Fic Summary:“Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.
Genre: a lot of fluff, recovery, really fucking domestic, waiter!Phil
Warnings: eating disorders, anorexia, bulimia, hospitals, panic attacks, references to past abuse, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, a lot of awkwardness, small amounts of smut. This is potentially triggering so for your own sake, please think twice about reading if anything this might affect you.
Disclaimer: I don’t have personal experience with eating disorders, but have done some research. If I have anything about them wrong, feel free to send me an ask and I’ll sort it out.
Word Count (for this part): 6.4k
[Uploads will be hopefully every couple of weeks! (follow @philsdrill-updates to hear when I post)]
A/N: I hate that this took me more than three weeks, but uni work really takes up a lot of my time.
We’d had a quiet few days since the night of the fire alarm and other less mentionable activities and today was Adam’s birthday. Tonight, Phil and I were taking Ethan and him out for a meal to celebrate. There was an unwritten rule between Phil and I, that I chose where we ate, but tonight I was letting Adam have the say.
It turned out that he was fairly easy to please and picked out a chain Italian restaurant. I realised about ten minutes after I agreed to this, that Phil may not actually be happy with the choice. This was where we’d eaten the night his lactose intolerance really hit him in the face. I’d need to consult him.
Phil, being fairly lenient, told me that this was fine, he’d just do what he’d been doing since he was diagnosed and choose his meal carefully.
11/18 favourite au: coffee shop au / art school au / no supernatural au
words: 1K | ship: stydia | tags: fluff / strangers to friends to lovers
you mean you haven’t started yet?’, Miss Jameson shrieked in horror at the
confession of her best art student, Lydia Martin.
The girl pursed her lips, crossing her arms defiantly, ‘I’m,’ she huffed, ‘I’m
Jameson rose one eyebrow. ‘Are you serious?’
Lydia groaned agitated, ‘Yes!’
getting on her nerves. She liked her teacher, but right now she wasn’t helping.
Lydia had to hand in an portfolio that could decide her entire future in art. It
was her Senior year after all, scouts watched and evaluated every brush stroke
you added on a canvas.
The portfolio had a few requirements, one of them being that it should contain
at least fifteen pieces. She was lacking two.
And in less than 24 hours she had to send it in.
Safe to say she was royally fucked.
Right now, Lydia was calm, but she knew that after school she’d be in hysterics
trying to come up with something. Normally,
if it didn’t flow well, she would listen to music, go on a walk, watch a movie,
ride the subway. But now… she was stuck. It was a feeling unknown to Lydia
until now and it scared her.
closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Lydia, you are probably one of the best of your
year. I will give you the rest of the day off, so you can get it done on time. Do
not screw it up,’ the latter came out
strained, red splotches began to create on Jameson’s neck. Lydia muffled a
smirk. Her teacher seemed more invested in her future than she was.
‘Thank you,’ she said instead, grabbing her bag.
Beans”, Lydia’s favourite coffee shop, was just a mile from her art school. As it
was a warm day, she decided to walk.
Inspiration, Lydia called out in her mind. Please, Apollo, lend me one of your
muses. Lydia felt silly for even trying, but desperation started to linger in
the back of her mind, clawing at her.
A strong cup of coffee would certainly help her.
She entered through the glass door, smiling at the scent of beans and sound of
indie music. The plush seats looked inviting, as well as the cherry pies that
were displayed near the cash desk.
She bit her lip, reading the menu on the wall. She still had time, the man in
front of her ordering.
she had a game plan. Drink her coffee, keep her hands of the sweets (she was
trying to eat healthy), watch a TedTalk about art and try to create something. Perhaps
if she just started, it will come naturally.
Lydia forgot all about that plan when she needed to order and faced the
bartender for the first time.
He was new,
as she’d never seen him here before. He seemed her age, but seeing as it was
school, he must be a year older. There was a university nearby, he must go
The boy was very attractive, despite having very common features. Brown hair,
upturned nose, moles and freckles – but his eyes. She couldn’t quite pinpoint
the colour. They seemed golden.
She snapped out of her assessment, and saw him looking expectantly at her. She straightened
her back, trying to get a grasp of herself. Had she been seriously staring at a
boy? She hadn’t done something so immature since sophomore year. She supressed
‘What do you want to order?’, he asked. She glanced at his name tag. Stiles. Odd name, she liked it though.
‘Right’, she replied, brushing her hair from her face, ‘A double espresso with
a drop of soy milk.’
He nodded, typing it into the system. ‘Anything else?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘That will be 2 dollars 50,’ he smiled at her, tearing the receipt from the
cash register and handing it to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out, ‘but can you tell me your eye colour?’
Stiles flushed, ‘Uh – why?’
Lydia smiled through pursed lips. He was adorable.
‘I’m an art student. Your eyes have a quite peculiar colour. What is it?’
‘Um – amber,’ he frowned, trying to understand where her mind was going. She understood
his confusion, he probably didn’t get this a lot.
‘Thank you,’ she said curtly to the man next to him who gave her the coffee. She
nodded again to Stiles.
‘I won’t bother you anymore.’
He scratched the back of his head, showcasing his biceps. Her eyes travelled
towards the motion and gulped. He was one of those lean guys. Her type.
She sat in
her seat, sipping on her scolding hot drink. Time to get her juices flowing.
Lydia flipped her sketchbook open. Her pencil hovered above the fibred paper. Involuntarily,
her eyes flitted to Stiles. He was smirking at his colleague. Lydia forced her
eyes back to the paper. No, she was not going to be a creepy stalker and draw
him. That has happened to her in Freshmen year, she knew how weird that was.
But on the other hand… she had good intentions. What if this barista was her
ticket to the New York Institute of Fine Arts?
She shifted slightly in her chair, not noticeable to anyone. Sneakily, she started
with a rough outline of his face. High cheekbones, soft jaw, luscious hair. She
wondered what it would be like to touch it.
Lydia, she scolded herself, now’s not the time.
one sketch after the other. One in profile, one where he was laughing, one
where he was telling a story. She loved the collection, and Lydia felt
inspiration flowing through her. The possibilities with these pieces were endless.
But before she headed home and started her masterpiece, she quickly went to the
came back, a surprise awaited her.
Next time work on your stealth techniques 😉
, read the
note. His number was scribbled in the corner as well. Lydia blushed.
She left the coffee shop, leaving a sketch and
her number for him to pick up.