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It’s a cold winter afternoon when you go out on a date.
December has ushered in all of her garments, clad in perpetually grey clouds that hang heavy in the sky with the promise of a dusting of snow later in the evening. Her garlands have strung themselves on awnings, around streetlamps, LED lights flickering in window sills as small children wave to the animatronic Santas greeting them back with porcelain smiles.
The air was crisp, and stung in a way that made the lungs seize for a moment - you didn’t mind, however, seen as winter was your favorite season. You’d always loved the cold, having traveled to the mountains to ski every year with your family as a child, and you were happy to be spending it with them once more in the coming weeks. Today, however, was your only day off for the month, aside from the weekends - and you smiled from beneath your magenta scarf when you remembered how you were going to be spending it.
You approach the front of the mall, admiring the architecture for a moment. Though it hadn’t recently been built, it had been kept up to par, and you give a little wave to the guard sitting inside before finding a bench to sit on. The chill seeps through your leggings, but you pay no mind to it as you pull out your phone - you’re glad you invested in those fingerless gloves, tapping in your passcode with ease. Your date hadn’t showed up yet, and though you knew he wouldn’t, you still had the tiny fear that he would stand you up - so texting him wouldn’t hurt, at least for the reassurance.
You’re about to type in a message, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, when you feel someone approach you from behind from the shift in air. You’re just about to glance over your shoulder when two big hands cover your eyes, warm and slightly rough to the touch.
“Guess who?” A voice rumbles, familiar enough to set your heart aflutter.
“Hey!” You exclaim, prying his hands away from your face so that you can turn around, a broad grin on your rosy features. Risotto stands right behind you, slightly leaned down to reach your much smaller frame, and you use this to your advantage - shifting forward to give a dainty kiss to his nose, red from the cold.
He lets out a low laugh before standing to his full height. “I’m sorry for being late - there was some traffic coming here.” He gives you an apologetic look, earnest as ever. “I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?”
“Not at all,” you reassure him, getting up, “you know I don’t mind the cold! And I just got here, so… no worries,” you smile, and he nods appreciatively.
“Shall we, then, milady?” He asks, holding out his elbow for you to take. You flush a little at the pet name and eagerly lace arms with him.
“Of course, milord,” you reply, and with pleased giggles from the both of you, you enter the mall.
It’s even grander from the inside, and the warmth already seeps into your coats from where it blasts through the vents. The floors have recently been polished, and you can nearly see your reflections in the white tile - a fountain gently spouts from the middle, each of its layers filtering into the next, and several plants curl from their potted places next to lounge chairs. There are stalls on either side, vendors selling phone cases and cheap jewelry, and you both look around for a moment before Risotto looks at you, eyebrow raised.
“So, what do we need to get?”
You pause for a moment, thinking. “Something for all my family members, I guess,” you say. “I was thinking we could get something from Bath and Bodyworks for my mom? And Hot Topic for my brother,” you laugh, “you guys have similar taste.”
“It runs in the family, hm?” Risotto teases, gently nudging you, and you blush, unable to look at him fully. There’s a map of the mall a few paces away from you both, and you walk to it in an attempt to find all the shops you had on your list. You’d never been good at reading maps - the symbols and colors stressed you out more than they helped you - but luckily Risotto doesn’t mind, his free hand rubbing his chin as he studies it.
“Bath and Body Works is only a little ways away from here,” he notes, “and for Hot Topic, we can just take the escalator up. Anything for your dad?”
You wave your hand. “I’m sure a home improvement store or something like that would be good.”
“There’s a Williams Sonoma right next to it,” Risotto points out, and you nod decisively when an idea pops into your head.
“We should get hot chocolate at some point!” You say, and the smile that quirks his lips is one of your favorite things.
“That sounds good to me,” he agrees, and you make note of the big food court spanning the length of the third floor before you walk off in search of the Bath & Body Works. Your footsteps echo as your heels click on the floor, a sound you’d always loved - pop music you’d heard a million times before plays distant over the speakers, and you find both of yourselves gently bopping your heads.
The store has a light up sign and a small blackboard in front of it with sales scrawled in unintelligible cursive. A tired looking worker stands outside, and they watch you both walk in - the scent of mingling soaps and perfumes override your senses, the displays showing off various products filled with so many chemicals they looked as though they would harm rather than help.
Risotto seems enthralled by them, picking a key lime soap up to examine it. “How do they even make these?”
“I’m not sure,” you reply, finding your own interest in a yellow one. It looked and smelled far too much like a lemon bar. “What if I… ate one of these…?”
“Do not,” Risotto laughs, plucking it from your fingers, and you overdramatically pout before scrounging around the rest of the table, finding an equally delicious-looking cotton candy one. Your boyfriend studies the ingredients on the label as though they are some holy text.
“Are you going to become a soap maker?” You giggle, holding the pink and blue bar to your nose.
“Honestly, I’m thinking about it,” he replies, grinning broadly, and takes the soap from you as you hand it to him - presumably returning all three items back to their places on the display table. “Our house could smell that good all the time.”
“Moving in already?” You ask, blush high on your cheeks. Though you’d already talked about it a few times, it was always a wonder to hear - you’d never expected someone as perfect as him would even dream about spending the rest of his life with you.
His face goes red, too, and you decide - like you have all the other times before - that it was a good color on him. “I don’t know, does being a soapmaker have sex appeal?”
“If you’re wearing nothing but an apron, sure,” you wink, delighting in the way he looks down at the floor, clearly flustered. “You make everything look hot.”
“Even this unicorn loofah?” He asks, suddenly grabbing one from the shelves that housed so many. It’s purple, with long eyelashes and a rainbow sprouting from its horn, and your boyfriend looks downright comical holding such a small, innocent creature in his spiked leather glove-hands.
“Even the unicorn loofah,” you confirm, smirking as he waggles it back and forth. The kiddish item would never take away from his perfect physique - broad shoulders and well sculpted biceps, sharp lines that made up his handsome jaw and nose. His eyes you could get lost in, bore holes into you like you were the one worth looking at - but not at all, not when he pulled you a little closer into the black woolen sweater soft against his chest and your cheek.
“To be honest, my mom might actually like this,” you admit. She’d complained to you over the phone a few days ago, talking about how uninteresting the shower had gotten - you, knowing better, figured she was probably hinting at you buying a new curtain for it.
You also knew better than to do that - more often than not, she’d force a smile and “praise” your interior design skills before returning it the next day. Eh. A loofah would do just fine.
“I have a magic touch,” Risotto says, waggling his eyebrows, and you shove him playfully before taking his arm again, walking to the cash register. They ring you up quickly - “9.65 for a loofah?” - and before you know it, you’re strolling out of the shop and back into the much more well lit mall.
“Maybe they keep it dim to make their products look more enticing,” Risotto says thoughtfully, still within earshot of the worker posted outside - you snort, grateful they weren’t paying attention.
“To make the soap bars yummier?”
“I do not trust you in the bathroom anymore,” Risotto chuckles, and you stick your tongue out at him before you step onto the escalator. You clutch onto him just a little tighter as you do - you don’t know why, but you’d always been fearful of them, not sure if the way the stairs disappeared would swallow you whole if you did not find your way to step over them.
You’re spared this time, but Risotto is not so lucky. He stumbles slightly, and it takes all your strength to keep him upright - and with a widening of your eyes, you see that a soap bar clatters to the ground from his coat pocket.
You gasp. “Ris! You didn’t pay for that, did you?”
His responding look to you is blamelessly guilty. “We were supposed to pay?” He looks at it as though it had harmed him, burning a hole into his hand with its sin. “I thought they were samples…”
You can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles out of you at his despondency, and you soothingly rub his back. “It’s okay. Your life of crime begins here.”
“ No!” He whines, but slips the soap back into his coat pocket as he stands anyway. Perhaps he wasn’t so hung up about it than he’d seemed - or maybe he wasn’t looking forward to taking the escalator down another floor just to return them. “We never speak of this.”
“Gonna tell your friends when they come over for dinner how they’re washing their hands with crime soap.”
“You are evil,” he laughs, a perfect baritone thing, and you sink into the fuzzy feeling of making him happy while you walk to the Hot Topic.
It looks over the rest of the mall, foreboding and dark. The walls are pitch black - just the way the both of you like it - and you’re pretty sure you can hear Avril Lavigne from the inside speakers. Backpacks with various Disney characters line either side of the entrance, and you find vague interest in a Stitch-emblazoned one before you venture into the heart of the store.
This is far more both of your vibes. You’d both grown up on this sort of aesthetic, and giggle when you find yourselves looking at the same choker.
“It would look good on you,” he comments, taking it off the rack to hold it to your neck, and you blush slightly.
“You think everything looks good on me,” you quip. You spot a headband with a pair of fuzzy black cat ears on the top, and smile to yourself - you’d been looking for one of these!
“That’s because it does,” Risotto replies, putting the choker away.
You turn to him, then, having donned the headband, and extend your hands in a cat-like gesture. “Meow!”
“You just proved my point,” he chuckles, pulling you close to kiss you gently and quickly. Though public displays of affection were something neither of you were truly fond of, both of you usually private people, at times it was just difficult to keep your hands off of one another. “Do you think you’ll get these?”
“Oh, yeah, my brother will love them.”
“You know what I meant!” Risotto laughs, and you join in not long after. Taking them off and examining them, you shrug.
“Eh, it’s alright. I can always find them someplace else, y’know? Plus, I don’t want to spend any more of your money than I already have, so…”
“I like spending my money on you, thank you very much,” Risotto replies, and snakes an arm around your waist when you lean into him at the compliment. You stroll around the store a little more, swaying back and forth to the electronic music blaring from all four corners of the darkened shop - until you stumble upon a collection of skirts, neatly hung on the walls.
“I found something you’d like,” you grin, pointing to a larger, frilly tutu, and Risotto stares at you in disbelief before squaring his shoulders, taking it off of its hook.
“You know my sense of style so well, dearest,” he says, clasping it on, and does a few poses reminiscent of Sailor Moon girls before spinning, the skirt flowing out around him in soft pink sheets and feathers.
You clap in a circle, applauding him for the mini show, and he bows before taking it off, kissing you on the head. “A man of many talents,” you smile, and adore the way his chest puffs with pride.
You scrounge around the store for a while longer before settling on a few patches for your brother’s leather jacket. He’d always asked about getting new ones, as he’d only ever spent money on spikes for it, and you were glad you were finally sating his desires for a “fuck cops!” patch on his right shoulder.
Risotto puts his arm - heavy and warm - around your shoulder as you walk out, and you burrow into his side, thankful for his warmth. It had definitely gotten slightly colder in the mall since you all had arrived, and though you didn’t mind it… Well, it was a damn good excuse to cuddle into your boyfriend just a little more as you walk. It’s only a few paces away (and a treacherous look down from the balcony you cross) to the Williams Sonoma, far cozier than the Hot Topic had been.
“And yet, it’s not as welcoming,” you note, and feel Risotto’s shoulders shake as he laughs.
This store seems to be the most packed, with a few families looking at the red and green painted mugs, the overpriced toaster ovens - there’s a low hum of everyone talking, cash registers beeping, and it’s the closest to home you’ve felt this Christmas season. You drift your hand down to lace your fingers with Risotto’s, smiling when you feel him squeeze, and wander over to the most empty pots and pans section.
“Does your dad need a new one?” Risotto asks, holding up a skillet to the light, and you examine a pot before scrunching your mouth together and shaking your head.
“Maybe? But I know he’s picky about kitchen stuff… I might just get him some knives, or something —“
“What about this?” Risotto asks, and before you can turn around to see what he’s holding, something gently baps you on the head. Looking up, you see it’s a pink, plastic spatula - one that your boyfriend had grabbed from the display on the counter.
“Oh, it’s on,” you giggle, leaning over him to grab your own blue one. It’s lightweight in your grip, and you pull away to assemble your stance into something of a fencing posture. Legs bent at the knees, you hold your spatula out in front of you, and Risotto laughs as you lunge forward to attempt to jab it lightly at his chest.
You spar back and forth, spatulas clanging together in a wonderful cacophony - you manage only two hits against Risotto’s collarbone while he easily taps four on your shoulders, making you pretend to bleed out before getting up and doing it all over again. You don’t even realize how much noise you’re making - from the clatter of plastic to your boisterous laughter - until an employee rounds the corner, giving you a sharp glare.
“You do know those aren’t meant to be played with?” She asks, deadpan, and a nervous laugh bubbles from your throat as Risotto gingerly takes the utensil from your hand, putting them slowly back onto the counter.
“Right, uhm, sorry…” You stammer out. All you get in response is a raised eyebrow, pierced at one side.
“Are you going to buy them?” She asks, clearly already done with the discussion, and you pause for a moment before snapping your fingers at her.
“Yes, yes we are!” You say, and Risotto looks at the back of your head in disbelief before grabbing them once more. “We were just, uh… Testing their durability!”
“Right,” she replies, and with a roll of her eyes so hard you’re afraid she’ll pull something, she begins walking over to the pristine white counters. “I’ll ring you up.”
“Thanks!” You squeak out, and with Risotto snickering behind you, you purchase them for your dad’s Christmas gift.
Walking out of the store two spatulas heavier, you remember that… this had been your date. Searching around the mall, buying items for your family - but now, with three different bags on your arms, it’s already almost over. You look up to see Risotto peering down at you, red eyes full of something like love - you lean up on your tippy toes to kiss him before sighing, taking his hand.
“I don’t want it to be over just yet,” you murmur, slightly embarrassed, and a fond smile cracks over his normally stoic features.
“Neither do I,” he admits, “but it isn’t, my dear. We still have that hot chocolate to get, yes?”
You perk up at that, and continue holding his hand as you make your way to the third floor. It’s decorated grandly, with a big tree in the middle of the food court, and you reach up to jingle one of the bells on Risotto’s hat.
“I think you’d make a perfect ornament,” you giggle, and he laughs along with you while shaking his head to make them ring out more.
The line to the hot chocolate stand isn’t that long, and it’s only a few minutes of silently mouthing Christmas carols back and forth to each other before you’re ordering your drinks.
“Two small hot chocolates, with extra whipped cream,” Risotto says, and you hide a smile behind your hand at the barista’s face when he speaks. His voice was nothing more than a smooth baritone, and you loved hearing it as much as possible. “No mint with one, either, please.”
Your heart swells a little at that, and you give him an appreciative gaze while you begin to wait. You’d always hated mint, yet only had mentioned doing so once or twice - and yet, he’d still known.
“Thank you for remembering,” you say earnestly, and he shrugs, blushing.
“I’d never forget,” he responds, and gets both of your drinks as they’re placed on the counter, handing you one with careful fingers.
Your walk back outside is slow, both of you taking as much time as possible to sip your drinks and enjoy the rest of your afternoon together. The ride on the escalators feels too fast, and you snuggle into his bicep when you reach the first floor, sliding glass doors opening to reveal a blast of cold air and a much grayer world than the mall, with wreaths on every flat surface and sample cookies by every corner.
Watching the clouds, thick and heavy with snow, you flutter your eyelashes before taking a sip of your hot chocolate. “I’m glad you came with me,” you say softly, almost afraid your voice has been lost to the wind, but the small smile that quirks his lips lets you know he heard you.
“I’m glad I did, too,” he says, “I love spending time with you. Will I see you again, before the break?”
“Of course,” you grin, turning around to pull him in a little closer to you. You tuck your hot chocolate to your chest, and with your free hand, gently hold his chin to guide your lips together. He tastes sweet and soft and like everything good in the world, and you melt into his broad frame right after. “You can always come to my house and help me bake cookies.”
“Oh, you know I’m a master at baking,” he chuckles, a rumble against your smile, and your chest feels fit to explode with love. He backs away, but only slightly, a woolen arm wrapping around your waist. “Do you need me to drive you home? I don’t want you walking in this.”
“What is this?” You laugh, gesturing around you. “It’s not dangerous, handsome.”
“It’s cold,” he insists, “and it might snow. I don’t want you getting caught in that.”
“If you insist,” you pretend to sigh, but the happy lilt in your voice gives you away. You walk back with him, snug and safe, to his car, and feel that everything is going to be alright this holiday season.