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By the time he finally hears a knock at the door, Rogue is a little more than annoyed.
“Yukino,” his voice swings unusually high and firm in irritation while he practically throws open the front door, “I’m meeting Sting in less than an hour and you—”
The rest of the lecture dies in Rogue’s throat upon noticing a familiar—and largely unexpected—face standing just over the woman’s shoulder.
Rogue thinks he closes the door fast enough. Most likely against a lesser enemy he would have succeeded in such endeavors. But this is a member of his own guild, after all, and one qualified to represent them over hundreds of other wizards in a nation-wide tournament, no less. So when the other man’s hand snaps out faster than lightning to grab the edge of the wooden door and hold it back from shutting completely, Rogue isn’t surprised per say, but it does little to quell the tense feeling of dread forming at the pit of his stomach
“Why. Is. Rufus. Here?” it does infuriate him that it takes two hands of him pulling at the doorknob to offset the blond’s one-handed grip while he smiles like that, as if they’re having a friendly chat over a cup of tea instead of standing between a trembling door under the pressure of their opposite pulls.
Yukino looks apologetic enough in her strained smile as she answers, “I-I’m sorry I didn’t let you know. But it was sort of last minute and…I just didn’t feel confident enough to do this by myself…”
“You have absolutely nothing to worry about, Rogue,” Rufus cuts in smoothly, and if anything that makes the dragon slayer’s narrowed eyes darken further in suspicion, “We’ll both be making sure Sting is left absolutely speechless.”
It is then that Rogue’s humiliation reaches a new level when Rufus abruptly swings the door open with his full strength, ripping the doorknob out of Rogue’s grasp and making way for the memory mage to then waltz in with a loaded-looking bag in his other hand.
“Where’s your shower?” Rufus is asking immediately as he walks around the apartment as if it were his own.
“Why do you need to know?!” Rogue whirls around to reply defensively as Yukino enters the living space with far more shopping bags than Rogue had originally observed.
“It’s over here~” Frosch chirps helpfully as the Exceed hops down from the sofa and pads down the hallway for Rufus to follow.
“Frosch don’t—!”
“Would you mind trying these on, Rogue?” Yukino smiles cheerfully as she suddenly hands him one of the shopping bags, forcing Rogue to turn away from the other pair and take the full bag into his arms.
“W-wait…” Rogue glances with one anxious eye towards the small pile of plastic bags filling up an armchair and half the couch, “Don’t tell me these are all clothes…?”
“W…well…” Yukino has that apologetic look again, weaving her fingers together in front of her chest in a restless motion, “Rufus thought you would be better off with a whole new wardrobe for situations like this…”
“Not to worry!” Rufus is suddenly back in the living room, returning from the hall with Frosch in tow, and a few new items cradled in his free arm, “I have your measurements memorized so they should all fit perfectly fine.”
“Wait you what—”
“Also, you won’t be using these anymore,” Rufus cuts off briskly, and then proceeds to drop the bottles of shampoo and conditioner from Rogue’s bathroom into the trashcan like lead weights.
“HEY—”
“Here,” Rufus comes over and pushes different looking bottles into Rogue’s already full arms, “Use these from now on. I also brought enough to last you quite a while,” he smiles far too sweetly for Rogue’s liking as he holds up the bag he’s been lugging around, “Now—” he then takes the plastic bag of clothes from the other, sets both bags aside to place each of his hands on Rogue’s shoulders in order to spin him around, and then pushes him off in the direction of the bathroom, “Shower quick. Follow the instructions on those bottles exactly, and then come into the bedroom for the clothes Yukino and I will have laid out for you.”
Rogue immediately turns around after regaining his balance from the abrupt push, mouth opening in protest before—
“Come now,” Rufus smiles, “You don’t want to be late, do you?”
Rogue closes his mouth.
It takes a monumental amount of effort to not open it back up again or sock Rufus right in his masked face. But he’s right, and the longer he stands here glaring and suppressing his more violent urges, the less time he has to get ready. Which is only adding on to the crunch time already accumulated from the delayed arrival of Yukino.
So without another word, Rogue turns around and quickly enters the bathroom with only the loud slam of the door to speak of his frustration.
To abide by Rufus’ instructions, the quickest Rogue can come out of the shower is ten minutes, after a thorough wash, rinse, another wash, and yet another rinse of his hair in the measured intervals written on the bottles. But when he emerges from the bathroom Rufus doesn’t seem fazed by the time lost. In fact, he looks happier than ever as he takes Rogue by the wrist and drags him into the bedroom where he sits him down in a chair suspiciously placed in front of his bed covered with an arsenal of hairdressing supplies.
“Rufus—” Rogue starts to get up until he’s pushed back down by the shoulders.
“Juuust let me do a bit of styling while your hair is still wet,” Rufus soothes, and if anything that makes Rogue’s body tenser.
But he doesn’t try to stand up again. He has seventeen minutes and counting to finish getting ready and get over to their meeting place. And with the way things have been going so far it’s just faster to give in to Rufus’ demands. No matter how much they unnerve him.
He did ask for help, after all. Exactly because he didn’t trust himself to do this right all on his own.
“I’ll be quick, not to worry,” Rufus smiles from behind him; Rogue can hear it in his voice, “Just close your eyes and I’ll be done in no time.”
It’s with a slow exhale after a shaky inhale that Rogue does so. At least the darkness helps to calm some of his anxieties. This way he can just breathe and try to bring himself back to reasonable levels of anticipation for the outing to come. This way he can just let someone else take care of things for a while, shifting responsibility away from himself in case this whole thing turns out to be one horrible disaster.
Rogue has to admit that Rufus is impressively adept at whatever he’s doing to his hair. The blond’s fingers are gentle yet unhesitating, swift but careful, and Rogue starts to get a real feeling of sitting in a chair at the hairdressers. So much so that he barely even flinches when he starts to hear the sharp, unmistakable noise of scissors behind him.
Though he does want to say something, the snipping sounds don’t last very long at all, and so Rogue closes his mouth again over any objection he might have had, and simply trusts his fellow guildmate as he continues on with his work.
“…Alright,” Rufus says after about five minutes, brushing off hair from his shoulders, and then he comes around to stand in front of Rogue to muss around one last time with the front of his bangs, “Now, please do not touch or fiddle around with it. It’s perfect exactly the way it is.”
Rogue curls both hands resting on his thighs into fists to dissuade the temptation as he hesitantly opens his eyes to become face-to-face with a gorgeous looking stranger.
It takes Rogue longer than it probably should to realize it’s a mirror. But he’s too caught up for a minute in the attractive shine of black hair, so it looks less like pitch dark, gloomy coal and more like fine, beautiful silk. It does wonders for the pale skin it’s matched with so it comes out appealing rather than sickly and unpleasant.
It’s not even all that complicated of a hairstyle. But it surprises Rogue how much of a difference the little things make. Like flattening down tufts of hair and pushing some back so an ear is visible on his left side and part of a second eye on his right. Like making the ends a little straggly and wispy in places, being careful that it’s not too overwhelming but not too little that it’s unnoticeable.
And then there’s the matter of the back, which Rogue suddenly realizes is breezy and lighter than usual, like when he ties his hair back. That’s where Rufus had been cutting a lot shorter than Rogue had originally anticipated. It looked like a solid two inches had been hacked off, making the nape of his neck feel unfamiliarly naked and cold.
But it’s the combination of all these things that make him look like a totally different person. So he’s not about to complain in the slightest.
“…Oh my god,” is the first thing Rogue is able to voice after a long, long silence of staring at his reflection, coming to the conclusion that it must really be him if only due to the telltale scar across his nose, “Rufus…I…”
“I wouldn’t thank me yet,” Rufus interjects as he hands over the mirror for Rogue to hold and look at himself for a few seconds longer, even though he looks proud enough already as if he had received Rogue’s gratitude, “Hurry and get dressed now. You don’t have much time.”
Rufus is right about that, so Rogue quickly sets down the mirror and gets up from the chair to turn just in time for Rufus to place a bundle of blue in his arms, and then the blond is heading for the door to close behind him to give Rogue his privacy.
He dresses quickly. It’s not a complicated outfit at all, not like the attire he usually wears for guild missions and day-to-day quests. It’s a simple pants, shirt, jacket combo, with the added accessories of a thin scarf and necklace of an antique golden key hanging low by a simple cord. But everything is made of soft, expensive, stylish fabric (he could have sworn he saw this same jacket in the display window of that designer clothes shop downtown—oh god how much did all of this cost?), and even the boots look like they’re made for strolling down the rich part of town rather than hiking up a mountain.
When Rogue gets himself standing in front of a full-length mirror, his breath catches in his throat the same way it did when presented with his mousse-tousled hair.
The whole thing all put together is more casual-looking than Rogue first assumed. But it looks good. Not too sloppy and not too fancy (although the sleeves of the jacket are a bit bunchy at the wrists, like it’s a size too big, but it seemed on purpose?). The various shades of blue in their subtle differences mix well with the gray of his undershirt and auburn of his boots. Rogue never would have guessed any tint of blue to be his color, but he’s finding himself smiling warm and—dare he say it—giddy as he adjusts the decorative scarf the color of a serene cerulean sky.
The grin fades, however, when Rogue realizes he’s been looking at himself in the mirror for five whole minutes.
After practically throwing himself out his bedroom door, Rufus, Yukino, and Frosch are waiting for him in the living room. When he comes into full view Yukino jumps up from the couch and clasps both hands over her mouth, cheeks flushing with astonishment and delight.
“Oh you were right Rufus the blue one looks wonderful on him.”
Rogue can feel his face going hot with embarrassment, and he has to look away from the woman’s sparkling eyes. Except Rufus’ conceited expression isn’t much better.
“I know. Everything is perfect,” he absently tucks a golden lock behind his ear, standing from his own chair, “It’s quite possible Sting will faint from sheer magnificence at the sight. That will be quite a memory to have.”
“…Who?” Frosch tilts their head to the side from their seat on the couch.
Rogue can’t help the chuckling smile as he comes over to stand in front of his Exceed partner, “It’s me, Frosch.”
A second passes. Then two. Then five.
Frosch’s big, black eyes finally blink, and they straighten their neck as realization strikes, “Oooooh~! Rogue!” the cat jumps to their feet with arms spread out, “You look so pretty!”
Rogue’s smile spreads wider in pleasure rather than amusement, “Thank you, Frosch.”
Rufus is coming back from the bedroom with hairspray in hand, “You just need a little touch up…” Rogue turns to face the other man and closes his eyes as the scented mist hits. There are some light touches at his hair, and one rougher ruffle, and then he’s done. Rufus is spinning him around towards the door by his shoulders before Rogue can protest and pushing him forward with a hasty, “Now go, go, go!”
By the time Rogue makes it to the meeting place, he’s beet red from the considerable amount of attention he’s received on the walk over.
Luckily, most didn’t seem to recognize him. But for some it only took a couple of extra seconds of staring or asking their companion next to them if that was really the shadow dragon slayer from Sabertooth walking by like he just jumped straight out of a fashion magazine. Rogue still hasn’t decided which is more mortifying. Both scenarios have earned him awed noises, appreciative whistles, hushed giggles, and glued eyes on his person.
So when he’s a block away from the cake shop they’re meeting in front of, Rogue takes a minute to duck into an alleyway to compose his flushed features using the solitude and cool of the shadows.
He’s only a couple of minutes late, he notices with a glance at the clock tower in the distance, and when he peeks around the corner Rogue can just barely make out the figure of the blond leaning against the wall, waiting.
After another extra minute to calm his thudding heart, Rogue emerges from the alley and starts taking strides towards Sting.
In the end, that additional minute was pointless, when his heart rate is right back to hammering levels once he’s several feet away from the other. He’s sure he’s blushing again too. He can feel his palms getting sweaty and once he’s in earshot of Sting he’s quite sure there’s no possible way he can get any words to come out of his mouth.
It takes a moment for Sting to notice Rogue’s presence. Rogue gets the feeling he thought of him as a passerby similarly waiting around for someone. So when Sting looks over to his left he’s visibly surprised after a few seconds to process the person before him, and abruptly steps away from the wall.
“R…Rogue?”
Rogue feels his flush burn darker. It’s so much different having both his eyes this exposed, and when his hand comes up instinctively to his hair he freezes and puts it back down. It feels like there’s nowhere to hide, and suddenly his outfit feels too bare. Too thin. Almost like he’s standing naked in front of Sting. He can’t look at the other in the eye, and so his gaze draws down as he rubs at his neck still left mostly uncovered with the scarf wrapped loosely around his shoulders.
“Um…hi,” Rogue murmurs, smiling very slightly out of nerves.
“You…” String tries to start, but he falls back into speechlessness, keeps looking Rogue up and down with widened eyes, opens his mouth once more, but then closes it.
Rogue panics, “S-sorry, this was weird, wasn’t it? I should—go back and change…”
When Rogue turns around and takes a step Sting is grabbing onto his wrist before he can take his second.
“Whoa whoa whoa—no wait, hold on,” there’s a huff of a laugh there, and when Rogue turns back Sting is grinning his usual beam of sunshine on Rogue’s dark world, “Sorry—god. I’m sorry I just—” He tugs at Rouge’s arm so he’s fully turned around and Sting can eye him up and down again, “…Rogue, you look amazing.”
Something tightens up in Rogue’s chest, and he’s pretty sure he can’t breathe. But there’s an uncontrollable smile trying to break out on his lips, and Rogue reflexively brings his free hand up to hide it, along with the return of a spreading blush.
“I-it wasn’t… I mean, Yukino. She—she and Rufus. They…helped.”
“You did this for me?” Sting asks with a slight pink tingeing his cheeks.
Rogue’s flush goes hotter, and his gaze shifts away from Sting’s delighted expression, “I just thought…since it’s our…first…”
“Date?” Sting finishes because he knows Rogue won’t be able to, and Rogue is immensely grateful for the help.
“Y-yeah. That.” Oh god, his smile is getting wider. He might even start laughing.
But then he’s yelping, because Sting is suddenly wrapping his arms around Rogue’s middle so he can lift him off the ground to spin them both around. It makes Rogue’s hands leave his face and settle on Sting’s shoulders to steady himself in alarm.
“Sting…!”
Sting is laughing, and when he drops Rogue back down after a couple of rotations he kisses him. Crushes their lips together in what is more awkward and rushed than genuinely pleasant. But Rogue is smiling all the same when they pull apart, and then they’re both practically breaking out into a fit of giggles.
“You’re ridiculous,” Sting grins as he leans back in to press his forehead against Rogue’s, while below he entwines their fingers together, “…And I think I’m a little underdressed for this.”
Rogue chuckles and pecks him on the lips, “You’re fine. You’re always perfect.”
“But so are you,” Sting says with abrupt tenderness, and it makes Rogue’s smile fall away in surprise.
Sting beams bright and wide when Rogue flushes again and ducks his head into the blond’s shoulder to hide it.
“I mean it,” Sting continues, making no move to force Rogue to look at him, “Don’t think you don’t look amazing all the time. This is just a little more than usual.”
Rogue lifts his head back up after a moment, mostly because he doesn’t want to ruin all of Rufus’ hard work, and hesitantly looks Sting in the eye with a shy smile. Instead of a verbal answer he kisses him, this time with a calmer lean in so it’s all warmth and softness and pleasure.
Someone inside the cake shop whistles loudly in encouragement. This is followed by a round of applause from those both inside and sitting at the tables outside and more whistling and hooting. Rogue goes right back to hiding into Sting’s shoulder as he laughs and tries to calm the crowd.
“Hey hey, nothing to see here!”
“So when’s the wedding, Master!?” Rogue hears a man call out. He sounds like the butcher on Fifth Street the guild buys their meat from.
“Shut-up!” Sting responds with a grin Rogue can hear rather than see, “Come on…” he adds lower so only Rogue can hear, and then he’s being hastily pulled along in the direction of the restaurant they planned to have lunch at.
When the friendly jeers start to fade away in the distance, Sting looks over his shoulder and beams, “Next time I’ll dress up nice for you.”
Rogue swallows, and nearly trips over himself as he imagines Sting in something more elaborate than the jeans and tank top he’s wearing underneath the faded jacket he has tied around his waist.
“…Okay,” Rogue murmurs with throat dry, and makes a mental note to himself to thank Rufus and Yukino later for a job well done.