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Not even a tier-five gift of allure can relieve you of the torment of retail.
Despite completing your runs for the week, you’ve been inordinately busy at the perfumery. A big holiday approaches, bringing with it an irregular influx of customers. The day flew right past you, and you feel exhausted after being on your feet all day, greeting and serving one customer right after the next.
With a tired nod, you bid Dia goodbye as she locks up the shop. She’s quiet, but returns your goodbye with a quick nod of her own before stomping away towards her car. Clearly, she’s just as tired as you are and equally ready to go home.
Unfortunately for you, you’re not heading home just yet.
As you approach Alan’s bar, you could already feel the thumping music under your feet. You stop before the doors to rub your jaw, sore from giving your best customer service smile nonstop the entire day, and you take a deep breath.
The city air is stale but it’s daisy fresh compared to the bar, and your olfactory nerves are burning and dull from sampling perfume all day. With a slight grimace, you open the doors and feel the music immediately flood your senses. You’re not at all a fan of the placement of the speakers right by the door. Alan said it was good for drawing people into the bar. You always thought it was a stupid idea.
Your eardrums are throbbing, but it’s not the worst of it. The bar is completely packed tonight with patrons. Like the music, they’re too loud and too boisterous for you right now. From the state of the sticky floor, the bar appears to have been busy for a while. You feel submerged in the smells of alcohol and sweat and other things you’d rather not think about.
A voice sounds in your mind, as warm and inviting as the day’s first cup of coffee. “Ah, cara, I’m in the back.”
You’re holding your breath as you squeeze yourself between half-drunk dancing patrons, making your way to the back of the bar. Your oldest friend－Reed, as he calls himself now－is seated at a high top, thankfully the farthest away from the blasted speakers. Normally his natural charisma attracts attention, but tonight, he sits alone. You envy his ability to maintain a dignified space from the crowd.
“Evening, carina,” Reed calls out, espresso in hand. An odd choice for a bar, but it doesn’t surprise you one bit. You simply nod in return.
His brow lifts as he takes stock of your appearance. “You look beat.”
“Uh huh,” you reply bluntly, eager to get to business.
Earlier that day, Reed had dropped by the shop, but you were so busy, you barely gave him a second glance. So he scribbled a cryptic note for you: Meet me at Alan’s after work. He wouldn’t make such an effort if it wasn’t important.
You don’t take a seat, choosing instead to stand close to Reed as casually as you can to hear him over the booming music.
“So?” You ready yourself for anything.
For his part, however, Reed is calm, relaxed even, as he finishes his espresso. He dabs his lips with a napkin. It’s either very, very good news… or possibly the worst.
Reed’s eyes center on you, their previous warmth draining away as quickly as he drained his espresso.
You feel your heart drop. This is bad.
“Fuck, what happened?” Your heart beats almost as fast as the music banging in your ears. His brows furrow as a distinct look of disappointment shadows over his features. Oddly, though, his scent remains unchanged. The dissonance confuses you.
His eyes burn into you, and he finally answers.
“You completely forgot my birthday yesterday.”
Oh. Oh no.
Your heart sinks further. This is really bad.
Shit. How the hell did you forget? You've never forgotten his birthday. Never. After all these years, you’d learned that Reed took these things seriously, so you always made an effort to celebrate it with him.
The knots in your stomach tighten. Time to grovel.
“Reed, I－”
Then it hits you.
“Wait…” you whisper.
You’re incredulous.
“I did not forget your birthday!” you exclaim. “Your birthday is months from now!”
In an instant, Reed’s bitter frown suddenly melts into a pout. A fucking pout.
“I wasn’t talking about my real birthday.” He’s whining.
No way.
Is he really referring to the completely, absolutely fake birthdate on his phony papers? Is he really that petty enough to be upset at you for missing it?
Of course he is. This is Reed.
The realization hits you like a bulldozer, and Reed has the nerve to knowingly grin at you. You’re pissed, but a tiny involuntary ripple of guilt runs through your brow and instantly he looks more smug, victorious even. The shithead.
You snarl. “You’re a fucking brat.”
“And you owe me a gift,” he declares and slowly eyes you up and down. “Seeing as you’re empty-handed.”
Reed pouts but a quiver of a grin remains.
“Okay, alright already!” You throw your hands up, nearly knocking over someone’s beer nearby, but you couldn’t care less. You want this over and done with so you can finally go home. If you hadn’t been friends for so long, you would’ve been out the door by now.
In the most caustic singsong voice you can muster, you ask, “Reed, what would you like for your birthday?”
Your irritation clearly fuels him. Reed smirks widely, tapping his chin and making an exaggerated show of deep thought.
“Hm...”
The constant thumping in your ears halts as the music changes. This new song is a much, much slower tempo, it’s melody practically delicate in comparison to the previous one.
Nonchalantly, Reed leaps from his barstool. “I love this song.”
You don’t recognize it, but the change is a welcome respite for your ears. Suddenly, Reed grabs your hand and leads you to the center of the bar where the other patrons are coupling up to dance.
In a swift and graceful movement, Reed whips you around and pulls you close. You let out a haggard breath as if you were holding it this whole time. With him so close, the scent of the bar promptly dissipates, leaving only Reed. His sweet, smoky scent fills your senses. It is so familiar to you now that your body immediately relaxes in the comfort of it. The fight in you fades. The warmth of him is welcome amidst the chaos of the bar.
His hand grips yours tightly, but you feel his other hand graze your waist in surprisingly careful manner. Absentmindedly, you rest your forehead on Reed’s shoulder. For just a moment, he stiffens, then immediately relaxes and leads you in a slow dance. You let out a long, drawn-out breath into his jacket.
Reed switches the conversation to your mind. “Long day today?”
With a sigh, you nod wordlessly. As you inhale, you immediately detect something astringent coloring Reed’s scent. Bitterness and worry echo in the aftertaste.
“Look, I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, sincerely.
“Sure you are, asshole.” You can’t help but bite back still. To this, Reed chuckles so deeply, you can feel it vibrating through you.
“I am,” he whispers, despite speaking telepathically. His tone turns serious. “You know, you’re working too hard.”
You’re unsure how to respond. “I guess.”
“You are working too hard.”
Reed’s words haunt you. Without thinking, you lean harder into this shoulder, and he instinctively holds you closer. No one knows better than him what little choice you have in the matter.
“You don’t need to worry about me so much,” you say, with some finality to your words.
You feel his grip on your waist tighten just a bit, his thumb tracing you slowly.
His voice echoes heavily in your mind. “I will always worry about you.”
When the two of you are speaking like this, it’s easy to drown out the sounds of the bar. For a spell, you’re both silent, swaying to the music and basking in the comfort of each other’s presence.
You feel safe, almost perfectly at ease. A foreign feeling, these days.
Reed breaks the silence, his chin brushing against your hair. “You know, I still remember the first gift you ever gave me.”
“I bet,” you attempt to snark, but your voice is timid. Reed remembers it more clearly than you do. A small smile curves on your lips as the memory of it gradually comes back to you.
Strangely, Reed releases you, and though your heart should know better, it instantly sinks, craving his embrace. The feeling stuns you. You look up, and Reed is gazing at you with a curiously unfamiliar expression. It’s intense, his amber eyes are burning into you. The two of you are still, almost frozen.
Reed wants to say something. Something important, you know that for sure. It’s his hesitation that alarms you. His full lips part, and he takes a deep breath.
But the song comes to an end. Heavy beats of the next track immediately invade your senses.
You almost dread letting him go. But when you look down, you find that Reed is still holding your hand, though limply this time.
“So for my gift,” Reed’s voice calls out in your mind, full of mischief. His signature smirk returns, quickly replacing whatever was there before.
“Gift?”
“Technically,” he shrugs, his smirk widening. “I never answered your question.”
“Wait, what?” you gawk.
“You still owe me a birthday gift. The dance was a nice bonus though.”
Reed laughs. It’s exuberant but rings hollow.
“Are you fu－”
He pulls on your hand, leading you towards the exit. “But first, dinner. Dancing with someone so pretty really works up the appetite.”
“Oh, for the love of…” you mutter, unable to roll your eyes any harder.
“I’m thinking that one place by the square!” he giggles.
“I can’t afford that place, Reed!” you haggle as he continues to lead you towards the exit. The music gets louder as you get closer to the speakers. Earlier you struggled to navigate through the crowd, but Reed cuts through it effortlessly.
His laugh cuts through the crowd just as easily. “It’s on me, of course! Can’t discuss the important matter of my birthday gift on an empty stomach.”
Of all the things, Reed is an excellent negotiator. He knows you well enough to see that you’re starving before you’re even aware of it. You’re wracking your brain on what you could possibly give the guy. The infamous Reed, with his bank account much deeper than yours, typically wants for nothing.
“Reed!” you try to shout over the music, out loud this time. “What else could you possibly want?”
Without looking back, Reed pushes the doors open, and you feel the cold air pour in from outside. He squeezes your hand, and you hear him mutter something out loud instead of in your mind.
But your hearing is overwhelmed by those damn speakers.
⬫