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foreverbeingthunderbuddy · 6 years

Text

Just Say It [one-shot]

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Prompt: “Not to be dramatic, but I am going to die if we don’t do something … like now.”

Summary: Tony throws a Halloween party – the first ever for the reader. What to wear when you want to impress your superhero crush, Steve, but also want to hold on to your dignity? light, fluff, and one or two cuss words ;)

A/N: This is my piece for @starksparker’s 10k Writing Challenge! I’m so so sorry this is coming so late :// Prompt is in bold. Also first time I wrote for Steve so please don’t kill me :) Word count around 5,5k. Gif by @drunkromanogers .

Masterlist

Until you moved to New York, Halloween was never really a big thing for you.

Your little group of friends in your hometown never bothered throwing an actual party or attending one, it was always more like a coming-together while wearing cat ears and eat chips in candlelight kind of thing. Of course a scary movie would play on TV and you’d spend your night screaming at too many badly done jumpscares while your friends would laugh and talk about how badly done these jumpscares were.

You like to think you never went to a party dressed like a slutty bunny because you are better than that, but behind that carefully built wall of denial you know it’s because you never got invited.

So? There are worse things in life.

For instance, being invited by your boss Tony fucking Stark to come to his probably way-over-the-top Halloween party with no Halloween party-experience on your side whatsoever. Do people still go slutty these days or are scary costumes actually in now? Should you come alone or bring someone? Besides, for a party of that scale, do people even put on costumes or is that just an excuse to have another sinful fête (how May, your supervisor, always calls it) and everyone wears the usual glamour and glitz-attire?

Google doesn’t seem to be able to give a clear answer.

Another question. Assuming people actually go scary nowadays, what could you wear that would both showcase your funny, spontaneous side by committing to a creative, spooky outfit, and your sexy, I’m-single-too-must-be-destiny side by, well, wearing something sexy?

Even though sexy isn’t usually the style you feel most comfortable in, a party is a party and a party whose guest will be Steve “strongest BDE” Rogers calls for special actions.

“Before I forget, have you finally figured out your costume for the party next week?” Roxie asks and takes a sip from the cup filled with hot chocolate in her hands. Her dark eyes roam over your face curiously, eager not to miss the smallest hint of emotion. Roxie knows about your crush on Steve.

“Nope. Last night I had a drink, or four, and I thought it’d be super funny if I showed up as Captain America. With a shield and angry eyes and everything. But then I thought, maybe that’s weird to dress up as … Steve basically to impress said Steve.” Your last words hang in the air like a question and you see Roxie raise her eyebrows.

“Odd mating call, I have to admit,” She says and breaks into a grin but collects herself when you threateningly lift your index finger. “But of course, I, too, think that’d be a great idea. Or you don’t dress up as an Avenger when going to a party hosted by the Avengers. Just a suggestion.”

You sigh and look down into your own cup on the table in front of you. You’re sitting in your little kitchen, both gulping down hot chocolate like it’s water and listening to old songs playing on the radio.

She came straight from the hair salon to show off her now super short hair à la Danai Jekesai Gurira and you spent the last fifteen minutes admiring every single inch of it. And then you spent another ten minutes praising the white eyeliner she’s wearing that builds the perfect contrast to her dark skin and got all the details about the collection that “Never gonna buy anywhere else, Y/N, I’m serious”-eyeliner comes from.

“What if- I mean, we know Steve lived in the 40s right, so what if you went all retro and dressed up as someone from the fourties or fifties? That’s trendy nowadays and you like old stuff, right?” Roxie asks and you don’t miss the teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“You like old stuff?” was the exact question she asked the moment you told her you fell for Steve Rogers. She didn’t intend to be mean, she just wanted to provoke you out of your Finally-we-have-world-peace, trance-like state that you were in during the first weeks of having a thing, a huge thing, for him.

“Isn’t he like a hundred years old?”

“Um, no, I mean, uh- no. He didn’t age, Roxie, not his fault he was frozen.”

“….. Imagine the diseases he could have. I’m sure a hundred years ago diseases were different. I don’t think our modern bodies are made for 40s’ STDs. You could die.”

“Um, I don’t think our bodies are made for any kind of STD but that’s not the point.”

She has admitted she finds him kinda hot, too, but she’s too proud to go any further than that. Sometimes you wish you could read her mind. Or more accurately, all the time.

“Yes, I like old stuff. Old music and clothes, everyone does. It’s called vintage,” You say and try to distract her before she gets the chance to start philosophizing about Steve’s STDs again.

Alleged STDs. She has no proof he actually has them and you’re definitely not going to tell her that he probably was a virgin until he woke up in the modern day. Again, no proof, but people talk and people speculate, especially people who work for Stark in the Tower or Upstate Facility and who regularly pick up a couple of words and sentences here and there, making six out of two and two.

You probably shouldn’t believe anything that gets exchanged in the daily Stark Industries gossip meetings in the hallways and kitchens but … believing Steve didn’t bang his way through the country in the 40s does help calm your jealousy a bit. A tiny bit.

You know he had girlfriends since starting to work for Tony but a girl can ignore that and wait ‘til she’s home and has a glass of wine in her hand before she turns to google to figure out what the “Ten Signs He Likes You” are. Preferably, there’s a phone in her other hand and her best friend (Roxie) on the line.

Cliché, you know, but … there’s a reason why these things are cliché, they’re just too fitting. And relatable. Roxie disagrees.

“But just imagine. You, in a 1940s vintage style tea dress, grey tartan, short sleeve. Black T-Strap Pumps, but sexy. I’m talking five inch heels. You’re going to a Halloween party, not church. Ooh! And one of those little hats that women wore on the side of their heads. And red lipstick, heavy eye make-up, some rouge. Did they have anything else? A highlighter?”

“You look remarkably excited about your vintage ideas for someone who doesn’t like old stuff,” You comment but can’t hide a smile. Your best friend is a stylist first and a lawyer second. Only the latter professionally, but the former at heart. If you let her, she would give you a complete make-over. Needless to say, the thought alone scares the shit out of you. She is just too unpredictable.

“Y/N, maybe try to contribute to this brainstorming, would you, I’m trying to get you somewhere.”

*****

You shouldn’t have made brownies. What made you think bringing brownies to a Tony Stark party was a good idea? You are going to make a fool out of yourself if you walk in there with two loads of self-made goods in your hands. What made you think this was “cool and spontaneous”?

Ah, yeah, right. Ally told you this year’s party wouldn’t be held in one of Tony’s mansions or the Tower. Due to some mild excesses last year, Tony – and the various authorities involved, yikes – has decided to keep it small and personal this year. His words, not yours. The party will be at someone’s apartment in New York where you live, but rumour has it that that someone is loaded as fuck, so apartment probably doesn’t apply entirely.

Read: a gigantic loft.

The fact that there aren’t going to be as many people here as you thought, makes you a little nervous because your anonymity and option of turning invisible, if everything gets too much, go downhill the minute you step through the front door. Hard to disappear without leaving if there’s hardly any space to disappear into.

Why the brownies?

How Ally put it, it sounded like this is a cozy, little get-together among friends and bringing something is usually what you do when you’re invited to something like that, right? Right?? Roxie talked you into it, to be honest.

“Men love those!” She screamed whilst wildly pointing at the freshly baked goods on the counter, “Everybody loves chocolate caramel layer scares, trust me. He won’t know what’s happening to him.”

Ha. You can guess what’s going to happen to him if he tries more than one of these: diabetes. Not that you told her that.

It’s fine, Y/N, it’s gonna be fine, just drop the brownies on the diamond counter and never get near the kitchen again, so no one will suspect any connection between you and these health risks.

You take a deep breath and one last look at the intimidating building in front of you before you start walking to the entrance. It’s been a while since you last wore heels, but thankfully Roxie doesn’t just understand style but also comfort and picked a pair that looks and feels good. You shouldn’t get too optimistic, though, the evening hasn’t even begun yet.

Before you reach the glass door, you see your own reflexion in the dim street lights.

Your outfit is exactly what she envisioned in your kitchen, grey, very 40s, very femme fatale and tight on the right places. She even got you one of those “little hats women wore on the side of their heads”. Her sister Florence took care of your make-up which means you have your face all done up, smokey eyes, lashes who aren’t exactly your own, dewy cheeks and serious red lipstick.

To add a tiny scary factor, Roxie and Florence put some fake blood on your stomach area to make it look like you got stabbed, some on the side of your head where the hat sits – “Someone crashed the hat needles into your skull, Y/N, and blood is dripping down your temple” – and on one corner of your mouth.

You wish you could have taken Roxie with you as your plus one, but Ally said no companion – small circle. Well, judging by the music already coming from a window on the, what, sixth floor (?) small circle means something entirely different to Tony. Who knows how many people he invited.

You step into the building and walk to the reception. Yes, you heard right. Reception. This is going to be fancy, you can tell. Doesn’t help your goddamn nervousness. The box in your hands gets heavier and heavier the longer you hold it and there’s one needle attaching the hat to your head that just pokes into your scalp like it’s holding on for dear life. You need to fix that as soon as you find a bathroom.

Nothing in this lobby hints at the ongoing party or its theme, everything looks as sterile as possible. Not Tony’s style, admittedly, but you guess he had trouble with the neighbours, so he refrained from decorating everything.

“Good evening, Miss, can I help you?” The man behind the desk asks and looks up to you over his round little glasses. Is that a smile or just a coincidental shadow illusion on his face?

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I was invited to Tony Stark’s Halloween party,” You answer (um look at my costume?) and try another smile that doesn’t get reciprocated, instead he nods and pulls up a piece of paper that looks like a list. Oh, there’s a smiling pumpkin candle on his desk, right next to the little box of paperclips. Mister Dead Inside rebelling against the stuck up neighbours, what a nice touch.

Within a few seconds he finds your name, puts a check mark behind it and meets your eyes again with a sober look on his face.

“The elevator is over there, the party is on the fifth floor, 1-0-3-1 is the code for tonight. I hope you’ll have a very nice evening, Miss Y/L/N.”

I hope so, too.

You thank him and walk to where he pointed, punch the numbers into the little keyboard on the wall and step into the opening elevator. The last thing you see before the doors close is him pulling out what looks like another pumpkin candle from one of his drawers and positioning it on his desk.

There’s no music coming from any speakers in the elevator during your ride up, but there’s definitely music coming from outside the elevator, growing louder and louder the higher you get. Hrrr, your pulse really has no business speeding up like that. It’s not like you’ve never been to a party.

You’ve just never been at a party smaller than Tony’s huge orgies (basically) and therefore never got the chance to talk to Steve with a champagne glass in your hand and no “I have to go save the world now, sorry, dear” between you two. All you know is Business Steve, stern eyes, determined eyebrows, important stuff to do. You have no clue what Private Steve is like. And that’s … kinda scary.

What if Private Steve is a douche? No. He isn’t. You don’t need to know him to know that. But what if Private Steve is boring and stiff (hmm) or … what if he likes to collect stamps or miniature trains? Is there a bigger mood killer in this world than collecting miniature trains and would you be able to stand above it?

Roxie would be of great help right now, it’s a shame you couldn’t bring her.

The doors open and reveal an open, dark hallway that is decorated with spider nets, candles, two skeletons, fake blood on the wall, a couple of pumpkins, a crooked mirror and various dusty boxes and murder equipment. This looks surprisingly awesome. After what you saw in the lobby, your expectations fell to a humble level but this is really cool.

At least a dozen voices can be heard from around the corner and the music is a notch too loud for your liking. You hesitate for another second before entering the apartment and slowly walk around the corner. What you see definitely has Tony Stark written all over it.

Take the decorations from the entrance and multiply it by a hundred. You have never seen this many different candles, and someone really had a blast with the fake spider nets. There is even a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling, adding to the dim, mysterious atmosphere produced by the candles and blinking chains of lights.

It looks like a great party.

Oh and the people? As diverse as it gets. From vampires, werewolves and witches to pirates, various animals including a giraffe, to cartoon show characters, murdered people, injured people, angry people, to clowns, zombies, princesses, nuns, nurses, monks, angels and devils, the KFC guy and oh, is that one-armed Spongebob?

Looks like people go scary, sexy and funny. Questions answered. Time to drop off the brownies that are still in your hands and that feel like two hundred pounds at this point. No one seems to notice you as you walk past the Power Rangers and follow Ernie and Bert into a hallway that hopefully leads to the kitchen.

It doesn’t. It leads to another hallway with several closed doors which could be bedrooms. Ah. Ernie and Bert want to make out. Your bad. You turn around and walk back to the gigantic living room that in itself looks like a loft and try to make out the way to your admired location.

“Am I having hallucinations or did the 1950s just arrive at my party?” A voice suddenly asks and you jump, not expecting the noise next to you. The person who the voice belongs to turns out to be a black Aladdin, open vest showcasing abs and everything, completed by silver eyeliner and a fake wig to get the typical 1001 Nights Prince’s hair but doesn’t quite fit the rest of his appearance. But who are you to judge a dedicated man’s Halloween costume at his own party?

“Yeah, that actually might be a hallucination because I don’t represent the 50s, but the 40s,” You say and smile, just as Albert Einstein walks past you. Something to tell your grandkids about.

“Oh, I’m sorry M’lady, I got the decade wrong but the costume looks, um, fetching.”

Is this really how people talked in the 40s? Probably not. You laugh and feel a little of your nervousness go. Only a little, but still.

“So this is your party? Can you tell me where the kitchen is then?”

“Over there, next to the skeleton on the wall and the bloody unicorn. Thank you for bringing something, Miss 40s, I really hope this is dessert.”

“It is. Brownies,” You say and watch as Aladdin punches the air in joy.

“Nice! I’m glad Tony invited you, no one else brought Brownies yet. Speaking of, Tony should be here somewhere,” He informs you and roams the crowd.

Oh, please let him be Genie! Please let him be Genie, God, please!

Tony Stark topless in blue body paint and a little ponytail on the top of his head is something that would make the whole stress worth it.

You scan the room and look for Tony but you find someone else. Steve. Standing with a small group of people, a beer in his hand, he looks too beautiful to handle. So much about getting calmer.

“Okay, I’ll bring these to the kitchen, thank you!” You quickly announce and start to move.

“It was my pleasure, a lady in distress, how could I not help? The royal court has raised me to be a Prince, not a dizzard,” Aladdin proclaims and tips his fedora- you mean, his little hat. Didn’t Aladdin grow up on the street and only got access to the palace when he met Jasmine? This Aladdin here either forgot his own origin story or had more than a couple of drinks already.

While dodging guests, you walk over to the skeleton and the bloody unicorn (another guest) and enter the kitchen. Having a will of steel, you didn’t once look at Steve or check out his outfit. Like a powerful queen.

You walk around the kitchen island and put the box on the huge counter (not diamond by the way) and start unpacking. It looks like a lot of people brought some stuff, thankfully, and you place yours at the dessert side of the buffet. There are a couple of vampires with you in the room, but suddenly you hear more people walk in behind you.

“… like it’s the worst, Abe.”

“If anyone makes another theatre joke to my face, I think I’m actually gonna shoot someone,” A deep voice answers and you turn around.

Abraham Lincoln and a zombie nurse are deep in conversation while the nurse pours glasses of bowle on the kitchen island for them. You need a couple of seconds to recognize them as Mark and Jess from your department.

“You chose the outfit, Mark- um Abe, so you gotta live with that now. Just suck it up like a real man and get drunk with me. I never drank with a president before,” She says and hands him his glass. That’s when she notices you.

“Y/N, hi! Good to see you! Nice costume, are you … I don’t know who you are. Someone from the 60s? A celebrity? Meryl Streep?”

Did she just say 60s? Wait, did she just say Meryl Streep??

“Um, no. I-“

“Jess, why would she be Meryl Streep, she looks nothing like her, look at the hair. There were other actresses besides Meryl in the 60s, by the way. Also, I don’t think Y/N is going for the 60s, I think she is going for first World War,” Abraham Lincoln muses and takes a sip from his cherry bowle.

1910s definitely wasn’t what you envisioned.

“That’s why she is all bloody, because she served in the war and got killed by a grenade splinter in her chest,” He continues and seems very sure of his ability to identify vintage fashion.

“Women didn’t fight back then,” Jess retorts and pushes a strand of red hair out of her face. Even if women had served in the World War, they wouldn’t have worn a dress and heels. Time to solve the mystery.

“I’m a lady from the 40s and I got brutally murdered by my unfaithful husband who didn’t want to pay for a divorce.”

“Makes sense.”

“At least you got the decade right, Abe,” She says and pinches Mark’s side who squinches his eyes at her comment.

“The first World War wasn’t in the 40s, that was the second one. Did you leave your brain at home tonight?”

Geez.

“Y/N, by the way, Steve was asking about you.”

What.

WHAT.

Your eyes grow wide as you stare at Jess.

“He was?”

“Yup. Wanted to know if you’d be here, too, ‘cause he had overheard Ally telling you about Tony’s invitation. I said I didn’t know and that you’ve never been to Tony’s Halloween party before, so who knows if you’d be going.”

Yeah, because you’ve never been invited before but that’s the details. Steve asked about you!! Is this even real?

“I, um, okay? Cool. Well … I’m here. Um … do you know why he asked?” Okay, can your voice sound any more unstable? Try to keep your cool, for god’s sake!

“Nope,” She simply says and eyes you curiously. Poker face! Poker face!! You smile.

“Okay.”

Short silence.

“Wow, Y/N’s got a thing for Cap. That’s cute.”

“Mark!”

“Jess, I’m Abraham Lincoln, please respect your presid-“ A rather violent punch against his shoulder cuts off his sarcastic remark.

At that moment, a small group of people walks in and to the dismay of your previously relatively steady heartbeat you see Steve with them, now being nerve-wreckingly close. The kitchen seems quite crowded now.

Did he dress up as Han Solo? Heart be still!

Before he can catch you staring, you quickly turn back to face the counter and pretend to be occupied with inspecting the cover of the box you brought the brownies in. Oh, click-closure, interesting. But is it purple from both sides…?

From the corner of your eye, you see someone push in right next to you, and you don’t need to look up to know who it is. You’d recognize that cologne anywhere. You dare a glance to your left and realize that Steve has his back to you and is talking to a fantastic-looking blonde in a Super Woman costume.

It’s easy to see that every single woman in this room and a couple of dudes are subtly staring at Captain America and you can’t blame them.

He doesn’t notice you and you think you’d get away when, on the other side of the room, two of your co-workers in sexy Harry Potter costumes (Hufflepuff and Slytherin) come up to the kitchen island. Hufflepuff sees you, claps her hands and laughs, getting everyone’s attention.

“I didn’t think you would come!”

Slytherin whistles approvingly at your costume and excessive make-up just as Steve turns from having his back to you to looking at you. His expression is kind of friendly when he turns, surely because he’s having an inspiring discussion with Wonder Woman, though he also looks curious to see who Hufflepuff is yelling at, or at least that’s how it seems to you. The minute his eyes meet yours, he freezes and stares.

“Look at you!” Slytherin calls out and grabs an empty glass to fill it with bowle, “That dress is beautiful, so retro, I love it. 50s? You should come to work looking like that, no wait, we should all come to work looking like that. Every Wednesday. We’ll make it our Mean Girls-inspired theme day. Minus the fake blood of course.”

You want to run. You don’t want everyone looking at you.

“You have no idea how long I have waited to hear those words,” Hufflepuff comments and goes for her own glass, “I’m a sucker for everything vintage. It’s so cute.”

“I’m actually a lady from the 40s, whose, um, whose husband cheated on her and now doesn’t want to pay for a divorce, so he, uh, killed me,” You explain, now not so sure about your costume idea anymore. You also try to avoid Steve’s beautiful eyes which are so painfully close and they are looking at you! One might think you never had a boyfriend before, it’s pathetic.

“Ooh, drama! I like that,” A guy who you don’t know says, “Trouble in paradise?”

Trouble in paradise? Does he think you had beef with your *non-existent* boyfriend and now you went for Murdered Wife? That’s something Roxie would do, no doubt.

“No, just liked the idea.”

The general attention in the room moves away from you and the little groups get back to their own conversations.

You chance a look at Steve out of the corner of your eye and see he’s still staring at you, no longer frozen. There is activity behind his eyes, lots of it. Just nothing you can understand. You stop trying to look at Steve without looking like you are looking at Steve and take a step forward.

“Can you pour one for me, too?” You ask Hufflepuff and she does as you ask. Steve’s gaze burns into the backside of your head. Why isn’t he saying anything? He never seemed shy around you.

The music in the living room changes into a different song and a Pink Power Ranger shrieks and pushes against the pirate next to her.

“Let’s go dance! Please!”

“No, let’s just stay here for a while.”

She sighs and looks annoyed, as far as her body language tells you because the mask covers her face completely. All of a sudden, you feel a heat at your back, like someone came up behind you and you think you know who it is. For the sake of your reputation – ‘cause you’d definitely ruin that if you turned around now and stuttered like a horse – you keep your back to him and hold on to the surface in front of you.

“We’ve been standing around all night. I need to move!”

The pirate doesn’t answer and demonstratively takes a sip from his cup. You do the same and listen to the music blasting through the apartment (Steve has moved to stand next to you now), all while ignoring the tension between the two of you in the air.

The music goes into the chorus and the bass booms.

“Not to be dramatic, but I am going to die if we don’t do something … like now.”

“Sarah, if you want to go dance, go.”

Seriously. You start to grin at her childlike crossing of the arms.

“Y/N.”

The blood in your veins freezes at his voice, so close, so him, captivating you instantly although you try not to let it show. You turn your head, still smiling, and look at him. You barely smile around him, let alone at him, because you are usually too nervous but he took you off-guard this time. Then you realize where you are, only a few inches away from Steve fuckin’ Rogers, and your smile dies on your face.

He is still staring at you, but now he is staring at your mouth.

You feel your knees get a bit weak.

The tension gets unbearable, so all you have in mind is ESCAPE. You turn away and attempt to walk around the kitchen island when Steve grabs your wrist.

“Hang on, Y/N,” He says.

He pulls you back gently and you involuntarily get close again, head tilted up to meet his eyes but immediately regretting it because how are you going to get out of this situation now?

“Hm?”

“I like your outfit. Been a while since I saw someone dressed like that.”

Roxie would high-five you now if she was here.

“Thanks.”

“I was actually … hoping to see you here, I-“

“Oh my god, who made these brownies?!” Someone cries out next to you and both of you turn your heads to the side. Albert Einstein stands at the counter, eyes huge, one of your brownies in his hand and his mouth is chewing wildly.

“Me,” You inform him and hesitantly raise your hand.

“These are unbe-fucking-lievable. I’m in love. Everyone please leave me alone now, I need some me-time.”

You smile at him, what a nice thing to say, especially from a physicist that legendary.

You look back at Steve and realize he is watching you again, this time a small smile plays around his lips. Seeing a Private Steve Smile up-close creates a tingling flutter in your belly and kind of detaches you from reality for a second. Where are you again?

“Y/N, what did you put into th-“

“Okay, that’s it,” Steve declares, interrupting Hufflepuff, lays one arm around your waist and starts to move, so you have no other option than to follow him. “I can’t even have one solid conversation with you without anyone interrupting.”

You don’t say anything because you’re way too overwhelmed by the sudden physical contact. He has never really touched you before, aside from shaking your hand or platonically laying a hand on your shoulder, and now you don’t really know how to react. The wild beating of your heart doesn’t help the matter.

He guides you out of the kitchen and you find yourself standing in the loud living room. Pink Power Ranger is dancing like there’s no tomorrow and if this wasn’t such an important moment, you would laugh. Are you being dramatic or just needy?

“I mean, I’m sure the brownies are great, but … well,” He says, arm still around your waist, blue eyes looking down at you, his smell has long catapulted you into a Steve-induced trance, “What I was saying is, I’m glad you’re here because- actually I was trying to approach you at the Tower this week but you’ve been busy and I didn’t want to interrupt, and … well, I was wondering if you want to go out-“

“Han Solo and Lady 40s, arm in arm in my living room! Never thought I would see that happening,” Aladdin booms a few steps away from you. Is this night even for real? Since when have you been so popular??

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Steve bursts out, grabs your hand and drags you past Aladdin into a hallway. You shoot the host an apologetic look but don’t bother stopping the grin on your face. This is kinda funny, not gonna lie.

The hallway is empty and there seem to be no other horny guests so far. As soon as he knows the air is clear, he turns around to you and moves way into your Personal Space (like always, it seems), his beautiful blue eyes locking on yours.

“What I was trying to say is-“

“Hey, Steve my man-“

“You better piss off now, Carl, or I can’t guarantee for anything anymore!” Steve growls at Carl, who just appeared behind him, without even looking over his shoulder.

At this moment he sounds so threatening that you can’t help but wince a little, your eyes grow huge as you watch Carl do a 180 and walk into the direction he came from. Your gaze flickers back to the man in front of you and it’s obvious he is trying not to lose his temper – a trait you never thought he had in him, losing his temper, you mean.

A small muscle in his jaw twitches and his eyes look unusually dark while they stare at the corner of your mouth, so you try a smile. At that, his face changes and he looks up into yours.

“You wanted to ask me something?”

Phew, who would have thought you would be that fucking courageous. Roxie won’t believe this.

“Yes.”

He gets even closer, so you retreat until your back hits the wall, and he puts his big hands against the surface next to your shoulders. Caging you. It’s just that it doesn’t feel like it. He could show you a way out and you would still stand glued to this spot.

“Before anyone gets in the way again, I’m gonna make this short. Do you want to go out on a date with me?”

****

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