#she's from Connecticut she's cool we used to work together her taste in men is sometimes questionable

[lifebloodless]

I AM... DRINKABLE

[marie-dufresne]

A Quiet Companionship

Ficlet for @dirge-of-valentinex4 because I just love the children

The cafes always crowded up when the weather got colder, even the ones off campus, like where Alexander Valentine was sat now, in the financial district. He didn’t understand why Providence had districts in the first place. The city was so small it barely counted as a city. 

Still, he preferred this part of it, where everyone kept to themselves. Brown University, he’d come to discover, despite being an elite school, was completely entwined with the city and much to his distain, was being practically choked by, well, Grimmy’s type. 

Tattoo parlors, trendy, exotic clothing, hookah bars, art galleries, street performers—it all littered the streets of the university so he’d leased an apartment at a distance, in a place he was far more comfortable and diligently tended to his out-of-the-classroom studies there. But as the weather chilled and the wind whipped, even his favored coffee shop became crowded and had he not preferred his cappuccino made properly in a ceramic cup instead of a heinous paper one, he would have taken it to-go. 

Today was a particularly wet and windy day where people huddled inside on their laptops, stuffed in the little space yet entirely ignoring one another. Alexander was no different. He hadn’t bothered with headphones. There was no need for them, really. Any conversations were at a low hum and he was entirely undistracted by them, typing away in his word processor, cappuccino cup empty and taken away by a barista who Alexander knew thought stood a chance with him, but the former was far too polite to outwardly tell him that he wasn’t interested in men.

A girl his age approached his table then, and he almost didn’t notice her, so focused on her assignment, but she cleared her throat and let out a little ‘excuse me’ and he looked up, slightly startled, but barely showing it. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologize, “I was just wondering if I could sit with you…here at your table? There’s nothing open and I just wanted to do some homework away from my roommates.”

“Uh…” 

He’d put his bag on that other chair as a sign he didn’t want company, but unlike some, his desire for solitude did not make him an asshole, so he pulled the messenger bag off, setting it at his feet and nodded. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

She thanked him and without another word, they both worked in silence. 

After an hour, she looked up, standing. 

“Hey I’m going to grab a hot chocolate—do you want anything?”

Alexander shook his head to decline her request and continue ignoring her, but stopped himself. He thought of his father, so polite in uncomfortable situations, and he thought of his mother, always encouraging him to make people’s days better. Most of the time he forgot or didn’t see the point but in this moment it struck him and he stood, holding out his hand for her to sit back down. 

“I got it,” he muttered, heading over to the counter before she could protest. 

When he returned to the table, she thanked him, cheeks a little pink, but didn’t press him any further than that. She didn’t ask his name or start babbling or take it as an invitation to invade his personal space (all things Mama would have done) and when he sat back down, he decided she wasn’t so bad.

She left with just a small wave and an extra thanks and for a few days he didn’t see her again. Maybe she’d been there, maybe she hadn’t. Alexander simply hadn’t noticed because he hadn’t thought about her at all. But one day she was there again, tucked away in a corner reading a novel. She didn’t look up when he walked by to use the restroom and by the time he’d finished his drink and a phone conversation with his mother that he really would have preferred to have at home, she was still there, entirely engrossed in her literature. 

On his way out, he placed a mug of hot chocolate on the table beside her, leaving without a word. 

He soon realized she was in two of his classes and though she never made an effort to get close to him, she smiled and waved if ever they made eye contact by accident. Sometimes she was at the cafe, sometimes she wasn’t. Sometimes she had already helped herself to her hot drink and when she hadn’t, he felt compelled to provide her with one, though he still didn’t know why. 

He knew that he found her attractive. She wasn’t a super model by any means and some might have gone so far as to call her plain, but perhaps that was why he found her so attractive. She didn’t sully her face with products or murder her hair with whatever heated objects girls were using these days. 

She was always clean looking, even if he knew her clothes were probably only from the middle-class mall the city had to offer and even though he knew nothing about her other than what was presented at face value, she wasn’t annoying and that might have been the most important. 

Winter went on. They broke for Thanksgiving recess, they went home for winter break, and in January, they continued their near-silent beverage dance. 

“I’m Alexander,” he said one day, finally introducing himself as he set down the cocoa. They were sharing a table again. It was snowing today, the bitter icy kind. 

“I’m Emily,” she replied with a smile, pulling the mug forward. 

He nodded and resumed his work. 

Ah, he knew her name now. 

The next conversation didn’t come about until two weeks later, when he received a phone call from his grandfather, one he had been waiting for and he chatted for a solid fifteen minutes at the table. She didn’t look up, and he was sure she was unable to eavesdrop (she didn’t look like she spoke anything other than English), but when he hung up, unable to contain the grin Grimoire had put on his face having settled plans for just the two of them on Spring break, she looked up only through her eyelashes, and only for a second before she returned to her own work, smiling. 

“Everyone around here really is Italian,” she commented, turning the page of her notebook. 

“I’m from Manhattan,” he told her stiffly, feeling the need to make it known that he was not part of…this. Not for any reason other than he liked things to be…precise and clear. 

“My grandfather and my father are from Italy though,” he offered softly and with furrowed brows. Why was he telling her this? “…my mother is from Los Angeles. She speaks French.”

Emily listened to all of this attentively and with a soft smile. It was the most he’d ever said to her. She wasn’t exactly the talkative type herself, but it was nice to hear him. 

“My whole family is from Woodstock,” she replied, offering up a little bit of herself too, “Connecticut. It’s…average. We all only speak English, but I like to dabble in the ah….” her face reddened even more and Alexander felt a flutter in his belly. 

“…the ancient languages. Just on my own though…I have a bunch of books in their original dead languages and I’m trying to read them cover to cover on my own.” 

He perked. 

“Sorry,” she apologized, pulling her textbook forward, “I just get excited.”

He didn’t mind, he realized. He really really didn’t, but he also didn’t want to press her to speak, as there were fewer things he loathed more than people trying to get him to talk when he wasn’t in the mood to, so he nodded and told her that he thought it was cool.

Suddenly, one day, it was seventy-six degrees outside. Very suddenly. All the days before it hadn’t passed forty (neither would the next) and when Alexander entered the cafe, he found himself at a bit of a loss. 

No, this was quite a loss. 

Emily was already there, this time with one of her old books and he did his best not to rush over and ask her about it. He wondered if Father was familiar with what she was reading. She was by the window today, not holed up in a corner like usual and he imagined it was for the same reason so many people had been out on the streets today. It was a taste of spring, even if they all knew it was nothing more than a tease, and they craved the outdoors after being cooped up all winter. 

The sun was shining onto her head and he realized he’d never noticed how pretty her hair was, how silky it looked, and how…he wondered, it might feel. She licked her bottom lip briefly and he wondered how that might taste. 

No. 

Not now, Alexander. Not in public for God’s sake. 

He knew he liked her. Liked her in the way his mother used to ask if he liked anyone at school. Emily didn’t mind silence. She was comfortable just sitting, just being without words and he’d learned, if briefly, that when she had something to say, it was something of interest to him and he did want to know more about her interests. 

He thought maybe she might like him too. She blushed most every time he said more than ‘hello’, particularly, he’d learned, when he noticed something about her and complimented her on it before they’d settle into their quietness. 

They only had one class together this semester and while she hadn’t blatantly gone out of her way to secure a seat beside him, he’d begun casually saving it for her. His jacket, his bag, sometimes a hard stare at anyone more oblivious who made an attempt to sit there.

Whatever worked. 

But today, there was a problem. Today it was seventy-six degrees outside and he hadn’t realized he’d been hovering at the little seating area until she looked up, asking if anything was the matter. 

I’d like to take you to dinner. 

That’s what he wanted to say. He’d been wanting to for a few weeks now, ever since she’d mentioned studying dead languages, really. Grandfather would be interested in that. Perhaps he’d have material for her as well. 

But that was not what came out of his mouth. Though he had inherited many of his father’s qualities, gaining the attention of women being one of them, he’d also been gifted with Vincent’s conversation skills, and overthinking any situation involving a woman his was genuinely interested in, so asking her out on a date was not as simple as his mind tried to make him believe. 

“I don’t know what you drink when it’s warm out.”

Beautiful. Splendid. A magnificent performance from Alexander Valentine. He’d be here all week. 

Except he wouldn’t be, especially if her response was in any way mortifying to him. Then he might very well confine himself to his apartment for the rest of the semester. 

Closing her book, she laced her fingers together, resting her chin on top of them and looking up at him with a soft smile, so warm and genuine, reflected in her brown eyes that today, shone just as brightly as the subtle tones of red in her hair. 

“You don’t have to buy me a drink, Alexander,” she told him gently, “It does make me happy but…I don’t expect it.” 

“Then maybe I can buy you dinner instead.”

It came out so fast, Alexander nearly had to grip onto the chair he was standing next to before he collapsed. His own words echoed in his ears and shock turned to pride as he stood up a little straighter. Ah, yes. Yes. This was indeed the way it was done. 

He waited patiently for her answer. He could tell by the way she blinked and her mouth fell open a little bit that she hadn’t expected that. Likely from him especially.

“Y-yeah, of course,” she said, dropping her hands to her lap and then bringing them back up onto the table, suddenly unsure of how to behave, suddenly very conscious of how she looked, “I would love to go out with you.”

He relaxed, slightly. She’d said yes and she seemed to have meant it. Now he needed to decide where and when. Should he take her up to Federal Hill? Would that be…too obvious of him? Too show-offy? He’d learned she came from a middle class family and attended Brown on a truckload of scholarships. What was normal for him might be—

He paused his musings, not having noticed she’d written something down until she handed it to him and he looked down at the ten digits written on a scrap of notebook paper.

“You don’t need to figure it out now. The semester doesn’t end for a while. Text me when you want to go out and how to dress.”

Was this girl psychic? She’d given him the pass to sit on it, to work it all out in his mind until it couldn’t be worked again. It gave him time to consult his father on the matter. Or perhaps his mothe—no, no, no it was best to keep his dating life a secret for now lest the woman get any ideas.

Father was his best bet. He’d been married twice and dated in between. He’d know what to do. 

“I will,” said Alexander after meticulously folding the paper into a perfect square and slipping it into the breast pocket of his dress shirt. 

“Now what do you drink when it’s warm out?”

She laughed a quiet laugh behind closed lips before reaching over and taking one of his hands in hers for the first time. 

“Just water.”