[for Jayden] cara mio addio

[lowtohigh]

She wakes up most mornings fully convinced of the fact that she's done with silly, stupid mistakes. She ends a statistically significant number of days having managed to maintain that in the most important arenas.

But it's not every day.

And it's certainly not every night. There are still nights when the idea of sitting at home and doing work drives her up a wall--when the idea of going to see her brother for a 'classy' evening of wasting money on something 'useful' like the arts feels just as terrible as sitting home alone. There are nights when she asks the driver to wait around the corner and pretend he doesn't know where she's going so she can actually breathe deep something other than the rigidity of the life she's been building since Elisha returned and got her back on track.

There can't be anything so wrong with it, surely. It rarely, if ever, bleeds back over into her days. She always drags herself out of bed in the morning, whether she'd fallen into it at 10pm or 4am the night before. She always sits through classes and shows up for work with the same fierce, determined smile. She barely ever thinks of what might have happened the night before once she's got herself set for forward motion again.

Admittedly, sometimes she gets texts at work from numbers she definitely hadn't gotten at the university or the lab or any of her brother's little get-togethers. Jayden's number certainly didn't come from any vetted point of contact. It surprises her, really, how easy it is to extend something of her daytime self to a nighttime number. It's not a line she's really ever blurred before.

But he's coming to the aquarium. She's invited him. Almost like sleepwalking, she's explained to her supervisor that she wants a floor shift out in the actual building rather than holed away doing research. Idly scanning the crowd at the building's tall cement entrance, she wonders vaguely if she's even recognizable like this--flat shoes, hair tied tightly back, barely a stitch of makeup on and her wits obviously about her.

It's entirely possible he'll just walk straight past her. There are large signs for the penguins near the door, after all.

Comments

[lowtohigh]

[She won't swat him away from the touch. That's surely points in favour of terrible pickup lines.]

Nah. That's how you keep a girl. Getting a girl requires more posturing.

[immigrantpunk]

Oh, well, okay then. I'm learning a lot tonight.

[He throws her another smirk, and turns a corner, bringing them to the line for the club. He squints and tries to see to the front door.]

I can't tell if it's the same bouncer, can you?

[lowtohigh]

[Her attention can't be lifted to see. There's simply a noncommittal noise on her throat as she briefly ducks her attention to herself again. Lipstick appears seemingly from nowhere to be fixed on her lips. Her skirt needs to be shimmied up slightly and her shirt needs to be nudged down a bit.]

Just keep your head down either way.

[immigrantpunk]

[Jayden's attention is definitely more on her than anything else right now.]

Okay.

[lowtohigh]

[That's probably for the best. It'll keep his eyes pointed toward the ground.

And it won't distract so much when they do reach the bouncer, whose attention will also be more on Eileen than on the possibility of their IDs being fake.

Who wants to keep these obvious adults from dancing?]

[immigrantpunk]

[Lalallalala nothing to see here, his name is absolutely Vladimir Karashenko, and he will affect the accent and pretend to barely speak English to prove it.

And it looks like he has to, because he doesn't have the goods she does. He laughs and shrugs helplessly when the bouncer raises an eyebrow, looking between him and his ID.]

I go to club now?

[The bouncer gives him another skeptical look and then waves him through. He hurries after Eileen, trying not to laugh.]

[lowtohigh]

[She's always had relative ease with this. She's got to say, though, that she's fairly impressed with the amount of ease Jayden seems to have with it.

He's absolutely getting a smack of a lipsticky kiss to his cheek when he catches up to her, approval in the arch of her brows.]

You're not half bad at that.

[immigrantpunk]

[He shrugs, a little pleased with himself, and very pleased in the lipstick kiss.]

I hear a lot of broken English. Drinks?

[lowtohigh]

On me, as promised. [Which means she clearly has to tangle her fingers back with his again to drag him through the crowd to the bar.] It's my brother's card; go nuts.

[immigrantpunk]

[His eyebrows shoot up, but he allows her to pull him through the crowd.]

You sure he won't mind?

[lowtohigh]

Honestly, if you drink enough to make a dent he'll notice? I'll personally pay for your medical bills.

[Which comes with just the tiniest bit of a frown for a half a second. It might be nice if multiple drinks at a less than reputable club while she's underage pinged more interest from her brother.

But as problems go, she's pretty sure it's not the worst problem to have.] Seriously. Whatever you want.

[immigrantpunk]

[Huh.]

Your brother must have a good job.

[He's jealous.]

Well, what do you want? You wanna take it slow or fast?

[Speaking of suggestive lines. The corner of his mouth slides upward into a smirk as he asks.]

[lowtohigh]

[Clearly the perks of dating the independently mega-wealthy.

Although clearly the disadvantage of dating an older woman is the roll of her eyes at the actual question.] Manhattan. Wherever that fits on your speed scale.

[immigrantpunk]

[Dammit, and he thought he was on pointe with that one.]

That's about a medium.

[He says, although he doesn't quite remember off hand what a Manhattan is. Regardless, he leans over the bar and orders two for them. Might as well branch out. They come in small round glasses garnished with a maraschino cherry. He hands her one and holds up his own.]

Cheers.

[lowtohigh]

Cheers, chatich.

[It's not a shot. Surely he'll still follow her lead, after they clink, of down in one.]

[immigrantpunk]

За тебя.

[And sure, why not, he'll chug it down, even though by the end his throat is on fire. He doesn't quite make it all the way there, pulling back and going into a less than suave coughing fit. His eyes watering, he shakes his head quickly and takes a deep breath.]

Whew.

[Okay, so maybe a little bit on the faster side of medium.]

[lowtohigh]

[She needs a deep breath, but nothing quite so exciting as the fact Jayden's nearly choking. It's clearly just a matter of soothing him that she's reaching over to smooth at his back.]

Easy, slugger. What-- was that, hm? Like-- 'cheers?'

[immigrantpunk]

[His coughing is mixed with laughter now, and he puts a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. There's a warmth spreading into his chest already, and her hand on his back has sent a thrill through him. He nods.]

Yeah, just — "To you!" An easy one. What was yours?

[He finishes off the last of his drink, and it's already going down easier.]

[lowtohigh]

[Clearly she needs to keep her arm around his back--for balance. Also clearly she needs to turn and order two more.

Also also she needs to laugh slightly, hip checking lightly against his.] I said 'cheers' in English, you lightweight.

[immigrantpunk]

[He laughs too, and it's suddenly difficult to keep a physical distance between them. He puts his arms around her and gives her a hug, pulling away only to grab the next drink.]

No no no, I meant after that.

[lowtohigh]

It was affectionate. [As, clearly, is this comfortable leaning together. She'll squirm away once their minds are buzzing, but while they're at the bar? He's something warm and squishy to lean on with a wonderful laugh.] Like-- for handsome guys.

[immigrantpunk]

[Truth be hold, he's wanted to be this close to her since they met at the aquarium, but that seemed too forward given the time and place. He takes a deep sip from the new glass. It's already going down much smoother. His smile is big and stupid.]

You think I'm handsome?

[His free hand slips into her hair, cautiously winding a finger around a few locks.]

[lowtohigh]

I--

[She does, clearly. She thinks it even more when he's got his giant, stupidly pleased smile on, like the world isn't crushing down on him even a little.

But hands in her hair are distracting, and absolutely to be swatted at--even at the cost of setting down her drink.] --stop that. I got it the way I like it.

[immigrantpunk]

[He flinches a bit at her swatting, dropping his hand immediately.]

Oh. Sorry.

[His smile vanishes, because now he feels a little rejected. He takes a deep swig of his drink to try to make up for it.]

[lowtohigh]

[It's a good deal of hard liquor they're consuming very quickly. Mood swings have to be expected. The drop of his smile doesn't stop with her continuing to lean against him while she sips her own drink.]

So how drunk d'you need to be before you dance?