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Against the common idea of her, Sherry Blendy was no fan of going out on Friday evenings but Juvia had pouted at her and Yukino had threatened to cry – and god, Sherry hated to see her cry – until Sting had just rolled his eyes and remarked that he had a lot of dirt on her. The stupid blond could rot in hell for all Sherry cared but right now, she was sitting in the booth at Juvia’s favourite club – this preference might be connected to a certain bartender working there – and was sipping her drink in misery while Juvia ranted on and on while Yukino tried to give advice and Sting hummed along to the beat of the music.
It was a normal Friday evening for them and there was no reason why they should do anything out of the usual. They had done this for years, after all. Well, Sherry and Sting had because they had a long history of butting heads – they had been doing this since the eighth day of kindergarten and now, they were in their first year of university – and sometimes, Juvia said that the only reason why the blue-haired design student and Yukino were sticking around was to prevent the inevitable fate of Sting and Sherry killing one another.
“…Blendy, you should get a boyfriend,” the blonde said as he leaned into her personal space, slinging one arm around her shoulders, reaching for the peanuts on the table. “It’ll be funny, seriously, we can all go on double dates together.”
“Is this today’s not-so-subtle dig on my inability to get a decent boyfriend?” she asked as she raised her eyebrows. “Because we have been over that one, seriously.”
“All I ever said was that I had more … dates and confessions this year than you,” he replied with a smug little smirk as he threw peanuts into the air, catching them with his mouth. “Could it be that Aphrodite is losing her touch?”
“You wish,” she replied as she took a sip from her drink. “I just focus on my projects at the moment … and project boyfriend is something I put on ice.”
“Always the responsible one,” he replied as he clinked his glass against hers. “Now, ‘via, how about you tell us a little more—“
But he never got to finish his sentence and the designer-to-be never got to tell the story, likely about the bartender in question because just then, Sherry’s ex-boyfriend strolled into the club like he owned it which instantly aggravated her, especially as he was followed by a blonde who looked like she had never read The Little Prince.
“I’ll be fine,” she said as her fingernails dug into the pillow beneath her and her teeth gritted. Then, she sighed and rose to her feet, pink curls flipped over her shoulder and her golden dress looking like a gleaming armour as she emptied her drink. “I’ll go dance. Anyone who wants to join me?”
She knew that she would go out there alone because Yukino had just recovered from a broken ankle – which explained her flats – and Juvia’s dress was pretty and everything but it was not suited for anything but sitting around. And Sting did not dance to anything but Footloose (or whatever the song no DJ ever played was called) so it was pointless to even hope that one of her friends would join her on the dance floor.
But while it was not Sting’s favourite song blaring from the speakers, it certainly was hers and so she spun around, a hurricane wrapped into the body of a young woman. She danced alone because in this club, she was known and no one had the nerve to mess with her because they knew that she came with one hell of an attitude.
And then, she spotted someone. He was leaning against the counter, his face containing nothing but disinterest. She recognised a person who was somewhere where he did not want to be and so she bound her hair into a messy ponytail and approached him, a smile on her lips. She was, unless irritated by someone (usually Sting), what most people would call a friendly person; some had even called her temper ‘sunny’ which had prompted Juvia to laugh and mutter “more like an April’s day” but this had not bothered Sherry at all because April was still spring and she liked spring.
The young man – she was sure that she had seen him somewhere in a class before – on the other hand seemed to be the human embodiment of winter; where she was pink and gold, he seemed to be pale blue and silver. He radiated a certain coldness, too, but she did not care as she stopped next to him, ordering a new drink.
Then, she frowned and blinked twice, looking at him. “We have design together, don’t we?” she asked as she shifted her weight from one feet to the next. This was likely why he had caught her eye, her brain had recognised a familiar face and, which was most likely, a familiar hair colour.
“…I think so, yeah,” he said as he sipped on his beer. “You’re always texting, aren’t you?”
“Still passing the class on top of the engineer batch,” she replied with a smug little smile although she was feeling slightly embarrassed because she had been pretty sure that Sting had been the only one to know about her texting habit as he had been the one who had received the texts, usually, as they had a schedule of sharing meals and doing their grocery shopping together. And they usually took the same train when they went back home to visit their families because the train ride was long and they needed the entertainment.
“I’m surprised that the prof doesn’t catch you,” he replied as he smirked back at her.
“We call you the fellow with the nice hair,” she admitted as she flicked her hair off her shoulder, “but I bet you got a name, too.”
“Oh, I certainly have a name,” he said as he frowned at her. “But ‘fellow with the nice hair’? I kinda like that so maybe I’ll make it my new title.”
She could not help but to chuckle at his dry humour before she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking back, she pouted at Sting who was smirking smugly at her. “Is this necessary, Eucliffe?” she asked with a huff.
“The both other ladies wanted to go to another club, something about someone being already there,” he said with a shrug, “and all I wanted to do was to ask if you wanted to come with us or if you are staying here. I mean, you just got your new drink. And – hey, isn’t that—?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose as she gave him a sharp little nod. “Yep, the fellow with the nice hair,” she confirmed as she thanked everyone for the fact that no one could see her red cheeks. “Anyway, I just decided that I’m staying here. And that I’ll kick you out of bed early tomorrow and that you’ll get to carry my bags.”
“…grocery shopping?” he asked, his voice hopeful.
“Office supplies,” she said because she was not cruel enough to make him go shopping with her. She had tried that once, in high school, and he had not talked to her for days until she had apologised and made his favourite cookies.
“Fair deal,” he shrugged as he gave her one last wave and disappeared into the crowd.
“So,” she said as she looked back at the white-haired teen, “what is your name, now?”
“Vastia,” he replied as he rolled his eyes. “I actually think that we’re assigned to the same group project.”
“L. Vastia?” she asked as she chewed her lip, a nervous habit she did not quite control yet.
“The one and only,” he said with a nod. “And it’s L for Lyon. I do remember your name, however, Sherry Blendy. The only one to never ask where I got my hair done.”
“Indeed, yes,” she said with a smirk of her own.