THERE'S NO SHAME like leaving a library after a little old lady named Marge just finished screaming her lungs out at you for making out with a guy on top of a table in a private study room.
Which, I guess isn't as private as the name suggests.
I guess I can also say there's no shame like stumbling off the table with no help whatsoever from said guy before struggling to cram all your shit into your tote bag as Marge makes you walk out the room together and past everyone in the library like she's a mall cop and you've just been caught stealing.
Or I could say there's no shame like that felt at the door when the guy turns around, the perfect image of holiness, saying, "Thank you, Ma'am. I don't know what got into me. I shouldn't have let this woman persuade me into partaking in such a vile act."
My mouth pops open, ready to defend myself, but Marge's already nodding in pitiful understanding at him and shooting me the dirtiest of all looks before letting the door slam shut in our faces.
We're silent for one second. Two.
"You asshole," I finally hiss, eyes wide as I turn to face Dane.
"Cleodora, don't be vulgar," is his response, smirk flitting across his face at my reaction. "What's going on with you today?"
"What is this? A fucking set up?"
"Maybe," he shrugs, enjoying this far too much for my liking.
My lipstick's still smeared around his mouth, hair a mess, and I can only imagine what I look like standing next to him on the sidewalk.
"What, do you enjoy humiliation?"
"Yeah, I thought we already established that I'm a sadistic masochist."
"You're disgusting."
"Thank you."
I roll my eyes, adjusting the straps of my totebag on my shoulder before swiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. "Now what?"
People walking down the street have definitely started to notice us now, stares lingering, chuckles emitting from the groups that roam by.
Dane either doesn't notice or doesn't care, gesturing to the sidewalk. "We'll find somewhere else I guess."
"Looking like this?"
"You look fine."
I narrow my eyes at him, and he reaches over to brush my hair out my face, using his thumb to scrub around my mouth.
My stomach grows warm at his touch.
"There, all fixed. Now come on."
I blindly follow like an idiot.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere."
"Somewhere that's not another library?"
"Not another library," he confirms.
We walk for about ten minutes—Dane a couple steps ahead of me the entire way—before stopping in front of a building that looks like a house. An eccentric house.
"What is this?"
He doesn't dignify my question with a response, pushing the door open before going inside. I follow again like a lamb led to slaughter.
The inside of the place is filled with stained glass, dark and dusty. A piano sits right in the entrance and a stack of board games line the back wall. There are a few people sitting at tables that look like pews around the place, either old or around our age, no in between.
"Seriously, what is this?" I murmur, nudging his arm.
"Coffee shop. What do you want?"
"What do you mean—?"
"You look like you'd like something weak. Latte?"
"Is that an insult?"
He goes back to ignoring me, stopping at the bar in the middle of the room before telling his order of a black coffee to the barista, tacking on a latte at the last second.
I reach out a hand as he tries to pay for it, rushing to tug my wallet out of my bag, but he swipes his card before I can even get my hand on it.
"Are you kidding me?"
"Just think of it as debt you can pay back later," is his response, eyes flashing over with evil amusement.
I squint at him, arms crossing over my chest.
"Here," he holds out a hand, ignoring my stare down. "Give me your bag. I'll go find a spot, and you can get the drinks." The second he turns to go, he stops as if he's had a last minute thought. "And don't spit in my coffee."
"Thanks for the idea." I say, my lips quirking up sarcastically as he gives me a look, grabbing my bag before moving to the back of the room.
A couple minutes later, the man at the counter is setting our drinks down in front of me, my latte in a tall plastic cup and Dane's in a ceramic mug. I grab them both before making my way to the back of the room, not noticing him until a hand comes out from behind a red beaded curtain, waving me over.
My walk grows more purposeful at the sight, reassured by the fact that he didn't decide to ditch me at the last minute. He glances up again as I push through the curtain, setting the cups down onto the table before crashing onto the sofa next to him. "How the hell did you find this place?"
"I moved the curtains, and there it was."
"I mean this coffee shop."
"Oh, the internet. Crazy how that thing works, yeah?"
"Insane." I trill sarcastically, bringing the cold drink to my lips.
His laptop screen is up, and his fingers are flying across the keys. He only stops typing to drink his black coffee, bitter like his soul.
"I hope you're working on the assignment over there."
"I think we should revisit your first idea—the nostalgia thing."
"Wow, okay. You're suddenly ready to admit the idea was good."
He shrugs. "I never said it was bad. I think it has promise. Especially if we're trying to switch our typical writing styles."
"Please do elaborate."
He raises a brow at my condescending tone, eyes shifting from his computer to meet mine. I tug at one of my dangly earrings, feigning innocence.
"From what I've gathered, you want to write about nostalgia but kind of in the sense of deja vu."
"I'm already lost."
"How do you write about something you feel you've experienced intimately but haven't? It's like a system glitch. A recurring...something. A nostalgia that never was."
"Deja vu has to do with familiarity right? An event or...thing that pulls from something in your past uncannily." I rub my temples. "God, this is making my head hurt."
Dane's lips twitch as he types something else. "I think this would be a good thriller. The idea that our minds themselves can be untrustworthy. Or maybe they're helping us find connections like a real-life crossword or something."
"An event that seemed perfect in the past having a connection to a new horrible event. Like a warning that the two aren't as different as they seem. Like...like a wedding and a funeral."
"Exactly."
The words coming out of both of our mouths likely wouldn't make sense to anyone but ourselves, random sentence fragments that we find ourselves getting increasingly more invested in like mad scientists. But surprisingly it feels like the concept is finally starting to come together.
By the time we begin packing up, we have a pretty solid outline of where we want our story to go. Complete with a basic plan for how we intend to work on the piece separately before our next meeting.
The sun has started to set as we step outside the coffee shop.
"Are you heading back to the hotel now?"
He thrums his fingers against the face of his notebook, checking the time on his phone. "I'll probably go pick up some food first. You?"
"What time is it?"
"Going on six."
"Six?" I say in disbelief, pulling out my own phone to fact-check this. "Damn."
Dane makes an amused sound, raising an eyebrow when I look back up to shoot him a look of annoyance. "Time flies when you're having fun."
"Fun, right." I murmur, refusing to admit that my time with him was surprisingly not the worst thing in the world. "I think I'll pick up some food too."
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm kind of in a sushi mood. Or sandwich. I don't know, honestly as long as it's good, I'm fine with anything."
Dane clicks his phone back on, typing something before showing me his screen. "There's a sushi place like five minutes from here if you want me to walk you."
"To walk me? Why would I want that?"
He shrugs. "It's getting late, and I thought we already established that I'm a gentleman."
"Bullshit."
"I'm walking you."
"Walk yourself," I snap back, not appreciating that he's made the decision for me. "And give me that number."
He rattles off the number, smirk tugging at his lips as he keeps pace with me down the sidewalk. I do my best to ignore him, ordering my usual crunchy and california rolls.
Before I can hang up the call, though, he grabs my phone out of my hand, putting it up to his ear. "Hey, can you also add an order of Yaki udon to that? Sure, chicken's fine. Mhm, all one tab." The evil smile comes back as he moves away from my hands which swipe at him to get my phone back. "Twenty minutes? Sounds great, thank you." Then he ends the call.
"Dane Anderson, you—"
"Asshole? Come on, Cleodora. Can't you come up with more creative insults?"
I snatch my phone out of his hands, stuffing it into my bag, utterly pissed at him for being able to predict my words that easily.
"You were building up interest on that debt," is his means of explanation. "Thanks for dinner."
"I can't stand you."
"Such a liar," is his response. I glare at him, stomach flipping over angrily as he combs his hair back out of his face, re-exposing the little heart-shaped mark under his eye. "By the way, how do you walk in those things?"
I look down at my stompers, making sure they slam down on the pavement extra hard after his question.
How the hell is he still this much taller than me even with these things on? The observation pisses me off even more.
"They're comfortable. How's the weather with that coat of yours?"
"Nice," is his retort.
"Oh, sure in eighty-some degrees. Get a grip."
"At least I wear actual clothes when I go out in public."
"This is why no one likes you."
"Except you, right?"
I flinch a bit at this assertion and he looks away from me, smiling to himself at my reaction.
That only fuels my annoyance more.
"Only in your wildest dreams, Doggy."
***
semi-wholesome danecleo is my favorite danecleo
also unrelated but i think i have an obsession with bubble tea help me lmao