#╰ ♡ ✧ ˖ threads┊ ❨ naomi x santiago.001 ❩

[ofresoluxe]

Naomi   let   out   a   sharp   laugh,   equal   parts   amused   and   exasperated,   though   the   amusement   in   Santiago’s   tone   softened   her   initial   frustration. Now,   he’s   speaking   my   language,   she   thought   to   herself   as   she   took   another   sip   of   her   hot   cocoa.   The   warmth   did   little   to   temper   the   irritation   that   bubbled   up   in   her   at   the   thought   of   her   previous   meetings,   but   at   least   Santiago’s   dry   humor   seemed   to   take   the   edge   off. “See,   that’s   the   problem,”   she   argued. “They   want   innovation,   but   only   if   it   looks   exactly   like   what   they’ve   been   doing   the   last   fifty   years.”   Naomi   huffed,   running   a   hand   through   her   brown   hair   before   mutter. “But   somehow, I’m   the   one   who’s   being   too   idealistic.”   From   her   peripheral   vision,   Naomi   noticed   someone   reaching   past   her   for   a   handful   of   marshmallows,   hesitating   when   they   realized   she   was   standing   in   their   way.   She   stepped   out   of   line,   making   room   for   others   to   grab   what   they   needed   from   the   toppings   bar   before   turning   back   to   Santiago.   The   pause   was   long   enough   for   her   to   recognize   how   much   she’d   been   rambling.   Straight   up   complaining   about   work   and   board   members in   front   of   a   board   member.   Heat   crept   up   her   neck,   but   as   she   studied   Santiago   he   didn’t   look   put   off.   If   anything,   the   glint   of   amusement   in   his   eyes   said   he   was   more   than   content   for   her   to   keep   going.  Well,   if   he   was   going   to   encourage   her,   she   wasn’t   about   to   stop. “Honestly,   I   think   some   of   them   still   believe   that   social   media   is   just   a   passing   fad,”   she   continued,   her   voice   laced   with   disbelief. “Like,   God   forbid   we   actually   adapt   to   how   people   consume   information   now.   No,   instead,   let’s   keep   banking   on   the   same   methods   have   have   been   dwindling   in   effectiveness   for   the   last   decade   and   act   surprised   when   we   don’t   see   results.”   Naomi   exhaled   once   again,   feeling   much   lighter   now   that   she   ranted   her   feelings   out.   Her   gaze   focused   in   on   Santiago’s   face,   her   gaze   turning   more   pensive.   “You   get   it,   though.   You   actually   see   the   issue.”   Her   gaze   flickered   over   him,   searching.   It   was   rare   to   have   someone   listen,   to   hear   her   complaints   and   not   just   nod   out   of   politeness.   Santiago   wasn’t   just   humoring   her,   he   understood   the   battle   she   was   fighting,   and   Naomi   wasn’t   sure   if   that   made   her   feel   better   or   worse.  “Why   aren’t   you   fighting   them   harder   on   this?”   Her   tone   wasn’t   accusatory–well,   not   completely.   She   knew   how   these   things   worked,   how   changed   moved   at   a   glacial   pace   and   how   people   always   resisted   change.   But   still,   she   found   herself   watching   him   closely,   wanting   to   understand   if   she   could   make   an   ally   out   of   him   in   the   board   room. 

The festival thrummed around them, a pulse of laughter and music, but his focus remained tethered to her - Naomi, with her sharp mind and sharper wit, her frustration spilling over in her words and bitten-off exasperation. He liked this side of her, the one that spoke before smoothing out the edges, before remembering who she stood in front of.

His head tilted slightly, gaze steady as he let her finish. Then, with a casual ease that belied his amusement, he exhaled, “No, go on. Tell me how my money’s being wasted.” A teasing lilt, but agreement flickered in the depths of his voice.

“You’re right,” he continued, shifting his weight, fingers absently tracing the rim of his cup. “Nobody’s reading print anymore - unless they’re at an age where they’ve got cataracts. And if that's the case, they sure as shit ain’t gonna come see an exhibit.” Taking a second to collect his thoughts, a contemplative look passed over his features. “It’s short-sighted. You want revenue? You target the generation that’s impulsive with their spending and won’t hesitate to swipe their cards for a quick fix. Otherwise, it’s just throwing money into a grave and hoping it’ll grow roots.” He sighed, a quiet thing, before letting his head tip back slightly. “Though, convincing the board of that won’t be easy.” The threat of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “They’re practically artifacts themselves.”

[ofresoluxe]

Naomi   pressed   her   lips   together,   trying   to   suppress   the   smile   threatening   to   break   through.   She   met   his   gaze,   and   told   herself   the   glance   wasn’t   something   worth   analyzing.   And   yet,   she   found   it   distracting   in   a   way   that   she   didn’t   want   to   admit.   Instead,   Naomi’s   curled   her   fingers   tightly   around   the   surface   of   her   mug,   allowing   its   lingering   heat   to   seep   into   her   skin.   The   warmth   was   a   welcome   contrast   to   the   crisp   air   that   bit   at   her   exposed   fingertips.   “Somehow,   I   think   you’d   manage.”   She   took   a   sip   of   the   chocolate,   the   heat   spreading   down   her   throat   and   settling   deep   in   her   chest.   Naomi   exhaled   slowly,   keeping   the   cup   close,   letting   it   warm   her   face   as   well. “But   if   not,   I’m   sure   the   museum   would   erect   a   very   tasteful   plaque   in   your   honor. Santiago   Navarro   –   gone   too   soon,   a   tragic   victim   of   mild   indulgence.”   At   his   inquiry   about   work,   Naomi   clicked   her   tongue,   her   eyes   rolling   in   irritation.   “Yes, some   people   are   still   convinced   that   print   ads   hold   the   key   to   the   salvation   of   the   museum.   Never mind   that   I   provided   an hour long   briefing   detailing   research   about   digital   outreach,   social   media   engagement,   and God   forbid   investing   in   younger   audiences.” She   huffed,   Santiago   having   clearly   hit   a   sore   spot. “But   sure,   let’s   blow   the   budget   on   full-page   spreads   in   newspapers   that   only   retirees   and   crossword   enthusiasts   still   subscribe   to.”   As   if   suddenly   remembering who   exactly   she   was   ranting   to,   her   eyes   snapped   to   his   face   once   more. “I   mean,   their   donations   are,   of   course,   greatly   appreciated.”   Naomi   cleared   her   throat,   straightening   her   posture   in   a   weak   attempt   to   salvage   her   professionalism. “And   I   would   never   presume   to   tell   the   board   how   they   should   be   allocated…”

Santi huffed a quiet laugh, the sound barely more than an exhale. He took the can back, the metal cool against his palm, and tilted it over his cup with far more restraint than he’d threatened. A modest swirl - just enough to melt into the surface of the chocolate - because despite his earlier jest, indulgence was something he’d never quite learned to surrender to. “The universe would survive,” he murmured, glancing at her over the rim of his cup before taking a slow sip. The richness of the chocolate settled against his tongue, warm and decadent, and he swallowed as he considered her with something just shy of amusement. “I, on the other hand? That’s debatable.”

He wasn’t sure why this moment - just the two of them, caught in the middle of a fading festival - felt like something worth holding onto. He supposed it was because he was more accustomed to seeing her elsewhere, where professionalism was a mandate rather than a suggestion. He admired that about Naomi, though - her dedication to her job. Maybe more than he should.

“And speaking of catastrophic events...” he hummed, his tone taking on the faintest edge of something drier, though not unkind, “... How’s work? I heard through the grapevine that there was some debate about the museum’s visibility in the paper.” He arched a brow, his curiosity genuine. “Are people still pretending that print ads in a dying newspaper are going to attract visitors? I don’t want my donations going towards stone age advertising.”

[ofresoluxe]

Recognition   flickered   in   Naomi’s   eyes   and   her   back   straightened   as   she   realized   who   exactly   was   in   front   of   her.   Santiago   Navarro,   one   of   the   museum’s   board   members   and   one   of   her   bosses   in   a   roundabout   way. “Mr.   Navarro,”   she   greeted   with   a   small   nod.   A   small   smile   slowly   stretched   across   her   lips   at   the   picture   he   painted   of   himself   on   a   sugar   high. “Well,   I   wouldn’t   want   to   be   responsible   for   you   embarrassing   yourself   in   front   of   the   whole   town,” Naomi   teased,   pressing   down   on   the   nozzle   and   giving   herself   a   generous   swirl   of   whipped   cream   for   her   hot   chocolate.   She   wasn’t   normally   one   for   excess,   but   she   certainly   wasn’t   about   to   half-ass   something   that   was   meant   to   be   indulgent   to   begin   with.  Her   attention   returned   to   the   man   in   front   of   her   as   she   offered   him   the   can   once   more.   She   hadn’t   interacting   with   him   too   often,   but   standing   here   in   the   snow–away   from   boardrooms   and   tense   debates   over   marketing   strategies–the   soft   glow   of   the   winter   lights   made   him far   too   easy   to   look   at.   Not   allowing   herself   to   start staring,   she   began   to   speak. “I   have   to   say,   though,   I’m   struggling   to   picture you   on   a   sugar   high.   I   think   the   universe   might   implode,”   she   teased,   her   tone   friendly,   almost   playful.

Santiago had never been one for overly sweet drinks, but there was something about the winter air and the hum of a slowly quieting festival that made a cup of hot chocolate feel like a necessity rather than an indulgence. He had just reached for the can of whipped cream when another hand brushed against his. Immediately, he glanced up, meeting the other’s eyes just as they offered him the can.

“Ladies first,” he said, his voice smooth, edged with the faintest trace of warmth as he extended the can towards them. His mother had always drilled chivalry into him - always hold the door, always offer the last piece, always respect the order of things. Still, humour flickered behind his gaze, and his mouth quirked in something close to a smile. “Besides,” he added, “if I go first, I’ll be putting the whole can on top. Might as well brace for impact now - ain’t nothing dignified about a grown man on a sugar high.”

The thought was ridiculous, but the idea of it - of abandoning structure and letting himself indulge in something childish - wasn’t entirely unappealing. Still, restraint was second nature, and he simply gestured again, patient but insistent. “Go on,” he urged, nodding toward the can. “Before I change my mind.”