "That's it, just thanks?" The Autumn mused blandly. "No, 'Oh Preston - it looks amazing! You're such a great guy, and I sure as hell won't jack your sodas or hide the TV remote from now on -'?" He sniffed, turning the other way and stretching his arms out. "Who the hell would wanna stay in this dull joint?' Although it might've been one of the few places safe from his angry old flame, leaving seemed well worth the risk.

Huh, really? She couldn't promise the impossible. "I don't know what you expected. I'll eat it later." His little exaggerated gestures were amusing, at least. Maybe he really was offended, even if he covered it up with all the forced melodrama. His flings would've been the kind of people to smile and blush and say all the right pretty things. Kayla walked past him, not waiting for him to catch up. Tired eyes focused on something unseen in the distance, footsteps ringing through the empty white tiled hall. "Stay or go, I don't care." And no, she wouldn't let go of the butler thing. It was one of the only weapons she had against him.

Preston let out a small tch sound under his breath, "Yeah, yeah. Whatever, as long as you don't let it all go to waste." He eyed the almost careless way that she held the bag, wishing she would be a little more careful with it, or that he'd at least took a picture before giving it to her. He probably should've just ditched the bag all-together, but if some chick had found him walking around with a bright, pretty pastry in hand, he wasn't sure how he'd explain it. Getting slapped was bad enough.

He eyed her as she walked, saying nothing and following after her quietly. "And what sort of trouble are you planning now?" He asked.

"I don't waste food," Kayla murmured. She said she'd eat it, and she would. Was he that disappointed?

It took less than a minute of walking to leave the infirmary, turning down the halls and out the door before they were back in the heart of campus. Here, it was a web of brick and concrete paths, lined with flowers, trees, and grass. Each one led to classrooms, dorm halls, courtyard, fields where the sport teams practiced, all with their own branches and loops and detours. She didn't choose any of the walkways in particular. Sometimes, it was easier to just walk wherever your feet took you. "What kind of trouble are you expecting?" she asked with a sigh, not looking back at him. "Trouble finds me. I'm not much of a planner."

She slowed to a stop and took a seat on a bench under an oak tree. Kayla set the bag delicately in her lap, while her cast-covered arm sat awkwardly on one of the curled iron rests. Being indoors was suffocating, and the last place she wanted to be with a fracture was in their dorm with Preston. She didn't make any gesture for him to join her. He probably had another hook-up lined up anyways. Rebound after the slap he got. Busy life.