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Starting RP's is always the hardest. :'(
Also, what time is it where you live? 
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Lily pulled her toque closer over her ears, waiting impatiently for the crosswalk signal. She’d always hated the constant rush of people swarming around her, the way they would so unapologetically brush bodies and knock elbows with one another whilst simply moving from one side of the sidewalk to the other. She had grown up in a small town, same conservative families always cool, calm and collected, keeping a respectful distance from anyone who looked as annoyed as Lily did now. Traffic continued rushing down the roads, despite the crosswalk sign blinking ahead of her. There was a crowd forming now: sullen looking businessmen and women, mothers with their children in strollers, a whole group of angry looking teenagers shouting obscenities at every car that happened to speed by. Subways were always worse, and she almost cringed at the thought of having to take one back home after dropping off coffee at Beckett’s. He was still probably asleep, and she hoped to make a silent delivery without having to wake him up. She still hadn’t made it to any performances he’d invited her to. Hadn’t returned the texts about meeting him at a certain gig’s location. Coffee was an apology. Albeit not a very good one, but still…an apology. She quickly made her way up to the apartment, nearly losing her scarf in the process. Cold was another thing she wasn’t use to, her hometown being one situated in the all-sunny California. She left her scarf dangling loosely from her neck, trying to make sure the coffee didn’t spill as she bent to pick Beckett’s spare key from underneath the mat. She opened the door slowly, cringing at the smallest of creaks that came from its hinges. “Shhhhh,” she whispered to the door, patting the front of it as if to calm it down. The lights were still off, the curtains pulled close together as if the cloudy weather outside was accomplishing anything besides doing little to nothing to brighten the room. Her green scarf was dangling so low, she nearly tripped over it while quietly making her way through the apartment. She choked down her desire to rip it apart, just to spite it, and instead threw it onto the empty couch. She set the coffee down on the kitchen’s counter, looking for a paper to scribble an apology before she planned to tiptoe out the door before he would notice.

            Noah had his face pressed into his mattress, his fingers at his temples, trying to undo last night’s drinking with a massage. A crappy massage at that. One that was completely unsuccessful and consisted only of his index finger angrily tracing circles into his skin. He groaned, before untangling himself from the sheets, searching through cabinets for some aspirin. He didn’t know why he’d had so many drinks last night. Didn’t quite even remember how he had gotten home in one piece. He sat on the side of his bed, aspirin bottle plopped next to him, while he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He’d always hated taking medicine as a child, and even now, at the age of twenty-two, still cringed at the thought of having to take two little tablets. But down they went, anyways. If only his Mother could see him now. He nearly snorted at the thought, knowing well enough the amount of time she’d wasted on always getting him to take whatever medicine he needed at the time. It was times like these, when he was reminded of a single good memory, he missed them. His parents. Not enough to go back home, but enough to regret having left so abruptly. He lay on his bed, eyes tracing the grooves on the ceiling before stopping himself. He knew the cycle too well by now. The guilt that followed. So instead, he threw the aspirin bottle to the side and tried his best to forget. 

Aweh, thank you! You're quite amazing, as well.  
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Lily cursed angrily, sifting through the mass of napkins, plastic utensils, and takeout menus in the kitchen’s drawers, looking for something to write with. She couldn’t help thinking that for someone who wrote music for living, pencils and pens were scarce—almost nonexistent around his place. Or at least when she needed one of them. She sat on one of the barstools set in front of the kitchen island, taking a minute to think. She had her chin resting on the palm of her hand before Beckett’s familiar voice sent her nearly toppling off the stool. “God, Beckett! You nearly scared me to death!” she exclaimed, hand pressed to her heart, as if the touch would somehow calm its beating down. “Breaking in?” She blew a stray hair off her face before wiggling the plastic cup of coffee toward him. “Really? Does breaking in usually involve free coffee? I don’t think so. As a matter fact, I am nearly ninety-nine-percent certain it doesn’t involve free beverages. Ninety-nine-percent, amazing I know.” She waited for him to reach for the coffee before pulling it away from him, quickly placing it back onto the counter behind her. She was horrible when she was put on the spot.  She bit her lip, trying to resist the urge of running her hand through her hair. “And I wasn’t ignoring you. At least, not on purpose.” So maybe this wasn’t entirely true, but it was close enough to the truth. She’d started waitressing at some fancy restaurant a little over a month ago, and had just finally perfected her new schedule. “I’m sorry it’s just I’ve been busy. With work and trying to make friends, learning how to be on my own for the first time in my life. I don’t know anyone here besides you, so I’ve been trying to branch out. Maybe stop feeling like tourist every time I lose my way on the subway.” She let out a small laugh, “And you know how many times I end up losing myself on the subway.” She picked up his coffee from the counter, trying to ignore the fact that he was standing in front of her, sporting only a towel around his waist. She’d get to that after she got off the hook. “So what do you say? Apology accepted? You get a free coffee if you say yes,” she sang out, gently shaking the plastic cup out in front of her. 

Noah, showered and now fully awake, made himself some breakfast. He had never been much of a cook, living off of microwave meals, takeout, and cereal for as long as he could remember. He had some sort of oatmeal in front of him now, bland and watery. It was the only thing he had left in his kitchen, having not cooked his own food for nearly a month. He didn’t even know why he’d bothered today. His head still throbbed, his nausea repressing any sort of appetite he would have otherwise had. He couldn’t help wondering, while pushing around the oatmeal in its bowl, what Waverly would be doing right now. It was nearly one in the afternoon, and she was probably up. He texted her, spoon of oatmeal in his mouth: “My breakfast sucks and I hate you for not replying. You should probably be a good friend to me and help in tending to my booboo (headache, the worst of its kind) J ” Being honest, he just wanted an excuse to see her. It’d been a while since she'd last visited, and he hoped they could maybe hang out, even for a bit. Maybe the normalcy of their hangout would help him suppress the fact that he liked her, really, really liked her. He didn't really know or understand, how or when it had happened. But it had, and Noah was completely at a loss as to what to do. He didn't fall for girls this way, or ever for that matter. He was casual about these kind of things, nonchalant when it came to relationships. He hated being on the other side of them for once, completely unaware on how to stop being friends and somehow move to more.