Work Text:
Monica first brings it up on Monday, over a shared smoke break. That’s the nice thing about living in the Bay Area; no one smokes cigarettes anymore. Not tech workers, anyway. They’ve got the back of the office building to themselves.
“So,” Monica says. “Um. My parents are in town this weekend. Actually, they’re getting in on Thursday.”
“Okay.” Gilfoyle takes a long draw from his cigarette, letting the smoke escape his lips on its own as he speaks. “What?” he adds when Monica raises an eyebrow at him.
“Well, um, I was wondering—” and it’s weird, really weird, because Monica’s not usually nervous like this. Actually, she’s never nervous. She’s Monica, for fuck’s sake. “Since we’ve been, um, seeing each other and all, uh. Did you want to meet them?”
“You’re bringing your parents to work?”
Monica stares at him, her cigarette burning away between her fingers, neglected.
Oh.
“Um—”
“You know what, never mind,” Monica cuts him off, her cheeks going bright pink. She squashes her half-smoked cigarette onto the ashtray on top of the trash can. “I’m, uh. I should get back to work. Gonna see if I can take Friday off to show my parents around town.”
Gilfoyle watches her disappear into the building, feeling like a fucking idiot.
———
Shit. Fuck. Damn it. Motherfucker. He looks so fucking stupid right now. He looks like he’s in a fucking rom-com. Monica hates rom-coms.
Fuck.
Gilfoyle moves the small bouquet of flowers to his other hand, and knocks firmly on her apartment door. Monica gave him an extra set of keys to her place weeks ago, so they’ve both grown used to him coming and going as he pleases, but right now it seems like a good idea to knock.
Monica gapes when she opens the door. Before she can say anything, Gilfoyle clears his throat.
“I’ve, uh, really enjoyed spending time with you,” he says carefully. “And I’d like to continue doing that. If that’s something you want, too. So, um, if you want me to meet your parents this weekend, that’s cool with m—”
Monica kisses him. Gilfoyle wraps his free arm around her waist, pulling her closer. He’s not sure what to do with the flowers he’s holding. Dropping them on the floor seems like a dumb thing to do. They cost thirty fucking dollars. They smell nice.
“Hang on, stay there for a second,” she says when they break apart again. She takes out her phone. Fuck.
“Wait—” Gilfoyle protests weakly, but it’s too late. Monica snaps a picture, then shows it to him, dangling her phone out of his reach when he tries to grab it and delete the photo.
“You look absolutely ridiculous,” she says gleefully. “And if you don’t come eat me out in the next two minutes, I’m sending this photo to Richard, Jared, Bighead, and Dinesh.”
Gilfoyle follows her to her room, leaving the flowers carefully on her kitchen counter.