. . .
"It's amazing what the possibility of romance can do to you. I'm self-conscious now in ways I never was before."
— Deb Baker
. . .
Alastor isn't sure if he can face his mate again or for her to look at him the same way without remembering last night's insanity.
And yeah, sure, Alastor was aware that he basically had spelled out the fact that he really, really likes her (as in, wanted to be in a real romantic relationship with her but what else is new with that?!) even before they had agreed to settle down with him staying with her and her brother for the meanwhile but there was no rush.
He had even insisted that he was fine with their set-up, with them being just friends—for the meantime—because Winters was clearly not looking for anything like that at the moment.
Then, this shit happens.
And it's more likely than not that the gods of love's influence has made things incredibly awkward between them.
Talk to her, William said.
Talk to her and... and then what?
What was there to even say?!
Alastor can't even pass off anything that he said last night as some sort of prank or his usual half-flirting, half-teasing banter around her that had somehow become their norm. Not when it was so painfully obvious that he clearly meant every single thing that he just said to her.
And what's worse, there were witnesses.
William was bad enough but the other–
...Oh, gods. OH GODS–!
EVEN THE GOD OF WINE SAW HIM!
"Damn it," Alastor bemoaned as he slammed his head on the countertop for what felt like the nth time, lurching back up again to groan as he rubbed wearily at his aching forehead while he waits for his muffins to be ready. He did remember promising to make some baked goods for William, after all.
They can also be used for bribing material.
No, wait. Not cool.
Because judging by how William acts earlier, even muffins might not be able to sway the kid's sweet tooth... well fuck, there goes his last resort. Alastor slammed his head again for cooking up another useless idea.
"Fuck my life..." he groaned.
Plot twist: his life was already fucked.
What Alastor really needs at the moment is some more alone time with his thoughts. Because if he thinks about it, really thinks about it, maybe just maybe he can find another way. Maybe he can make himself believe that it's really not so bad or—
"What are you doing?" Winters suddenly demanded, watching him lurch (and practically proceed to jump a few feet in the air before proceeding to trip right over his chair) after face-planting on the counter again.
"OH, FUCK ME!" Alastor screeches, his soul practically leaving right out of his body when his brain saw, finally registered his mate sitting right in front of him with her fingers casually interlaced together to prop her head up, looking like she had been there some time.... because seriously what—what the hell?
How long had she been there?!
"No, thank you,"' Winters said, dryly.
"What? I... no. S-sorry. You startled me," Alastor quickly says at that, his mind still reeling from shock and being on the verge of having a concussion and a heart attack not even two seconds ago.
And when he finally dares to look at her in the eye, his barely recovered heart suddenly feels like about to drop down from his chest. Dark hair, dark eyes and a pale, pretty face. Well, damn. His heart is not going to survive this, is it?
"H-hi," Alastor stammers out, "Good evening."
Her lips quirked as she nodded at him. That same, barely-there smile that does things to his heartstrings making its once in a blue moon appearance.
"Good evening," she greeted back.
For a moment, they don't say a word after that.
This is the first time they saw each other since...
S-since... last... night...
And at the sudden lull, William's words immediately floated right back at the forefront of Alastor's mind, the kid's curt voice sounding so loud and clear, making him twitch a bit nervously in his seat.
Talk to her, William said.
But talking to Winters would certainly lead to acknowledging... whatever Alastor just word-vomited on her while he was completely high on whatever love-juice the god of love's arrows had drugged him with last night.
And maybe it's a conversation Winters doesn't really want to have at the moment because Alastor seriously isn't sure as hell ready to talk about it, let alone think of it himself.
Because he remembers, he finally remembers... the bar, the alcohol addled up in his system as he insisted that they don't have to be more than friends if that was what she wants. He remembered insisting that whatever they are can remain platonic.
He remembered that promise, the sad smile on her face.
And while Alastor wouldn't mind them taking it slow, he thinks he wouldn't really like it if Winters was somehow compelled (or even peer-pressured) to 'like' him because of the god and goddess of love interfering with whatever they have at the moment.
That's not love.
Love isn't something to be forced.
It's supposed to be natural, forged by time, tempered by mutual respect and trust between two people who genuinely cared about each other. That's why Alastor doesn't mind starting out as friends (or housemates) with her, because he had been hoping for her to see him more than as something to be infatuated with.
He had waited for years to know if he even had a mate, after all. He wouldn't mind waiting for another few years for her to get comfortable around him if that's what it takes.
He was willing to wait.
It's okay. He's fine with that...
Surprisingly, it is Winters who breaks the silence first.
"Last night..." she begins.
Aaaaand just like that, the scraps of whatever calm Alastor had barely secured and been armoring himself with suddenly shattered like glass.
