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You look at your watch for what feels like the millionth time. Only a few seconds have passed since you last checked. This is, frankly, a really weird thing to be stressing out about; most people aren’t concerned with being fashionably late at the right time, but there’s definitely something wrong with you tonight, and you’re willing to bet it’s got something to do with the butterflies in your stomach.
Normally you’d be fine waltzing in whenever you felt like it, but this date deviates from the standard. You’re wearing decent clothes even, which is rather uncharacteristic of you. Not that you mind it at all.
Your nerves are buzzing, your heart racing, palms are sweaty, knees weak, mom’s spaghetti - you’re getting ahead of yourself. You open the door, instantly overloading your senses with red carpet and velvet curtains lit by glittering chandeliers and romantic candlelight, authentic gourmet food smells that you couldn’t be bothered to recognize, and a gentle violin playing amongst soft chatter between quadmates.
Honestly, this place sticks out like a sore thumb compared to basically the entire rest of the planet.
It isn’t hard to find who you’re here for. Despite his stature and general tendency to be reserved in a crowd, he’s easy to spot. He’s the only one without a partner to his table (and also maybe because he looks nice and you’ve never seen him get himself together this well, holy shit).
Dismas is drumming his hands on the table anxiously before you arrive, pent up with a mixture of anger and worry. Part of his button-up shirt is wrinkled from where he was presumably fidgeting with it in an attempt to relax. He sits alert when he sees you approach, facial expression getting only slightly angrier.
He only talks loud enough for you to hear so as not to cause a disruption to the peace. “Where the hell were you? I’ve been sitting here by myself for upwards of thirty god damn minutes!”
You lean back in your seat a little, pulling a familiar smirk. “Shouldn’t ya know by now I don’t race the clock like you do? C’mon.”
Dismas speaks through gritted teeth, averting eye contact. “I guess this just wasn’t important enough for you to be on time for once.”
Of course you’re important enough , you think to yourself. It isn’t the right thing to say out loud. Not here. “You coulda up and jumped out the second you thought I wasn’t bustin’ ass to get here quick enough.”
His attention is brought back up to you. “I really couldn’t have.”
“Uh-huh, why not? You ain’t ready to stand me up yet?”
“Because I’m not the asshole in this relationship! I am simply trying to fucking live!”
“Pullin’ out the victim card, I see.” You prop your elbows up on the table to cradle your cheeks all pleading-like. “What did poor ol’ me ever do?”
“You just did the exact same thing I did but worse and a lot more hypocritical.”
“Wow, I’m really, truly hurt.”
He rolls his eyes. “As if you haven’t built up sweeps worth of emotional barriers. Who am I kidding, I’m completely positive you exist purely to piss me off.”
Dangerously accurate until he kept talking. “Can’t believe we just got here and you’re already goin’ off the deep end on those hate speeches.”
“Uh, I think you mean YOU just got here, dipshit, don’t forget how much fucking time I’ve wasted on your behalf.”
“I still think you coulda just dumped me here!”
Dismas groans, burying his face in his hands.
You look around at the other people here. You seem to be the only pitch couple in a sea of reds, and if there were any other pitches, you wouldn’t have noticed from how relaxed everyone appeared. You’re not exactly in the mood to draw more attention to yourself. It's bluntly obvious that Dismas isn't enjoying the current situation either, even more so than you. He peeks through the gaps between his fingers as he’s hunched over, his eye darting from person to person. If there’s one thing you have in common, it’s the paranoia.
So you propose a backup plan.
"How's about we both dip, huh?"
His head perks up a bit, and he makes a small noise similar to a pleasantly surprised cat. "To where, exactly?"
"Dunno. We'll see where the night takes us."
“That is never a good thing when it comes out of your mouth. Besides, I planned this whole thing out, we might as well stick to it.”
Tonight is going to be for the worse if you end up doing that. Mostly for him. “You don’t look like you’re havin’ a very good time here.”
He shrinks down even more, looking away. “...Okay. Yeah. You’re right.”
You get up first, and he follows, and you exit without causing too many to gawk at you. Your hands become intertwined in a bit of a panicked manner, like he was searching for comfort anywhere he could find it. As you step into the night air, the two of you exhale simultaneous sighs of relief.
"So much for dressing up like this." Dismas picks at his sleeves.
"Aw c'mon, we're still out for a good time." You hold your tongue before you can compliment him. There's no way you're ready for that song and dance yet, you know he'll drive you in circles with mildly self-deprecating deflections. You're getting a little too earnest anyways.
"I'd rather be 'having a good time' in normal clothes. This feels so wrong."
"Prolly that damn ass bandana holdin' your full potential back like a wriggler with a brand spankin' new slingshot aimin' where the sun don't shine."
He pulls it up a little. "This is probably the one thing keeping me sane when I'm dressed like this."
"If you're gonna leave your comfort zone, might as well go big or go back home. Y'know?"
"It's not a 'comfort zone' thing, it's me trying to be decent and save strangers in public from seeing my grotesque mess of a maw."
That's not what it is . "Y'sure that's all?"
"Yes, I'm extremely sure, so stop bugging me about it. Christ ."
You walk in silence for a while, letting your mind wander as the twinkling pastel stronghold lights fade from your peripheral. You don't really know how pitch dates are supposed to go. Like, at all. Knowing the right things to say and do gets harder every minute that passes. There's already been plenty of fuck-ups on your end, and not knowing which one will be the straw that breaks the camel's back is kind of tearing you apart at the seams.
You sit down on a grassy hillside after an excruciating ten minutes of quiet. Expecting some kind of initiative from him might've been a mistake, now that you think about it.
"You're real hush-hush tonight."
Dismas sits down next to you. "I'm not usually the one who does the talking? You would think after all these sweeps you'd be made well-aware of it."
"You do a lotta talkin'. Just gotta rile you up a bit first." You shake his arm a bit.
If his mouth wasn't covered like it always is, you'd be able to see a smile creep onto his face. His eyes show it all for you. "God, shut up."
"That's how I know I'm right," you smirk.
"Please. If that were really the case, you'd be right all the time."
You raise your eyebrows at him, holding in laughter as understanding slowly sets in.
"No. Absolutely not, are you kidding me." His tone is flat, but you can tell he's just pretending to be mad at you.
So you reach over and you sneak a hand under his shirt, pinching him on that one spot you know he’s ticklish at. He lets out a startled yelp that dissolves into giggles.
"You're laughing!"
"I am not!" He so is . "Shut up. You're an asshole!!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm an asshole and you despise me, we go over this every single time."
Dismas lays back, stifling his laughter, subtly inching closer to you. You wrap an arm around his shoulder.
"Intricate rituals, huh..." You whisper to yourself.
"What was that?"
"Nothin'. Just sayin' shit."
He brushes off your mumbling, burying his face in your side a bit, getting quiet again. You don’t really want to say anything else either. Not because of anything upsetting, of course. It’s not very often you get to experience intimacy, despite it being something you long for constantly. You take every chance you get, savoring the moment like it’s a decadent delicacy.
For a few minutes, you feel content. You can picture yourself in another time where things might have gone differently between the two of you. Someplace not so completely fucked over, someplace where you aren’t restricted by social law, someplace where your debilitating crush isn’t so unrequited. What you wouldn’t give just to spend the rest of your days with him interlocked in the type of romance you only see portrayed on film, living a tooth-achingly sweet domestic fantasy. You’d do anything for something simpler than the sweeping hurricane your life has become.
Obviously imagining a better time isn’t going to do you any good. But a man can dream, you suppose.
...You nearly start actually dreaming, not realizing that you’re drifting to sleep. It’s been a good while since you got to do that, so it feels even nicer now that you’re in the company of someone else.
Dismas stirs a bit sleepily, voice lowered to a mutter. “I want to go home. We’re basically just taking a nap here anyways.”
You’re slightly disappointed - you wanted to spend a little more time out here just daydreaming - but you can’t blame him for being tired.
“You really don’t wanna do anythin’ else? We’re killin’ moonlight here. C’mon.”
His face saddens. “No.”
God damn, this kinda sucks. You wish you could’ve done something more (like not make him wait for half an hour in a restaurant by himself, probably).
In one swift motion, you pick him up in a bridal carry.
His eyes widen immediately. “I- okay! Okay I guess! This is fine!”
You laugh lightheartedly. “That snapped you awake real good, huh?”
“You could’ve warned me!”
“Wouldn’t have been funny if I did.”
You take him to the monorail station and get as close to the canyon as possible, taking the rest of the trip home on foot.
He twirls a bit of your hair around his finger while you carry him. Something unspoken lingers on his lips, you can feel it, but he never opens his mouth to say it. You're only left to ponder aimlessly about the hypotheticals. "I had a nice night," he would've said, if he weren't apparently incapable of expressing gratitude. "I enjoyed being with you," if that weren't completely false and uncharacteristic. At least you can see that look in his eyes that says he's more calm than upset, his pupils dilated more than they often are.
He takes you by surprise, however, softly kissing your cheek as you enter his hive. Oh. Maybe that's what he wanted to say.
"Gettin' bold, are we?" You tease.
“How’s that bold?”
You shrug playfully, dropping him on his feet. “You’re not really a first move maker.”
He sighs. “I guess not.”
It’s awkwardly quiet for a few minutes. Neither of you realize you’ve been standing around staring at each other like fucking idiots until Dismas breaks the silence.
“You really came all the way out here and you’re just gonna leave?”
“You never asked. Just thought I’d spare you the burden of taking a walk. ”
Dismas finds that comment mildly offensive, manifesting in a squint and a scowl. “Do you actually want to stay over or...?”
You really wish you could, thinking back to that dream again. “Nah. I’m a busy fella.”
“Uh-huh, ‘busy’ my ass.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt. “I’d appreciate if you made a decision right about now.”
Hm . You tilt your head a bit. “Sounds like the one not making decisions around here is you.”
Dismas stops, back straightening. His mouth is wordless, dried up in a drought, like he just realized something necessary. Perhaps you could have worded that differently, but the nerve’s already been struck.
“Just leave already,” he says coldly.
Not a moment passes before you have a foot on the ladder, and not another before he says something else.
“...Do you have time next wice?”
You stop climbing. “For what?”
“Something less hastily planned. I don’t want to fuck up again.”
This really wasn’t your fault , you want to say. You smile instead. “Yeah, I got plenty.”
Dismas’s shoulders relax, a shaky breath leaving his mouth. Something feels extremely off right now, but it isn’t like every other time you’ve had a spike of anxiety. It’s a very good feeling this time.
“See you then.”