FINE, I'll ADMIT IT.
I'm having a hard time deciding what to wear.
Usually I'd go for a miniskirt and baggy shirt combo no problem, but after everything Ruby and the rest of them said yesterday, I can't help but think that Dane might think I'm dressing up for him.
And sure, I wear cute clothes everyday, but if he thinks I'm trying to impress him I just might die of embarrassment.
I dig further into the dresser drawer, throwing that thought right out the window when I see the skirt in my hands.
It's dark, flowy velveteen mesh, tied up the front with ribbons looped through grommets like a corset. I pull the fabric up to my waist before tightening it until it almost cuts off my blood circulation. Then I grab for a tight, purple halter top in one of the lower drawers.
On my way out the door, I slip into a faux leather jacket and my stompers, slinging my tote bag over my shoulder as I struggle to lace up the strings.
I have roughly ten minutes to get to the library before one, and my heart is racing at the prospect of being late. I'm playing a dangerous game with time, but I guess I love testing my luck.
Much to my surprise, the bus shows up on time.
But very much not to my surprise, it decides to screech to a halt at every stop along the way.
I'm tucked in the back corner next to an old woman who's been staring at my outfit for far too long, and I drape my arms over my chest, the movement catching her attention.
"Going out?" she asks, leaning closer as we catch eyes.
"Something like that," I shrug before turning to root around my bag for my phone.
"I remember those days. These are the best years of your life."
"Are they really?" I murmur under my breath, but she hears it and decides to respond anyway.
"Oh, yes. Young adulthood is unforgettable. I hope you're cherishing it."
I force a polite laugh, thanking god as my stop comes into view. "Well, this is me. Have a nice day."
She nods over enthusiastically as I stand up, grabbing my stuff and fighting my way up to the front before the bus can even come to a stop.
I spot Dane the second I enter the library, nose in a book in the space between the two entrance doors.
He's wearing a sweater vest today despite the weather, dark trousers, and, of course, his trench coat.
Chocolate curls fall into his eyes as I draw nearer, and he raises a hand to swoop them out of the way a little too model-esque for my liking. Then like clockwork I'm noticed. The book snaps shut.
"You're late."
I pull my phone out of my pocket, checking the time. Ten minutes past. "The bus was slow."
"Maybe you should have planned accordingly then."
"Don't you have better things to complain about?"
"Not at the moment, no." He moves from his spot at the wall before shifting forward to grasp the door handle, letting himself inside and barely holding it open for me. "I got a study room on the second floor."
"Can't wait," I say, and he glances over his shoulder at me.
"Have you written anything?"
"If you're talking about coming up with ideas then yeah. I told you I would."
"Well, you also said you would be here at one, so I can't really say you're the most reliable person around."
"No, you said that. I actually enjoy being fashionably late."
"Be fashionably late at someone else's expense."
"You're so dramatic, Doggy." I sigh, stomping after him up the stairs.
"Watch your step. We wouldn't want another accident," is his snarky reply. I make a face at his back.
The study room ends up being at the end of a long hall, set up like a university with a row of single cubbies opening up to a couple multi-people rooms.
Ours has a huge window peering out over the street, and I drop my bag on the table before walking over to hover before the glass. "Wow."
"Nice, right?" The door clicks shut behind me, and I'm suddenly aware of the silence in the room. The close quarters.
When I turn back around, Dane's setting his own stuff down on the table, sitting in one of the seats. My gaze naturally wanders over to his notebook, body heating up as I recall what's inside.
"Yeah, it's alright."
His eyes snap up to mine when I don't move from the window, dark hazel assessing me in standard robotic fashion. I find myself messing with my rings—nervous habit.
"Are you gonna sit?"
"Uh, yeah. Chill out." I pull out the chair across from him agonizingly slowly, biting my tongue as the wood scrapes across the floor before quickly plopping down into the seat. "Ideas—you go first."
His eyes snap back down to his laptop. "I'm feeling generous today, so I'll let you go first."
"Generous, huh?"
"Uh huh."
"Alright, let's see," I dig into my tote bag, sorting through miscellaneous shit until I find my own notebook. "Nostalgia?"
"What about nostalgia?"
"Like the feeling of it. Happy memories, like moments you wish you could go back to and things that take you back to an era. I don't know, I just thought that could be an interesting topic."
He hums. "And here I thought you were just into doom and gloom."
"What why?"
"I mean, that's what you write about the most."
"That's not true."
"It definitely is."
I scoff. "Well, all you do is romanticize. Life, love, nature. Where's all this romance in real life, huh?"
"Not everything I write is romanticized."
"Please, you wouldn't be able to write anything without flowery prose. It's your lifeline."
"Is that a challenge, Cleodora?" His eyes widen, body leaning closer, and I feel my skin prickle. Our legs are almost close enough to touch under the table.
"You sound like you want it to be a challenge."
"I think it's a challenge."
"I never said—"
"I'll make sure we place first." His pen is in his hand now, brows raised, "And I won't use any flowery prose."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'll write doom and gloom and you can take romance. I think that counts as far as 'stepping outside of our comfort zones.'"
"No, no. If we're going to place first, why would we write each other's specialty? That doesn't make any sense."
"To accomplish the goal." A sudden grin that raises goosebumps on my arms flashes over his face. "Aw, are you regretting starting something you can't finish, Cleodora? Do you really want to be the slacker on this team?"
"This team has two people. And, no, I know what you're trying to do."
"What am I trying to do?"
"Manipulate."
He laughs, and the sound makes me sit up straighter. "A friendly challenge in pursuit of our betterment is manipulation now?"
"No, working against each other when both of us are depending on each other is though."
"A good writer should have mastery over more than their specialty. Unless you don't think you've earned that title yet." He feigns pity, and I can feel my body buzzing.
"Stop it."
"Am I making you mad?"
"You always make me mad."
"I'm flattered I have such an intense impact on you."
"I didn't say anything about intensity."
He reaches across the table, letting his hands drift over mine, loosening them from where they're clutched around my arms to the point of coloring white. "You didn't have to."
My breath catches in my throat as he lifts one of my palms up to his face, tracing the lines. "Tell me more about your nostalgia idea."
Fuck, this is throwing me off.
Hostile yet sweet. Gentle and malicious.
He presses my fingertips to his lips, and I can feel my eyes widen involuntarily.
Get a hold of yourself, Cleo.
"Nostalgia. We, uh, we have a main character and when they encounter something, they have this feeling, this..." I pause to take a breath, the air coming out shakily as he holds eye contact, goes back to tracing my palm. "nostalgia, and vivid...vivid memories about something from the past. But it's like a surreal memory. Maybe it never even happened. Maybe the memory was made to block out the real happenings."
Dane lets out a hum of acknowledgment. "There it is. I was waiting for the dark twist."
I hold his eye contact, pissed off at the fact that he can read me like a book. "Do you like it or not?"
"It's not bad."
"Okay? Then what do you have?"
"I had a thriller kind of idea. Woman trapped in a lighthouse with a killer on the loose."
I squint at this. "Why?"
"I thought you would like it. It has murder."
"I'm sure with a lot of melodramatic internal monologue?"
His lack of a reply is answer enough.
"Of course."
"Plot twist, though—she's the killer."
"You're making this up as you go, aren't you?"
"I have to keep it exciting somehow."
I pull my hand away, and a sudden look of uncertainty flits across his face that makes my heart duck an inch in my chest before he settles back into his chair.
"Speaking of exciting, second place, yeah?"
"Yeah. And before you say anything, yes I deserve it. Even if it's only for having to deal with Nick for that long."
A slight smile tugs at his lips. "I wasn't going to say anything. I thought your piece was good."
"Oh." The word comes out abruptly, mouth obviously caught off guard by the compliment. "Then thanks. Yours was, uh, alright too."
He's silent for a moment, just staring at me. Me staring at him. I'm wondering for a second if he wants me to get out of my chair to kiss the ground he walks on before he grabs something from his bag. His movements are jerky, lips pressing together as he slides a box onto the table. "Here."
"What's this?"
He shrugs, pushing it toward me. "A thing. Open it."
The box is small and velvet. I run my finger over the top before looking back up at him. "Is it a ring? Because if so, let me stop you right there."
"Funny," is his only reply, elbows folding onto the table as he watches me through half-lidded eyes.
My heart thuds against my rib cage, and I hope to god my body isn't jolting with its movement. Slowly my fingers flip up the top.
***
if you're wondering why the ending's so abrupt, it's because this is part 1 of this chapter since it's turning out to be much longer than expected lmao i should hopefully have the next part out soon tho!
anyway this one was fun to write hehe AND WE HIT 10K WTF YOU GUYS IM—
WAIT GUYS I JUST FOUND OUT THIS BOOK IS FEATURED ON THE WATTPAD AMBASSADORS PROFILE WHAT IS HAPPENING
brb gonna go cry 💕