Quick! I'm from the future!! I need your inkblade headcanons or scenarios or the universe will implode!
Ok ok, I can do this. I can answer this ask without going out of control. I can be normal about this, I can.
I don't have very many hardset headcanons, but more vibes that rise and fall like the tide. Oisin's fins/head-crest flare out ramrod straight and the spines turn as purple as his face if he's blushing hard enough. I will die on this hill. Oisin's non-verbal emotions are actually really easy to pick up on if he's too distracted to keep them tightly in control. A thick dragonborn tail lashing back and forth like an outlet for Emotions That Are Too Big can be really inconvenient in a highschool hallway. The rise and fall of his fins/head-crest are MUCH harder to hide however.
Oisin also smells perpetually of petrichor, and it drives Adaine insane.
1. I think Oisin's crush started softly, and with indescribable longing, probably before he ever knew who she was. Freshman year, a Thursday Intro To Glyphs class. He doesn't know or talk to her at all, just a face in a class he has that he barely notices. So he's not falling for her quite yet.
I think he first fell in love in the way one does when you see a stranger sitting across from you on the public bus or train. The sunlight hit her hair and he couldn't take his eyes off suddenly. Maybe he saw her smiling and laughing with her friends, maybe she was rolling her eyes at them with her nose scrunched up just a little in faint judgement, maybe he can't even remember because while walking past in the hallway he had been so dumb-struck for a second he walked face first into an open locker door to Ivy's absolute confusion. (She does laugh at him mercilessly, even if he won't say why he walked into it.)
It's a moment of "I don't know you, you don't know me, but for one unfathomably long moment I wanted nothing more than to imagine a life lived that included basking near you and your smile every day until I die."
Unrealistic right? Just a passing stranger, this isn't a love story, it's an average Tuesday and Oisin has homework and an appointment with his party in the forest after school.
He gathers his bearings and moves on, and if his mind wanders back to the girl in the hall who had captivated him to lethal effect? Well it's a pleasant memory for him and he thinks that's allowed, right?
Except she's in his Glyph class two days later, he realizes, and suddenly that hallway moment of longing rushes back until his entire face is purple and he's trying not to stare at the occasionally stuttering but brilliant wizard girl two rows ahead in class.
1a. I think Oisin continued to take Glyph classes at first because he hoped she would too. Adaine doesn't, but Oisin continues because he is good at them and enjoys it and it's certainly easier to learn when he's not distracted in class 70% of the time.
2. As Oisin gets older, more and more of his dragonic nature becomes apparent. It's like a second puberty happening concurrently with normal puberty, which means it's a rollercoaster nightmare for him and the High Five Heroes/Rat Grinders.
2a. Dragons have hoards, but not all dragons hoard the same things, even within their own subclasses. Still, Oisin has quite a few gems and jewels in his fledgling hoard, despite not knowing what he most wants to hoard, and if his favorite gem just so happens to be one that reminds him of the shade of blue in a particular elven girl's eyes then-
2b. Oisin also has a deep fondness for rain and storms. He always knows if it's incoming even if it's not in the forecast. Something primal in him connects to the raging skies, for good or ill. It makes him feel confident and powerful. He also considers it very romantic. Unfortunately, Adaine gets so cross with him anytime she hears him predict a storm coming, even if he's talking to literally anyone else. (Adaine thinks Oisin is a storm himself, and if she is not careful she will be like the last Oracle and have forgotten to stock up on water breathing spells and drown in him amidst the storm of his being.)
2c. Dragons also hold great respect for power and prowess. Physical fights for hierarchy, play, or even courtship are very normal. For all that they are sentient brilliant beings, Dragons are still wild, untameable, primal things. This lurks underneath all of them, good or evil. Some are just more adept at hiding it. For courtship, this comes into play as sizing the other up. Both sides are looking to find out whether or not the other has any worth as a long term partner who would need to help guard the nest. Protecting eggs and hoards from greedy adventurers is serious business. There are reasons there aren't many truly ancient dragons. Too large a discrepancy in strength can sometimes be a turn off for the stronger one, so the most successful courtships are usually of similarly strong dragons, or at least, ones that put up enough of a fight despite the gap.
c1. Oisin, seeing the great accomplishments and prowess of Adaine Abernant over the course of Freshman year, feels a deep stirring even before he's rage-starred. He wants to fight her so badly, to sling magic and bloody teeth until the raging beast inside is sated. Naturally this scares him at first, and Oisin REFUSES to seek Adaine out to talk because of it, because the teen boy part of himself wants something kind, soft and tender between them, while the dragon making itself known as he ages wants to prove itself strong to her.
Later, he will tell himself this urge was ENTIRELY because he'd been on the path towards being contaminated-then-consumed with rage and wanted the Bad Kids dead. Absolutely not because it's the first step in traditional dragon courtship. He just wants to prove himself to her. He wants to feel for himself the confirmation of her renowned battle prowess. This is all for purely rival-related reasons, he tells himself. He is, perhaps, a bit of a liar.
3. Adaine's crush, not just her thinking he's cute but her actual legitimate crush on him, actually starts when the Rat Grinders are being redeemed post-Junior Year.
Like, she hates his GUTS. He made her feel belittled and stupid during Junior year, and yes they kicked his and his friends asses, but also now they just have to deal with them still being around. (Yes this is how they made friends with Ragh too, but they're petty.)
Except...so now they have to spend time together, maybe in classes maybe because Lucy loves her friends despite everything but is also now a friend of The Bad Kids. The former Rat Grinders are CLEARLY trying so hard to be better and kinder, but still the parties are mingling and there is tension but its also so fucking funny.
So Adaine and Oisin's interactions is just a montage of them being assholes to each other. Oisin can be polite and respectable, funny even, with everyone BUT Adaine apparently. Bickering about wizard things, taunting cutting words, and Adaine repeatedly trying to punch his smug face whenever he gets too close while gloating if he's right about something.
3a. Adaine literally tells Aelwyn that while she wants and needs kindness, she does acknowledge that it's messed up that she wishes someone was a little mean to her sometimes. This rivalry with Oisin is NOT WHAT SHE MEANT!!!!!! (the monkey paw curls)
3b. The worst part, is no matter how much Adaine hates Oisin, is that it doesn't stop him from being attractive. Oh sure, she thinks he's an absolute asshole when he's sitting across from her in the library, but......
He's still absurdly tall, with large arms that are for more than just show. The conjuration tattoos are both practical and very pleasing to the eye, the almost electric blue of them a pleasing contrast to the softer blue shade of his scales.
The contradiction of those large round spectacles resting on his snout makes him look just dorky enough to go from being just another buff guy to being....well. Unfortunately, the glasses also do nothing to shield Adaine from the weight of his gaze.
When he looks at her with his full attention, behind those glasses are eyes of molten gold, and trained solely on her that gaze feels searing hot wherever it lands.
3c. Or perhaps, the worst part is she despises how he laughs. Sometimes, when she says something as clever as it is cutting, Oisin throws his head back just a little to laugh, bright and warm, all while his throat rumbles. It must be something draconic in nature, like a strong purr or distant rain clouds. It's much harder to get him to make that particular sound when he laughs, and the rumble feels unfairly like victory. Like she cracked the careful fascade he puts up to pretend like he's not a dragon.
The rumble also feels particularly reminiscent of butterflies in her stomach. (She elects to ignore this part.)
4. Oisin is a dragon, and he is a little obsessed with Adaine even if he doesn't dare to dream of going on an actual date with her after everything from the previous year. He cannot imagine a world where she would ever again believe him to be genuine in affection or intention towards romantic feelings. No instance of genuine fluster could ever be seen as anything but a clever ruse, he tells himself, he certainly wouldn't believe it if it was him.
But he's got her attention now, and he is possessive of that, of what he CAN get. Even if she hates his guts and pointblank threatens to kill him if he steps out of line-
Even if it's because she hates him, Oisin still has her eyes on him. Eyes like clear skies before the rolling storm, like they can pierce through everything he is and will ever be and know the truth of it.
Every conversation is like a battle, a verbal sparring that he TELLS himself is nothing at all like the courtship fights, but oh how sweet does it sound to his inner dragon. She could be cussing him out and he could feel like his heart would burst from his chest from the affection he feels, even as he riles her up further, until she slips into saccharine elven curses that he can practically taste on his forked tongue.
4a. Once he tosses back a clever jape in draconic at her. When she immediately starts in on him with the gutteral words of his native tongue, perfectly fluent but lilted ever so slightly like a refined melody, his tail accidentally knocks over a chair and his crest flares so strongly that he KNOWS his face must be more purple than a ripe plum. He's lost a battle and her laughter at the way he flees claiming he forgot something haunts him for days. He tries to get revenge by whispering things under his breath at her in Elvish, and her glare is divine, but it's so risky because she might just start talking to him draconic again and Oisin fears he could live a thousand years and still not be able to handle the sound of it when it falls from her lips.
a1. It's a lost cause. Adaine has a weakness now, and she wields it with all the precision she's developed on a battlefield. It's the cutest surest way to put him in his place, rile him up with the same burning fire that he seems so expert in stirring up in her. Oh he might try to argue back in draconic, or even throw a taunt out in Elvish, but he always stalks off first. (He makes the refined, posh but ancient language of Elvish sound like something Tracker would appreciate. He makes it sound ever so slightly wild, like something else is lurking behind all the refinery. Adaine is well practiced in steadying her breathing, and Oisin always cracks first.)
5. Everyone has seen these two bicker back and forth, and everyone knows trying to get them to stop or get between them means the two turn as a united front against whoever interrupted, and that's honestly worse.
5a. The Bad Kids and High Five Heroes/Rat Grinders have an ongoing bet amongst themselves on on if the two will snap and legitimately murder each other, or snap and start making out in the library. It's honestly way too elaborate of a betting system with odds changing all the time, but it is actually probably the most fun, non-tense bonding the two groups have together. They have also gone to GREAT LENGTHS to keep it secret from the two wizards, especially when one of them is the fucking ORACLE.
6. It's not all bickering and scathing words. Sometimes, when nobody else is around to see behind this precarious curtain...its soft and tender too.
6a. Sometimes, when Adaine is genuinely having a bad day and feels one wrong moment from truly snapping, she feels the magic of a conjured summon passing by whatever table or nook she stowed herself away to hide in. The smell of arcane-tinted petrichor lingers afterwards, and settled nearby is a warm drink that hadn't been there before. Sometimes its tea's she's fond of, sometimes a warm peppermint mocha from her favorite coffee place downtown.
Against her better judgement, she is increasingly fond of the smell of rain.
6b. Sometimes, the rage feels like it never left Oisin's body. It burns him inside and out, and he's so exhausted fighting back these aftershocks. He is trying every day to make up for what he's done, but the feeling of unbridled rage haunts him. To indulge is to fail, fall off the wagon, and he will not falter, even if he squeezes his hands so tightly they bleed beneath his claws.
A message cantrip blooms to life in his mind. Melodic, lilted draconic, giving not words of comfort, but familiar unafraid taunts. It's a challenge, he knows it, and somehow that makes it easier, rage giving way to fondness and the desire to prove himself.
6c. There are more late nights in libraries and sitting close at tables in out of the way restaurants working on difficult projects then either would ever let anyone know, not that they let anyone know of them at all. It's quiet honest conversations over dusty tomes and scattered papers. (They couldn't know how to make the most cutting of remarks if they knew nothing about each other, after all.)
a1. Its Oisin, laying his head down in his arms over the library table, eyes watching her sitting next to him with hair falling in her face like it always does when shes bent forward focusing intently on her work. There are many, many times when Oisin does nothing but watch in silence. Sometimes, rarely, when its late and nobody will come by except to kick them out-
He reaches a claw to gingerly tuck the silken gold hair behind the bright red ear of a girl who doesn't say anything about it, before he looks away entirely, trying to ignore the way he can feel his crest fluttering up and down as it seemingly contemplates flaring out.
a2. It's Adaine, rolling her eyes with no heat, as she steps into his personal space and is enveloped in the smell of petrichor. Calloused fingers lingering on rough scales as she ever so gently corrects a stance or spell casting motion that the unfairly tall dragonborn boy next to her had been working on perfecting.
The both know she doesn't have to be so close for this, that another demonstration from beside him would work just fine. He doesn't have to bend ever so slightly, dip his long draconian neck down so he can better hear her murmured words either, so close they can feel the heat of the others breath. He casts the spell perfectly, and Adaine steps back out to a respectable distance, and neither of them say anything about it.
7. Neither of them ever mention any of it. It feels taboo, like the triggering of a spell that will destroy both of them. The fighting, the bickering, the cutting words and sharp swords aimed at jugulars? That's easy, that's familiar and safe. It's what's supposed to happen between them, safe territory they can walk with eyes closed.
It's the tenderness that's hard. It's the yearning and soft touches aborted at the last moment-
This is what would be their ruin, and the threat of it lingers above them, rolling clouds heavy with rain that just wont fall. Days, weeks, months pass by and they do not mention it.
8. Adaine, flush with Oracle-sure certainty, gestures for Oisin to slow down, to bend down low so she can tell him something. He protests, its about to rain any second and really Abernant, they're going to be late-
Adaine kisses Oisin first, soft and sure as her hands cradle his scaled jaw, just as the dark clouds above them break open.
The kiss tastes like rain, and the loud, pleased rumble in her ears certainly isn't from the storm coming down on them.
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Simmering and Smothering
Part 2 to It’s Always Coffee
Word Count: 7K
A/N: I’m soft for this guy rn. He’s so !!! Anyways, I um don’t know what else to say
-
You stand with a group of people, a lanyard hangs from your neck, and you pinch at the plastic cover that holds a card reading “Visitor” stuck on it. People part of the group peek through windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the wonders behind the glass. You're sure at some point you saw Dr. Ohnn standing close to a coworker. He must have felt your gaze, because he looked up and you had to fist your hand to restrain yourself from waving at him. But when the scientist beside him puts their hand on his back, returning his attention to the project in front, you find yourself digging your nails into the flesh of your palms.
You look around, but nothing catches your eye as it should at Alchemax. While you knew that they wouldn’t show a tour group all the dark and gritty experiments, a part of you wishes that you were able to slip away to explore, but any chances of that were snuffed out with a warning at being kicked out and banned should you stray. However, you do enjoy getting to step foot into the building. The group is led through glass doors, and you hear a few people sigh in relief. Walking in, windows line the room and let in a nice glow of sun.
“Okay,” Dr. Octavius says with a clap of her hands, “this is the cafeteria where we will be having lunch. Those tables over there-” she points over to a cluster of tables that have been protected with stanchions- “will be where you all will be eating. Lunch is one hour, and if anyone needs to go to the restroom, please contact a security guard.” Her gaze is friendly, smile wide and tone with the slightest hint of superiority, she speaks to all, before her gaze lands on you, her smile falling ever-so-slightly. “If you fail to inform a guard, and are caught wandering, you will be immediately removed from the premises.” Smiling, you give her an “okay” symbol, and in response, she looks away from you. “Okay!” She chirps, taking a step to the side, she sweeps her arms towards the selection of food. “Enjoy your lunch.”
You’re at a cart, holding a tray consisting of fruits, and a bottle of juice. You peer over the selection of bread, holding a saran wrapped bagel. You pull your mouth into a line, wanting to put it back, but unsure if that’s okay to do so. Sure, it’s saran wrapped, but what if it’s not okay to place things back. You’ve already picked it up, and with a sigh, you place it on your tray. You look over the rest of the selection of the grains, and perk up at the sight of a muffin. Happily, you reach to grab at it before your wrist is grabbed at.
“Hey-” You bark out, pulling your hand out of the grasp and turning to look at whoever it was that clutched your wrist. You stop short when you realize that it’s Dr. Ohnn. “I feel like we talked about appropriate ways to greet others,” you muse, grabbing at the saran wrapped muffin.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses, and you frown.
Your eyes scan his face, and you fold the tray closer to you. “You’re upset,” you conclude, tilting your head with furrowed brows.
“Of course I am,” he hisses. Your ears begin to burn, and you look around the cafeteria, many of the patrons sitting down and ignoring you- including the tour group you are a part of. When you look back at him, he continues. “Why are you here?”
“I’m part of the tour.” You jerk your head over where your tour members sit behind the stanchions. “Fisk was promoting it- something to show off Alchemax and how family-friendly it is. But if you ask me, I think it’s just a cover to stop people from asking-”
“I don’t care,” he rushes.
You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay, you don't have to be rude.” His eyes widen, and his shoulders rise. He opens his mouth, but you press forward. “Listen, I paid my way in, okay? If you’re upset with it, then I don’t know what to tell you.” He stays silent and you look back to your group. Turning back to him, you start. “Is that all, Dr. Ohnn? May I go sit down, or do you want to continue reprimanding me?”
He opens and closes his mouth, and when you turn on your heel, he calls your name. You turn to him with a waiting look. “I apologize.” You encourage him with a nod of your head. “I just-” he looks around, and grabs your wrist, pulling you to another station of food, grabbing a tray, and standing in front of the selection of fruits.
“You just?”
“I hadn’t thought that you would be here. I-” with his middle finger, he pushes up his glasses by the bridge- “I wasn’t aware there was a tour going on.”
“Does that matter?” You ask, grabbing at a cup of peeled mandarins.
“Scientists are usually the one to lead groups,” he says quietly, "due to the fact that it is our projects we are showcasing. We all take turns with it given that leading groups take time away from our projects. This should have been a group that I would have led. Dr. Octavius must have seen your name on the roster and decided to lead it for the day.” He gives you a look. “I’m surprised that she let you in.”
“I paid,” you shrug. “She isn’t happy about it or anything, but-” you end it with a shrug. “Anyways, I won’t bother your lunch or anything. I’m simply here to see the building and enjoy lunch.” You give him a smile as you lift up your tray. “Have a good day Dr. Ohnn.” You nod your head, ready to walk away before he stops you.
“Do you have to sit down with the others?” You turn to him, and look at him quizzically. “We um- We never finished our conversation from the other day.”
You tighten your grip on the tray. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “You kinda left without exchanging numbers. But I don’t think I’m allowed to sit elsewhere.” You look back at your group. “I’d invite you to sit with me, but I’m not sure if I could give you quite a riveting conversation as your work buddies.”
“You can. You have,” he says so, without any hesitation. “Our last conversation was entertaining.”
"You think so?"
He opens his mouth, before being interrupted by someone calling his name. "Jonathan," calls someone far too cheery from the door. A few heads turn to watch as another scientist- you think that they look familiar- and turn back around once the scientist enters the cafeteria. They turn on their heel to wave at another and it clicks- it's the scientist that touched his back.
You look back to the doctor, giving him a raised look. He has a sort of flush that colors in his face, and you purse your lips together.
The scientist walks toward the both of you, but their attention is solely on Jonathan. "Jonathan-" they say his name with a sickly sweet tone- "I thought you were going to wait for me so we can have lunch together." They smile brightly at the other and you watch as they reach over to squeeze at his bicep. "You hadn't forgotten, had you?"
"My apologies, Dr. Owens." You don't miss the way that he refers to the scientist by their last name while they refer to him by his first. A frown tugs at corner of your lips- they refer to him by his first name. You glance between the two and a pit settles in your stomach. "I hadn't forgotten, but I got distracted. It must have slipped my mind."
"You don't normally get distracted," they note, and their eyes dart at you. With the consequence of being acknowledged, you smile at them. "Ah. Part of the tour group, huh? No wonder you bothered our precious doctor." They're far too sweet with their words, it makes you uncomfortable. You open your mouth to apologize, but they continue on. “I was wondering if we could get the chance to go over our notes?” You feel as if you're in the middle of something. Standing besides Dr. Owens, you feel unsure of yourself. You clear your throat. They turn to you, and their smile is beaming. “Ah, I didn't mean to interrupt. While I’m sure Dr. Ohnn would love to engage with others about theories and his work, I do have to steal him away from you.” Their smile turns gentle, and you feel silly standing between them. “Sorry,” they apologize with a smile.
"Uh, yeah." You grit your teeth- that came out less eloquently than you would liked. "Sorry, Dr. Ohnn." You tap your heel against the ground. “I’ll leave you to it.”
"Oh- Um-” he looks at you, and you smile at him, shrugging your shoulders. He returns his look towards the other scientist, and you let your gaze drift down. You walk away, catching only a glimpse of their conversation. “What would you like to discuss?”
Sitting down at a designated table, the other tour members greet you. You smile and pick at your bagel, taking small bites, regretting not getting some kind of topping. You bite at your muffin, nodding along as the other group members talk about the experiments going on at the building.
It would make sense for him to have a partner. He's attractive, and has a good job. With the one conversation that you've had with him, he was well spoken. You eat your mandarins, letting the citrus fill your mouth. Dr. Owens isn’t unattractive and they certainly seemed nice. You do your best not to look at the doctor and his partner, keeping your head down as you listen to the other people in your group.
You know why you feel so bothered by it all. It’s dumb. You only had one actual conversation with him, but it was nice. He was nice- much nicer than you had ever given him credit for. You feel silly over being jealous of a man you only knew for a minute.
-
"Fuckin' driver," you mutter under your breath, your lips curled in disgust. Fixing yourself, you cross your arms and decide to walk to the train station. It's incredibly late and something that you actively avoid doing, but you don't want to risk yourself with another driver. "Now I gotta walk."
A part of you pays with the idea of putting in your headphones and at least having a calming walk, but you shake your head at that idea. You will not be murdered just because you wanted to listen to music.
Headlights flash by and you bite the inside of your mouth every time. A car passes by, and you watch as the red tail lights blink on. You stop in your steps, taking a look around. No one else on the sidewalk acknowledges the car.
“Okay”, you think to yourself, “I can't get abducted in front of other people.” You take a step forward and pause. “That's dumb. Yes, I can.” You scowl and tap your foot against the pavement, holding tighter onto the strap of your bag.
However, no one else seems fazed by a car pulling over, and that gives you confidence to walk further. At the end of the car, you see the passenger window roll down. You hesitate again. Sucking in a breath, you roll your wrists, and as you walk past the car until you hear your name being called.
You turn, and through the windshield, you see a familiar doctor waving at you. Looking around, you clutch onto the trap of your bag before making your way towards him.
"Dr. Ohnn?"
He smiles nervously. He looks far too tense for someone in their own car. "Hello," he calls you by your name. "I was sure you would have left ages ago."
"Tour ran late- one of the kids explored without permission," you explain.
"I'm surprised it wasn't you." You weren't aware he could tease.
"I wasn't in the mood for any trespassing charges. Maybe tomorrow." You shrug, and send him a grin. “Who knows? Night’s still young and all.”
He turns his head, and you follow his gaze out onto the street before the both of you. "Why are you walking?"
“People had their own rides, and I didn't. I took the bus. After the whole fiasco, I missed it. I got into a taxi, but uh-" you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest- "the driver was being too sleazy for my tastes so I decided to take my chances walking.”
“Oh- I’m sorry to hear about that.” He leans over the middle console of the car, with his hand pressed down on the passenger seat. “It’s quite late,” he tells you.
Your lips stretch into a thin grin. “Correct. It’s no wonder that you’re one of the top scientists at Alchemax.”
“You’re hilarious,” he deadpans.
“I try,” you tell him. The soft glow of the streetlamps casts him in a warm glow. “But I'd be more inclined to believe you if you were actually laughing.”
“Yes, well, I’ll try to laugh next time.” He rolls his eyes, and you smile sharply at him.
“Is that why you stopped? To hear my humor?” You tease, taking a step forward, and he tilts his head to look at you.
“No, actually. I thought it was you, and I wanted to know if you would like a ride?”
You’re taken aback. “Oh! Um- No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you correct yourself. You turn looking down the street where the crowd of people slows. You look back at him. “I’m sure you have your own plans for the night. I wouldn’t want to intrude or interrupt or anything.” You twist the strap of your bag in your hand. “While I appreciate the offer, you don’t have to worry about me Dr. Ohnn.”
“You wouldn’t be interrupting anything. I don’t have any plans.”
You stay silent, weighing your options in your head. While you’d like to be in a car and taken to your home, you also can’t just enter his car. Even if he is the one offering. No. You can’t. There has to be a line. You have a crush on him- maybe. You’re attracted to him. Wait, that’s actually worse. You shake your head.
“I shouldn’t.” You bite your bottom lip and look at the air freshener that hangs down the rearview mirror. “I would want to get you into any sorts of trouble.”
“Trouble?” He says in a quiet voice, but alarm is still laced into his words.
“You know-” you wave your hand in front of you- “with Dr. Owens. Would they be okay with you giving me a ride?”
He gives you an incredulous look. “What does Dr. Owens have to do with this?”
Your chest begins to burn, and it travels upwards to your face. “Would they appreciate you giving a ride to a stranger?”
“You aren’t a stranger,” the way that he calls your name has your breath hitching, and heart racing. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you walking so far to a station at night.”
“Okay,” you shrug. “But you have to put in the directions on your phone. I’m easily distracted and won’t be able to give you any good directions.”
“Fine by me,” he pulls away and the door unlocks. You open the door, and the window slowly raises. “Between you and I, I’m not entirely great with navigation.” The noise from the outside mutes as you close the door, the lock clicking down on itself. You click the seatbelt as you give him a look. “I get lost easily,” he admits. He grabs his phone and sorts through his applications, finally passing it your way with the map function on display.
“Don’t you have a PhD?” You enter your address, and return the phone, watching as he places the phone on the holder stuck to the car.
“Doesn’t mean a thing if a shopping center has me turned all sorts of ways,” he admits, setting the car to ‘drive’ and pulling away from the sidewalk. You laugh, it starts as a snort, and forms into a chuckle and it has you hiding your smile behind your hand, trying to quell the laughter.
You turn to look at him, the corner of your lips tilting upwards and wrinkling at your eyes. “I don’t even think I could picture you getting lost in a mall.”
He sits up straighter, and casts a glance through the corner of his eye. “It isn’t a particularly good image of me,” he confesses.
Humming, you lean back into the seat, fixing your bag onto your lap, playing with the zipper. “No, I’m sure it is,” you hum. “A renowned scientist, lost at a mall.”
“It can be quite traumatizing.”
“I’m sure it can be,” you muse, trying to hide the smile that slowly grows. "Many children often fear the mall for that same reason."
He scoffs at your remark. “Did you learn anything interesting on the tour?” He asks, and you cross your ankles.
“I think we learned about atoms?” He chuckles at that, and you feel warm. “I gotta be honest, I was hoping for something a bit more, ya know?”
“Atoms aren't enough?”
"Not nearly,” you tell him softly. “Maybe if they brought out some secret project or like showed some sort of light show, then I’d be impressed.”
“Oh, of course,” he says with sarcasm laced into his words. “A secret project shown to the masses, especially where one child had gone missing.”
“Explored,” you correct, turning our head to look at him.
The GPS voice speaks, and he misses a turn. He mumbles an apology, the application already rerouting him. “If you join another one, I’ll make sure that there’s a light show.” He casts a glance, and misses another turn, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. “I’m thirsty,” he tells you.
You blink at him. “You can stop somewhere and get something. I don’t mind waiting in the car.” The metal zipper of your bag shines under the passing streetlamps.. “You’re already doing me a favor by driving me home.”
“The coffee shop is still open. Would you mind accompanying me for a drink?”
“Oh! Uh, yeah- sure. I’d be okay with that. I still owe you that cup of coffee. You know, from when we met at the shop?”
He shakes his head. “Consider it my treat. I am inviting you after all.”
“But you did win that little wager, and you are driving me home. I could at least buy you a cup of coffee or something.” He shakes his head. “Come on-” you slap the back of your hand lightly against his bicep- “don’t make it difficult.”
“I’m not making it difficult,” he frowns.
The GPS continues to tell Dr. Ohnn to make a right when he can, and he fumbles with turning it off, grumbling under his breath until you offer your hand out. The phone is placed down, and you shut down the application. The phone is held in your hand, the application minimizing to show his background- a picture of- the phone is pulled out of your grasp.
“I don’t even get to learn what your background is?” You give a faux pout, leaning back against the seat. “Come on, I didn’t even get a chance.”
“Don’t worry too much about it,” he tells you. “It isn’t all that exciting.” You stick your tongue out at him in response and he fails to suppress a smile.
Pulling to the side of the road, you place your bag on the floor, snagging your debit card before zipping the bag up. Getting out of the car, you’re careful not to slam the door. You rush to beat him from opening the door. “Okay,” you draw out the vowel, slipping to move in front of him, “how about this. You buy my cup, and I’ll buy yours. I’ll even let you get a pastry- you know as a thank you for driving me home.
“You don’t have to. I offered to drive you home, it was completely my own volition.”
You give an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever you say, but the offer is there.”
As he orders his drink, you press your card against the payment terminal, telling the barista that it’ll be two separate transactions. You can feel his eyes on you and you can only smile, nodding when the barista confirms. Lacking your energy, he pays when you order your own. You’re sure that the barista is annoyed with the two of you, but at this point, you had a win that he was owed.
With the lack of patrons, the two of you find a table placed beside the window. The two of you sit across from each other, and wait for your drinks to be called. Tapping your hands against the table, you look out the window, watching the people and the cars.
“I was more than happy paying for your drink,” he comments.
You look at him through the reflection, and he meets your gaze there. “I know. But you’re already doing me such a favor by taking me home and stuff-” shrugging, you turn to face him- “might as well buy you a drink.”
“You didn’t have to,” he mumbles.
“I wanted to.”
Looking at you, he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it when he can’t find the right words. You nod, letting him take his time and to continue with whatever he is going to say. Clearing his throat, he can only get a breath out when the two of your names are spoken. You turn just in time to see the drinks placed on the counter as the barista walks away.
“I’ll go get them for us.” He stands from the table and you watch him. He takes long strides, his head bent and arms close to himself, as if trying to make himself to the public. You hadn’t realized that he had such squared shoulders. He almost reminds you of a rectangle.
Placing your drink in front of you, he takes a seat. His teeth bite at his bottom lip and he brings the cup to his lips. Placing the drink down, he clears his throat. “Why did you ask about Dr. Owens?”
Ah. Maybe you should’ve kept quiet about that. “What do you mean?”
“You mentioned that I would get in trouble with them if I had driven you home.”
“Oh um, yeah. It’s whatever, don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worrying, I’m asking.”
“Okay,” you whisper, your gaze focused on your drink. “They just seemed into you is all. I thought there was something you know-” you lift your head looking at him- “between you and them.”
“You thought they were into me?” You choose to ignore the wonder in his voice. Opting to stay silent, you nod. “I can assure you, Dr. Owens is not into me.”
“It sure seemed that way,” you mumble into the rim of your drink. He stares at you, and you shift in your seat, hiding behind your cup. “What?”
“What made you think they were into me?”
Your molars grind against each other. The rim of the cup is brought to your lips, but you don’t take a sip, you only press your lips against the opening, before lowering it back to the table. “Oh gosh, are you into them? Look, that's sweet and all, but I’d rather not play matchmaker to some scientists.” He stays silent, and you look outside the window, watching a couple walk past by. “You really wanna know?” He makes a noise of confirmation, and you let out a held breath. “In that little time that I saw the two of you, they had no trouble touching you. And they call you by your name, too.”
“My name?”
Nodding, you twist and untwist your legs. “Yeah.”
“Is that usually an indicator?”
Lifting your hand, you make a see-saw motion. “Sometimes, I guess. Depends on how it’s used and all. Context, ya know?”
“I call other people by their names,” he counters. You nod, letting him continue. “I call you by your name.”
“Oh yeah- I um, I guess so,” you mumble, taking another sip of your drink, desperate to keep yourself busy.
“You never call me by my name.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was allowed.”
“Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be allowed?”
“I always thought you found me annoying.”
“I did.” You frown, and he gives you an apologetic smile. His hand lifts up, grabbing at a strand of hair and twirling it around his finger. “That doesn’t mean that I disliked you. I have to admit-” he lets go of the strand and it falls back to place- “I always did find your drive admirable. You weren’t one to give up. You’re quite stubborn.” You stare at each for a few moments, heat blazing itself against your skin, making a chill over your body. He breaks eye contact and tilts the cup, making a circle with the bottom edge. “Do you really believe that Dr. Owens likes me because they call me by my name.” You nod, your mouth too dry despite the drink in your hand to even consider speaking. “Hm, okay,” he hums. His hand runs over his stubble, and you wonder if he’s growing out a beard. “You said that they touch me.”
“I um, saw the two of you in an office- while on the tour.” Your hand pulls up to scratch at your shoulder. You feel the need to hide from him.
His smile stretches even more. “I thought I was losing my marbles.” You take a sip of your drink. “I thought that after all my imagining about-” he clicks the last consonant, and you straighten yourself, leaning forward- “I thought that finally, after all of your incessant questioning, that I was beginning to imagine you.”
“Mhm,” you hum, taking another sip of your very diluted drink.
“You were saying.” He rolls his hand expectantly.
“When you turned around- when you saw me- they immediately turned you back around.”
“So? I believe we were discussing the recent project that we’ve both been assigned on”
Grabbing a napkin, you dab at the table where a ring of water from the condensation has formed on the table. “It was how they touched you. They touched your back and lingered their hand on you.”
“I’m not following.”
You make a noise of discomfort, and fist the wet napkin in your hand. “I can’t explain it in words. It’s- It’s in the details and stuff. The observer's point of view.”
“Can you show me?”
“Like?”
“Touch me.”
The napkin is clenched tightly in your hand, your nails ripping through the soft paper. Warmth flushes through your body, and you fear that he can notice the change in you. You know that he doesn’t mean it that way, but for him to say something so- so, intimate sounding, without meaning to, made your heart skip a beat. His eyes widen, and he stumbles over his words. “No- Not- Not like that. I hadn’t meant for it- I’m so terribly sorry-”
“It’s fine,” you reassure, waving your hand in front of you. “It’s cool,” you smile at him and he stops his ramble of words. There’s a rapid beat that bruises inside of your chest at his words- even if he did mean them innocently. “But you know, they touched you at the cafeteria too. They went up to you and touched your bicep.” You lift your hand, reaching over the table, letting it hover over his forearm. Glancing at him, he’s watching you, and you close your fist, pulling your hand back to you.
“And you believe that all of those actions are due to the fact that they like me?”
Shrugging, you suck in your bottom lip. “It’s just my theory,” you whisper, embarrassment laced into your words. “They wanted to eat lunch with you too.”
The two drinks remain untouched and outside, you can hear sirens. His hand lifts up to rub over his mouth, and he has this faraway look in his eyes. “Okay,” he mumbles.
“Okay?”
“Is there anything else that you want to add?”
You pout. “No.”
In the corner of your eye, you see a worker clean a table with a rag. You watch for a moment, and turn your head when chairs are fixed back into their positions, scraping along the floor. A part of you feels unsure about the conversation. While you wouldn’t believe that the scientist had a crush on you, you had at least humored the idea, but knowing that he isn’t interested in you, makes you want to go home.
You open your mouth to speak, and he beats you to it. “I’m hungry,” he states.
“I told you you could have gotten a pastry,” you point out.
“I want dinner. An actual dinner.” Sitting straight, it’s as if he has a new resolve. “Are you hungry?”
Blinking in surprise, you lift your shoulders. “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I could eat something.”
“Good,” he nods to himself, and stands up, the chair squeaks against the floor. You follow his eyes, looking up at him as he adjusts the chair and stands by the table. “I’d like for you to accompany me to dinner.” Clearing his throat, his shoulders bunch together, and any confidence that he did have, is slowly evaporating. “That- That is if you want to, of course.”
You scoff with a smile. “Yeah, I’m game with that, Dr. Ohnn.”
“Jonathan. You can call me Jonathan. I don’t mind it if you call me that.” He twists his hands, interlocking them, and pulling on the back of his palm, his skin stretching thin over his knuckles.
Straightening yourself, you nod. “Okay. Jonathan it is. The same um, goes to you of course. You can call me by my name.”
“I already do,” and the way that he says your name, softly and tenderly, held with a smile, makes you turn your head and scratch at your neck in a desperate attempt to hide how wide your smile is.
“Mhm,” you squeak out. Standing up, you make sure to push the chair in and grab at the loose napkins and your drink.
Following behind you, he throws his drink into the trash. This time, he’s made sure that he stands in front of you, stretching his arm out to hold the door open for you. Mumbling, you thank him, standing beside the door as he goes to open the passenger side door.
None of what he’s doing is helping quell your attraction to the scientist.
Clicking his seatbelt, he starts the car, driving away from the coffee shop. “Do you have a preference?”
“On food?” He nods, fumbling with the radio that plays the song of the week. You tap your foot to the beat. “Um, I think I’m good with most stuff. Restaurants are pretty inclusive about diets and stuff most days.”
“There’s a burger place on the way to Alchemax, do you know the one I’m talking about?”
“With the really good burgers?”
“Yes. Would you like to go there?”
“Isn’t that too far?”
“They opened one relatively nearby.”
“Oh okay, yeah.” You nod. “I’m game with that.”
“Good. That’s good.”
The drive to the restaurant passes by quickly as you chat about miscellaneous things- the weather, work, different coffee shops. Uncomfortable with silences, you keep the conversation going, jumping from topic to topic, trying to make something stick. However, the driver seems to be content with silence, nodding and giving one-worded answers, only really contributing to the conversation when you give your opinion on something.
Pulling into the restaurant, he takes a glance at you, and you smile in response. He opens his door, and steps out, and you follow close behind. The door is held open for you, you order your own meal, and before you can pat your pockets to find your card, he’s already paying for the meal. You aren’t sure how to feel about the whole situation. You feel good- happy and flustered even- but you can’t kid yourself. It’s dinner. With a scientist who you have pestered for a good while about what exactly is going on within Alchemax. It’s dinner with a guy who you had coffee with- twice. That’s it.
When he sits in front of you, and smiles, you think you’re about to pass out.
Oh. He’s really cute.
No. Whatever feelings you’re having is a moment of weakness. Maybe you should download a dating app or something.
Your newfound emotions aren’t settled by the end of the meal where you tell him a story about an old job that you used to work. He’s an avid listener, expressive and laughing when you start to smile uncontrollably. He pushes his tray closer to yours, letting you snag what little left of fries that he has. Even with bags under his eyes, he remains attentive during your story.
“No, and like my supervisor tells me “Well whole milk is regular milk,” and I’m so adamant-” you laugh mid-sentence- “that two percent is regular milk. Or like can be qualified as regular milk.”
“Why were you so adamant about it?” He laughs softly, leaning forward.
“Honestly?” You lean forward, stealing a fry of his and plopping it in your mouth. “I just really hate being wrong. Anyways-” you wave your hand in the air- “we have this whole spiel about milk of all things. And I tell him that I like oat milk and he’s like-” you deepen your voice to portray your supervisor- “‘Oat milk isn’t even milk. How do you even milk an oat?’”
“How do you milk an oat?” He asks with knitted brows.
“I-” you pause and tap at the table. “I always thought you blended it. You know, like peanut butter?”
“Yeah, but people don’t drink peanut butter.”
“I bet you that there is at least one person in the world who does drink peanut butter.”
“Okay, you find me that person and I’ll buy you a coffee next time.”
“Yeah, yeah-” you wave your hand, trying not to let your competitive side leak out. “Anyways, I’m sure they make almond milk the same way. Blended.” You lift a hand and point with your index, swirling it in the air.
“I’m partial to oat,” he admits.
“I gotta be honest, I think all milk tastes the same,” you whisper out the confession, covering the side of your mouth with one hand.
“Oh, now you’re being difficult,” he says with a roll of his eyes, adjusting his glasses by the leg.
“I’m not, I swear! It just all tastes the same. Doesn’t stop me from asking for it at the coffee shops.”
“Even if it tastes the same?”
“I like feeling fancy,” you lilt, and he laughs.
“So you’re tricking your mind?”
“Oh totally.”
“With the fake milks?”
“Real, regular milk,” you counter. “Soy is fake- I think.”
“Oh, soy is fake, but the others aren’t.” He scoffs. “That’s where you draw the line.”
You laugh, taking the final sip of your drink. “Yeah, obviously.”
He joins your laughter, dipping his head down, and stray hairs fall in front of him. When he lifts his head, his smile is wide and open, and he has such a nice laugh- deep and the type that shakes his body. Pride makes your chest swell and heat burn over your cheeks at making him not only smile, but laugh. Fighting back the urge to move away the tray pieces of hair that have fallen, you clench your hand into a fist, your laughter slowly dying down.
A quiet moment befalls the two of you, and you both look at each other. You rub the bottom of your shoe over the top of the other, and check the time. With a click of your tongue, you gather your trash onto the tray.
“We should probably get going. It’s close to closing time for them,” you explain, nodding your head back to the register where two workers chat.
“Oh, should we?” Despite questioning you, he follows your example and gathers his own trash.
“As someone who used to work customer service jobs, yeah.” Tossing your trash into the designated area, you stack the tray overhead. “I’m pretty sure that the employees probably hate us by now.”
“Good point.” He holds the door open for you, and you follow him back across the mostly empty parking lot. Inside the car, he waits for the engine to heat, and he turns to you. “I apologize for keeping you so late.”
“No, this was,” you hesitate choosing your words, “fun.” You nod your head and pull your bag up onto your lap. “I had a good time.”
“I’m glad that you did,” he says softly, giving you a final look before he gives his attention to the road.
-
After a long day, you stand in front of your building, Jonathan joining you. You’ve always been much more comfortable with chatter than you have been with silence, but as you stand with him, you don’t feel as uncomfortable. You might even like the silence if it gives you reason to look at him. You stand on the steps leading to your home, finally looking him in the eye, and you hate the fact that he has such soft brown eyes.
“Thanks for driving me home. And getting me a drink.” You kick at the ground, scuffing up at the dirt that lays in a thin layer. “And paying for dinner.” A jitteriness falls over you, and you can only twist and grip onto the strap of your bag. “Thanks for all of that Dr.-” he gives you a narrowed look and you quickly correct yourself- “Jonathan.”
“You don’t have to add my title,” he tells you. Beside him, his hand twists at the hem of his shirt.
“Force of habit,” you say shrugging. Clearing your throat, you start. “Still, thanks. This was nice, Jonathan.” You like his name, and you hate the way that it makes you feel.
He nods, and raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, thank you for accompanying me to dinner. I had a good time.” He says your name delicately, rolling off his tongue, and you never thought that you would want to hear your name repeated over and over.
“No worries,” you answer breathlessly. You can’t think around him. Everything feels as if it’s too much- too hot, too close, too sweet.
It was one day- two technically- but it was a short amount of time. You wear your heart on your sleeve despite trying so desperately not to. All it took was one day with him, and you think that you might like him.
Oh, how you wish he was with someone else, then you could give yourself a reason to look away from him.
With cotton stuffed into your mouth, you don’t trust yourself any further. You think that you should go inside- that maybe you shouldn’t be taking up his time. A part of you wonders when you’ll see him again. Shifting your weight between each foot, you pat your hands on your thighs, drying off the clammy feeling. You wish he would start talking again. Or maybe you should. If you go inside, then this could all be over. You turn your foot, and wave your hand in a goodbye, when he starts to speak.
“Will you be joining another tour group?” There’s a hint of hope that’s weaved into his words. He’s looking at you, and you wonder if you look pretty.
“As much as I enjoyed it, no.” You think you imagine seeing his shoulders slump at your words. “It wasn’t really for me. It was nice, but much more kid-centered.” His glasses are slipping down his nose and you wonder if he’d get upset if you pushed them up. “Will you be going to the café tomorrow?”
“I work tomorrow,” he admits.
“Oh,” you clear your throat, and fighting away the burning feeling that is burning in your chest, you suck in a deep breath. It makes sense to do this now. You have to take a risk. It’s dumb and highly unprofessional, but you need to tell him something. He has to stick around, just for a moment longer, just so you could get whatever pink and sweet is in you, out. “Would-” he word comes out much softer than you would have liked- “Would you want to exchange numbers, maybe?” You hope he says no.
“Really?” He looks so shocked, and so happy. A grin tilts his lips upwards, and like seeing his smile.
Nodding, you rub the flat of your middle finger against your jawline. “Yeah. It would be a better alternative than meeting during lunch on a tour group or a random chance meeting at the café. Only if you’re okay with it.”
“I’m okay with it,” he says eagerly.
You nod eagerly, unable to fend off your smile. “Cool, cool.” You suck in a deep breath, and wait for a moment, before you start to pat your pockets, pulling out your phone and clicking at the ‘New Contact’ section. Holding the phone to him, he grabs the device and places his information.
Holding the phone tight in your hands, you tap your fingers against the back of the case. “I’ll message you later?”
“I’ll look forward to it.” He lifts his hand and waves at you. You watch his back as he steps into his car.
You can hardly believe that you even made it inside without dropping your keys from excitement and nerves. Behind your door, you clasp your hand over your mouth, pitifully trying to stop the smile that beams across your features. Oh, this isn’t fair. And oh, you can’t wait to message him.
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