soulmates and ketchup

"How do you tell who your soulmate is?" The 13 almost 14 but looks like he's 2 Damian wonders, kicking his feet up on the table in front of him, ignoring the scowl sent to him from the waitress across the diner.

College-grown Juliet has her lips puckered around the straw of a Coca-Cola, biting slowly as she continues her stare out the window, taking in the sights and sounds of New York City at 1:13 A.M. on a Monday.

"How do you tell who your soulmate is?" She repeats, glancing at him before shoving her arm out to knock his boot-covered feet to the floor. A few seconds later they're back on the table. She doesn't touch them again.

"Yeah. How do you tell?" His gaze stares at her, and she can see him in the reflection of the window; short black hair and blue eyes partially hidden by designer sunglasses that have slipped to the edge of his nose.

"Why are you wearing sunglasses this late at night," She mumbles, before shifting herself so her chin was resting in the palm of her hand, and the other arm was curled around the first. "Anyway. I don't know. There are, like, qualifications, I suppose -- "

"Qualifications? Like, for you, or for people in general." He interrupts, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat, but doesn't take his feet off the table. The waitress across the diner clicks her tongue at him, but doesn't do anything; instead, she hurries behind doubled doors to the kitchen to do whatever.

"I don't know. It depends." She brushes a strand of deep red hair from her face before glancing at Damian from the corner of her eye.

"Sure. Anyway. Go. Qualifications." Clipped voice, and he shuffles himself into his leather jacket, well worn-out and indebted with the smell of cologne and somthing else that makes up the boys scent.

"I don't know. I'd know someone was my soulmate if..." Her voice fades off, and she looks out the window again. Damian if shifting in his seat, trying to silently prompt her to finish, but she doesn't.

Minutes pass, and soon the waitress returns. Blowing a strand of scruffy brown hair out of her face, she easily drops trays of fries, chicken tenders, and cheeseburgers infront of the two. Then without a word, she rushes off again, only glancing back in annoyance as Damian doesn't lower his feet, but instead just bends forward for the food.

Their silence grows comforting, each busying themselves with eating, and within 10 minutes all the food is gone, except for stray ketchup puddles and cup-stains on the table.

Damian is leaning back, a small sigh escaping him as the lack of sleep catches up with him, eyes warily glancing around the diner slowly. Juliet is back to looking out the window, gaze enaptured by something outside that Damian can't, and probably will never see.

"Sharing toothbrushes."

Damian starts, whipping his head to stare at the girl who's leaning back, satisfied with her outburst. Her eyes are hazy and there's something like a dent underneath both her eyelids; a wrinkle from too many late nights, maybe.

"What?"

"You'd know if someone's your soulmate if you can share your toothbrush and be fine with it."

"That's disguesting."

"It's the point. You'd be so used to this person, you wouldn't be afraid of anything; germs, cooties, nothing. It's be just like using your own toothbrush." She hums thoughtfully to herself, bringing her cup of Coca-Cola back to her lips, and begins biting on the straw again.

"That's....That... I guess. Sure." He wavers, and bounces his shoulders before continuing his observation of the diner, the old posters on the wall, the scruffed up tile floring, the flickering neon light against the door.

"What about you, shrimp?" His eyes turn sharp, and he glares at her over the rim of his sunglasses, before he rolls his head back with a hum.

"Kissing in public." He admits finally, scruffing his toes together on the table. "If..." He starts again but for some reason the words are fumbled on his tongue, and he squints his eyes in anger. Juliet doesn't say anything, but continues her stare out the window. Damian wonders if she's watching their reflection.

"If... If you can kiss them in public, and not care about others thoughts or opinions, then... Then they're special. Notsoulmate special, but... special." He tries again, floundering for the words that can't quite come to him.

Across the table, Juliet stares at Damian blankly, lifting a finger to swpie it through a left-over blotch of ketchup, before bringing it to her lips boredly. "Makes sense. I'd never feel comfortable with a person if I couldn't even kiss 'em in the street." A hypothesis, but she accepts it, and Damians grunt on the other end reassures her.