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~ You Know What's Not Cute? A Broken Ankle. ~
"Why would you wear shoes that you can barely walk in sober to a bar?" Damon asks, raising one eyebrow.
You're clinging to his arm as you totter unsteadily through the parking lot toward his car. (Damon, of course, is perfectly steady on his feet and probably not even drunk.)
"Cause they're cute!" you reply. The alcohol you had at the bar has also completely eliminated your brain-to-mouth filter, so you can't help adding, "... and I paid fifty bucks for them, so it would be a waste to never wear them again."
"You know what's not cute? A broken ankle."
Just as he says it, you stumble again.
Perfect comedic timing, you think to yourself.
Damon sighs and sweeps you up into his arms, carrying you the rest of the way to the car.
The next day, after you've slept off your hangover, Damon sadly informs you that you lost your favorite pair of shoes last night somehow while you were wasted. (You know you did not get that drunk and you wonder what he did with your shoes because you're sure you were wearing them when you got home last night, but you don't argue with him about it because you don't really like those shoes that much anyway.)
"Oh no," you say, making an exaggerated frowny-face. "Not the shoes... we should go look for them. Where's the last place you remember seeing them?"
Damon seems perplexed at this reaction. His face cycles through several expressions before he manages to put on one that vaguely resembles remorse as he offers, "How about I just buy you some new ones?"
Which, you assume, must have been his plan all along.
"I guess we can do that," you concede. (You don't want to sound too enthusiastic about it, because encouraging your boyfriend to throw out your stuff behind your back and then lie to your face about it is not good for the relationship.)
"Shoe shopping it is," Damon says, sounding entirely too excited at the prospect.
"How do these look?"
"Cute," Damon replies in a tone of voice that makes you think they don't fit his sense of style, but he doesn't want to tell you that if you like them.
He makes a little spinny motion with his finger and you turn around so he can the back of the shoes.
"No," he says. "Like... twirl around."
It's not until after you've done so that you realize he wanted to test your balance, since this pair of shoes has a bit of a heel. Only like an inch, though. You'll have no problem walking in them even when you're drunk.
"Yeah, these are good. Although maybe I should also get a pair of high heels, to replace the ones I lost."
"No, no high heels," Damon protests. "You can barely walk in them sober. Why would you want them for when we go out?"
"Oh..." you drawl. "So you're saying that carrying me to the car when I'm too drunk to walk straight is a problem for you?"
You can see in his face the exact moment that he realizes you do actually remember everything that happened last night, and know exactly who is responsible for the mysterious disappearance of your shoes.
"What? No! I have no problem carrying you. I will carry you anywhere, anytime that you want. Is it wrong for me to worry about you falling down and hurting yourself?"
"It is when you do shit like throw my shoes away when I'm not looking just because you think you know what's best for me!"
"Okay, first of all... I did not throw them away. They're in my closet."
You wait, and when he doesn't continue, you prompt him, "And second of all...?"
"I'm not sorry for trying to take care of you." He remains stubborn for a few long moments, before sighing and conceding, "... even if I did maybe go about it in the wrong way."
"Okay... I guess I'll forgive you this time," you say, hugging him.
Damon wraps his arms around you and holds you close.
"And wear shoes you can walk in when you get drunk," he says.
"And I'll wear shoes I can walk in when I get drunk from now on," you promise. "Now let's go pay for my new shoes before everyone in this store starts looking at us funny."
"Too late for that. They already are."
~end~