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You’re running late for your third date with Frederick Chilton. You grab your purse from your desk and curse under your breath when your keys slip out of your hand as you try to hurry out of your office. You hate being late and the taxi was already outside.
It had been the kind of day in which everything that could go wrong, goes wrong. The car broke down on the way to the faculty, subsequently making you late for class. The phone ran out of charge sometime around mid-day and you forgot to bring your charger. You clumsily spilled coffee on your blouse and had to step out to buy a new one for the day. Everybody seemed to have decided to act their worse. Then this dumb, last minute meeting at work.
Getting caught up in all of it, you didn’t have time to send Frederick a message to tell him you were going to be a little late. You had almost forgotten about it until you opened your day planer right before the meeting and spotted Dinner with F.C., circled two times, under tonight’s date.
You practically run out of the building, already twenty minutes late, and hop into the waiting taxi. Giving the driver the address, you hope Frederick hasn’t left the restaurant. He probably won’t take getting stood up for a date very well. Then again, who does?
You really like him. Frederick’s rather awkward and conceited, but once he relaxes he could be so sweet and funny. Rough around the edges but harmless and strangely charming. It had to be that, that quality that kept you wondering about him. There was something there you made want to know more, beyond his snarky attitude and expensive suits. The fact he has the sweetest lips this side of Baltimore doesn’t hurt his case either.
You search your handbag for your pressed powder and lipstick to touch up. It was refreshing to be seeing someone you found so physically attractive from the start. Sure he’s smart and generous, but damn easy on the eyes as well. That luscious, thick hair you were itching to brush with your fingers. His deep-set, expressive eyes and the aquiline nose that very much flattered his face. Oh, and his hands! They were so big and soft and cared for. He wasn’t tall but he carried himself very well, straight back and chin up, an almost elegant presence. He somehow managed to pull off that flashy cane of his.
It was cute how he blushes when he’d notice you studying him. You try to control the bad habit of staring, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, but he was very entertaining to watch. You were looking forward to getting him into your bed. With the way he looked at you and how he responded to your kisses, it’s not going to take much.
As the taxi finally turns into the street you were destined, you encounter a traffic jam. Putting back everything in your purse, you debate on waiting for the cars to move or simply walking there. You hated to idea of him waiting for so long by himself. At the sound of irate honking ahead, you promptly pay the driver and hurry through the sidewalk. Hopefully you could catch him exiting the restaurant at the very least.
___
Meanwhile, Frederick was wondering where hell you were and glancing at his phone to check the time. He toyed with it constantly, pretending to text or read a message. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the restaurant weighing on him, judging. Poor sap, waiting for no one. He presses a hand down his tie and the front of his shirt, smoothing non-existing wrinkles. He was trying not to let his insecurities crowd his mind, but that sympathetic look from the waiter when he came by again just…didn’t help at all.
You were supposed to meet him here half an hour ago. He was already seated at the table he reserved earlier that the week. You had hummed approvingly when he told you the restaurant’s name over the phone last night. You’d been there before, commented on a exquisite red wine they served, and told him that you couldn't wait to see him in a soft voice that made warmth flood his chest.
He was thinking maybe something had happened, you weren't responding to his messages today. He hoped you were alright. You won’t be so cruel to just stand him up with no good reason, right? Unless he somehow fucked it up.
He’s gone over some texts you exchanged and tried to remember the conversations had over the week, trying to find if he said something irreparably stupid that made you change your mind in the last minute. He thought it has been going so well until now. He felt more comfortable with each date.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten beyond the initial date. Years, really. He’d given up for a while after his embarrassing attempts to woe his old tailor’s assistant. He had to find a new tailor because he couldn’t bare the humiliation.
He checks his phone again. He tries to stop himself from tapping his cane on the floor, considering if he should get a drink while he's here or just leaving. He was riddled with impatience, was starting to feel miserable and hurt. Hurt. It made him angry with you for not showing up and at himself for feeling like that.
It was only the third date. Was he foolish enough to have gotten his hopes up like that so soon?
He just wanted to feel something, something positive. Getting laid would be a start, just let out all that energy. He could only give himself enough relieve. He hasn’t stop thinking about it either, since you kissed his cheek in the museum’s parking lot and accepted his dinner invitation. He likes you so much. It was stupid the little things that got him riled up; the tight green dress you wore on the first date, your soft touches on his hands, the kisses by the water and in his car when he left you at your place last time.
God, it’s really been long since he had any intimacy.
You were smart, interesting and funny. You were caring and he found you attractive and sexy. He could imagine inviting you to spend the night at his house. It would definitely be nice to share the bed with someone, basking in the warmth of another body, falling asleep hugging something other than a pillow.
He liked to imagine that he could seduce you easily if he wanted to. You were pretty flirty, which has done wonders for his confidence when it came to approaching you. So he figures you find him attractive enough. Then he remembers how fresh his scar looks and the memories that accompany it take the mood away. He’s never been much of a Don Juan, but he now felt unsteady. Unsteady and unsure in so many aspects of his life. He just ended up feeling all sorts of anxious when you stand too close.
At least he still got his job and his house, which he bought with the desperate hope of filling it with friends and family and someone who loved him…Ugh, what a mess.
Of course you would want something better than spending another night with an incompetent psychiatrist with a cane who almost got himself murdered by his own patient. Whatever, he was leaving. He had to work tomorrow morning anyways.
He grips his cane with more strength than necessary and starts to get up, when he sees you hurrying toward the table. He purses his lips and takes a deep breath as you approach.
"Oh, Frederick, I’m so sorry. I was worried you had left already." He straightens and looks at you, flushed and breathless, a relieved smiled on your face.
“Where were you?” It comes out as angry as he feels. He bites his tongue as your smile falls, an odd tug of guilt at the thought of upsetting you.
You worry your bottom lip with your teeth, “The day I had. My phone’s dead and couldn’t send you a message. Have you eaten anything? I’m starving.”
For a moment he forgot where he was, shaking his head he motions you to the chair opposite his. You seat down and summarize your day. The waiter quickly arrives with the menus and the bottle of red wine Frederick had asked for to be brought over once you arrived.
You reach for his hand across the table, once the waiter leaves. “Really, I didn’t mean to have you wait like this. I’m sorry.” You apologize again, your fingers brushing over the back of his hand.
He stares at you for a moment before flipping his hands over and grasping your fingers gently. “Don’t worry about it.” he says and finally he smiles, realizing your apology is sincere and that maybe you really are as interested in him as he is in you.
“Tell me about your meeting.”
You laugh, “Well, I’m just about to give you more reasons to hate teaching.”
But not teachers. He squeezes your hand fondly as he watches you take a sip of wine before talking.
---
Dinner turned out fine. Frederick stubbornly refused your offers to pay for dinner and offered to drive you home. It wasn’t awfully late so you invite him up for coffee, hoping to happily end the night on your couch or bed. He looked very handsome on his navy plaid suit.
As the elevator doors close, you realize something.
“Hmm…”
“What?” Frederick turns to you.
“I find it completely unacceptable that we have not kissed tonight.”
“Oh?” His cheeks turn pink and his lips dare a small smirk. He averts his eyes for a moment. “That should be remedied, huh?”
“Immediately.” You tug him to you by the arm and plant your lips on his. He sighs instantly at the kiss and follows after you as you step backward to lean against the elevator wall. Slipping your arms under his light coat you hold him to you as you lick his lips. He quickly deepens the kiss and melts against you as you respond with the same fervor, leaving you pleasantly trapped. His hand grasps your arm tightly while the other remains on his cane. His suit jacket was left unbuttoned, allowing you the slide your hands under it. He moans slightly into the kisses when you run your hands over his sides and chest, slowing their pace over his torso when you feel his heart hammering under your palm.
The ride to the top floor is blessedly uninterrupted. Once there, it takes you almost a minute to realize it had stopped. Good kisser Frederick. You pull him along to your door and leave him with a kiss to get comfortable in your living room as you head to the kitchen. Your place is small but you’re proud of the cozy space you’ve created for yourself. Preparing the coffee press and setting the cups on the counter, you sneak glances at him. You took his coat at the door, but he’s buttoned up his jacket and remains standing the living room. He busies himself by looking at the books on your shelves, his back to the kitchen. You notice his free hand, hanging low, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his jacket.
You leave the press over a low fire and head toward the living room. He turns around at the sound of your steps. Smiling, you plop unto the sofa and pat the space next to you. He leans the cane on the armrest and takes your invitation, not sitting as close as you expected.
“Coffee will be ready in a moment.” You say as you scoot close, one of your hands moving to his shoulder and neck as he nods. He looks at you almost expectantly, his hands spread over his thighs in a nervous gesture. Hoping it’ll relax him, you finally run your fingers through the hair on the back of his head. He groans and his eyes flutter shut as he eagerly leans in for a kiss. Your other hand joins in brushing his hair and you’re delighted in find it as thick and soft as it looks. His hands settle on gripping your waist and arm.
Hearing the frothy sound from the press, indicating the readiness of the coffee, you know you should pull away. Just a little bit more. You drag a hand down his neck, chest and quickly undo his jacket. Your hand follows that path again, now over his tie as you nip at his lower lip, feeling him tense and squirm at the touch. Reaching the tip of it, you twirl it with your finger before moving your hand to caress his stomach and waist.
He’s the one who pulls away, breathing heavily and avoiding your eyes. “I-I think I should go.”
“Is everything okay?” You ask a little worried as you move to give him space.
“Yes, I need to be at the hospital early tomorrow.” He explains quickly as he reaches for his cane, stands up and starts moving toward the door.
You frown, feeling disappointed at this. “Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?” You ask standing up and following, not sure of how much you could press in the matter.
You notice his hand shaking as he grabs his coat from the pegs by the doorway; he doesn’t bother in slipping it on. “I need…to leave now if I want to be rested tomorrow.”
“Oh.” You bite your lips slightly, wondering what could have brought this change. He seemed to have been enjoying it as much as yourself. “Well, I had a good time tonight. Sorry for the tardiness.”
You open the door and watch him avoid eye-contact as he steps out the door, “Yes, it was good. You were…good.”
“I’ll see you, then.” You touch his arm and lean to press a quick kiss on his lips.
“I’m-” He starts to say before licking his lips and opening and closing his mouth, finally looking at you. “I’m sorry.”
You watch him hurry down the hallway and you close the door as he enters the elevator. Then it’s your turn to hurry to the kitchen when you hear the coffee boiling. You sigh loudly as you turn off the fire and flip the lid to look dejectedly at the ruined liquid. You wonder as you turn toward the sink if what you read in Tattle-Crime about Frederick had something to do with his sudden reaction. It was not your place to ask, all you could do was wait for him to tell you himself at his own time.
---
“Stupid fucking idiot.”
Frederick angrily stomps into his house and up the stair to his bedroom. He can’t believe he ran away like that. Christ, what a fool. Somebody seems to want him enough to kiss and touch him like that and he can’t stand it.
He was fine, but then he started to get nervous and anxious as he drove to your apartment. He tried to relax into your kisses once seated next to you, but he couldn’t. The anxiety clutched at his throat and he felt overwhelmed as you ran your hand unknowingly over the scar and he panicked. He swallows against the knot in his throat.
He quickly undresses in the bathroom and wishes he had poured himself a scotch before jumping into the shower. He stays standing under the hot water for over forty minutes, in a form of self-punishment. Not bothering to towel off, he puts on his pajamas and slides under the covers, intent on forgetting what an idiot he is and how everything is ruined.
His phone bleeps from his bedside table. Grabbing it and unlocking the screen, his stomach flips at seeing it’s a message from you. He sits up and hesitates for a moment before reading it.
I hope you arrived home safely. Sweet dreams.
He bites his lip. He feels bad for leaving like a coward. He wishes he could explain…
You deserve better. Maybe he should cut this off and not waste any more of your time and his. Taking a deep breath, he decides to call back.
‘Hello?’
“It’s me, Frederick. Um…”
‘Is everything alright?’
“Yes…” It was suddenly easier, talking about it. Not having you face to face but still having your voice, it was soothing and unexpectedly comforting. “I just wanted to talk a little while. I’m sorry about earlier…”
He decided to tell you about Abel Gideon and the observatory.