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Day 1
The things I’ll do for money.
Alya stands in front of the only full-length mirror in the restaurant, the one in the cramped little bathroom that never truly looks clean no matter how she scrubs at it. All she can see now, though, is pink. The mascot outfit is bulky, a little too large for her and covered in tufts of patchy fur.
She’s only got the body of the costume on so far, and it’s already more humiliating than anything she’s ever worn in her life. More humiliating, even, than that frilly dress with the garish floral print that her grandmother bought her two Christmases ago.
There’s nothing for it, though. The Vanniers have offered her a bonus on her next paycheck for completing this task, and she could really use the extra cash. Sighing, she straps the bunny feet over her tennis shoes and grabs the remaining pieces of the outfit.
“Alright,” she says to Charles Vannier as she trudges into his office. “Give me the flyers.”
His laughter booms out into the hallway. “You look fantastic! Let me see it with the head on.”
Grumbling, Alya pulls the giant bunny face over her own head and squints through the mesh mouth that’s supposed to help her see. It’s not doing its job very well.
Charles claps once, his large hands coming together with a sound loud enough to hurt her ears. “Excellent! Here’s the first batch of flyers. Try to get them all out! Don’t be afraid to hop around, really bring the crowd in! We’re counting on you, Cesaire.”
Yes, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? She’s fond of Charles and his wife, Helene. They’ve been good to her over the past few years, which leaves her helpless to protest against indignities such as this.
And you accuse Adrien of being a pushover, she thinks.
At the front door of the restaurant, she stops to set the stack of papers down and pull on the bright pink mittens. They’re supposed to look…rabbit-ish, but she thinks they bear a closer resemblance to lobster claws. Fully outfitted, it’s time to face the outside world.
At least no one will know who I am.
Peeling off individual flyers from the stack while wearing padded mittens is a challenge. Getting anyone on the street to accept a promotional advertisement is an even bigger challenge. Alya Cesaire doesn’t accept defeat, though. She locks her pride away temporarily and prances up and down the sidewalk, putting on a show just as Charles suggested. Some children stop to give her hugs, which is the only bright side she can find in this situation, besides the bonus.
Other children scream.
She can’t really blame them. The bunny face is terrifying.
The hours tick by, and sweat begins to pour from her forehead and down her back. It’s relatively cool outside in early autumn, but the fresh breeze isn’t exactly making its way into her stifling getup. She’s just about to head inside for a break when she hears someone yelling from around the corner.
“Hey! Thief! Stop!”
Nino is having a terrible day. It’s bad enough that he overslept on the morning of the most important interview of his life. Even worse that he stepped on his favorite pair of headphones while getting out of bed and had to tear through his closet to find his old ones. Now, to top off this disaster of a morning, some criminal on the street has just stolen his bag. The guy ran right past him and ripped it from his shoulder like it was nothing.
Nino yells and hightails it after him, knowing even as he does that it’s hopeless. That bag has his whole life in it, and all he can do is watch in despair as it and all its contents go careening around a corner, gripped tight in the arms of a thief.
Nino rounds the same corner only a few seconds later, just in time to bear witness to a spectacle:
A giant pink bunny whirls around and throws its arm out as the thief is passing by, clotheslining the man right in the jugular. His body crumples like a marionette with its strings cut, and Nino stumbles to a stop, staring in awe.
“Dude,” he breathes, an exclamation of wonder, then jogs over to snatch his bag back. The bunny has one foot on the thief’s back, and it tilts an inquisitive head at Nino as if to ask what it should do. “Um, let him go, I guess. I got what I needed.”
The man scampers off, quick as corruption, the instant he’s released.
“Hey, man, thanks a lot. I really appreciate it. You were awesome!”
Crossing its arms, the bunny says in a voice so muffled Nino can barely hear it, “Nice purse.”
It— It’s not a purse! It’s a messenger bag! A satchel! Heat rises into his cheeks, but he hopes the bunny can’t see that. “Um, I mean, if it was a purse, which it’s not, I wouldn’t care. Because, like, a purse is just a kind of bag. Men can carry purses.” The bunny stares at him, seemingly unimpressed, and Nino could continue to dig himself even deeper by continuing his protests, but he’s really, really late. “I gotta run. Thanks again!”
Then he’s off, leaving a perplexed but oddly amused bunny behind.
Day 2
“You did a wonderful job!” Charles praises the next day, slapping Alya on the back. “Keep it up, and we’ll have more customers than we know what to do with.”
Right. Alya isn’t sure about any of that—Charles Vannier has a penchant for over exaggerating things. Not only is the costume stifling, stinky, and difficult to maneuver in, no one even wants the flyers. They all end up crumpled on the ground, more litter on the streets of Paris.
Money is money, she reminds herself, pulling the bunny head on once again. Only four more days of this.
The only bright spot yesterday had been taking out that purse snatcher. Who knew the moves Nora had taught her would come in handy so soon? And the purse owner hadn’t been half bad either, if a little inarticulate. His blush was cute.
It’s a passing thought. Not as if she’ll ever see him again, right?
“Hey, um, Mr. Rabbit?”
It takes Alya a moment to realize that someone is addressing her, but she groans when she does. Is this going to be another citizen concerned about the ecological impact of printing dozens of flyers that no one needs or wants? She prepares the speech she’s already had to use several times and turns around, only to find herself face to face with that blush again. It’s barely visible through the mesh of the bunny head, but it’s there. And it’s still just as cute.
He holds out a cup of the new iced coffee that all the shops have started selling. “I just wanted to say thank you for helping me out yesterday. Sorry for running off like that.”
Head cocked, she reaches one clumsy paw out to take the drink. Caffeine to give her a boost and something cold to help with the heat? Gratitude rises up next to her irritation at being called Mr. Rabbit.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
“You were really awesome, dude. The way you took that guy out? I was impressed.”
Dude. Mister. Does the blushing, purse-carrying dude in front of her think that only a man would be capable of taking down that thief? Pissed—and also wanting to take a sip of the drink he’s brought—she passes the cup back to him and lifts her costume head off. She gives him a defiant look as she tucks the bulky thing under one arm and takes her drink back, sucking a big mouthful through the straw while the stranger stares at her in shock.
“That’s Mrs. Rabbit to you.”
Nino isn’t the best at talking on a normal day. Faced with a glistening, angry goddess, he finds himself to have lost the entire French language. His mouth actually drops open. Like a cartoon. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so busy trying to locate the feeling in his hands, which seems to have also conveniently disappeared.
She’s a vision, sweaty and irate, with eyes showing every shade of autumn leaves: green, brown, gold. Her hair provides the shades of red, the ponytail held back with a bright orange bandana rolled to keep perspiration off her face. A single mole dots her face like a punctuation mark, just above the eyebrow that even now is arching, a look of annoyance that he can’t quite understand, addled as he is.
“Maybe take some time to examine your prejudices,” she says caustically. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Then she’s gone, disappearing through the restaurant doors before he can reclaim his ability to speak.
For the first time ever, his roommate Kim is able to provide some insight. When Nino comes home and flops face-down onto the couch, he isn’t expecting to receive any helpful advice, but he vents anyway, because sometimes that’s all that’s needed.
“Bro,” Kim laughs. “You broke tough girl rule number one: never…oh man, what’s that word? When you act like someone is stupid?”
“Patronize?”
“Yeah! Never patronize. They hate that.”
“But I wasn’t patronizing!” Nino moans. “I think she’s amazing. And strong. And beautiful.”
“Well, probably only tell her the strong part. Ondine doesn’t like it if I just say she’s pretty.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Don’t girls want you to think they’re pretty?”
Kim sighs and falls back onto a reclining chair that squeals in protest. “You can’t try to understand. Just follow the rules.”
“How do I fix it?” Nino asks. It’s…weird to be earnestly seeking Kim’s help. Well, with something besides how to make a protein shake.
“Show her that you know she’s a tough girl. She wants respect.”
“Wow, Kim. That’s— Hm. Really smart.”
Kim laughs and jumps up, flexing his muscles. “Bet you never expected it of me! That’s your problem.”
He leaves Nino to ponder those words. After boiling some ramen and watching a few episodes of some cheesy sitcom, Nino finally gets to work on a plan.
Day 3
Three more days.
It’s hotter this morning, as if the universe is punishing Alya for being too hasty yesterday. The bunny costume has begun to feel more like a personal sauna than a fun representation of a woodland animal. She’s given up entirely on dancing around or trying to get attention. If it wasn’t for her commitment to doing her best for the Vanniers, she’d be slumping against a wall with the stack of flyers at her feet.
As it is, she can barely muster any enthusiasm for the job.
“Holiday special,” she says, holding out a flyer to a passerby. “Kids half off. Come visit us soon!”
The elderly man sidesteps to get around her proffered advertisement, looking almost frightened. To be honest, she probably would be, too.
“Three more days.” It comes out like a mantra—or a prayer, muttered under her breath. “Three more days.”
“Until what?”
Oh, there’s no way. She knows that voice. Alya turns slowly, cringing already. Yep, it’s Purse Boy. He’s holding another iced coffee, his free hand gripping the strap of his bag.
“I just, uh, wanted to—you know.” The cup is thrust toward her, a couple drops spilling out of the straw hole. “Apologize, I guess. And also—” Still holding the cup out, he fumbles into his bag with the other hand and withdraws a CD jewel case. “I made this. For you.”
There’s that blush again, the pink a lovely compliment to his golden eyes. He brought her a drink and made her a mixtape? Alya is getting majorly mixed signals. She looks from him to the objects extended out into the space between them.
He takes a step back. “Unless I’m just bothering you. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He turns without looking where he’s going and steps into the street, not even seeing the delivery person on a moped barreling toward him.
For the love of… Alya jumps forward and wrenches him back by the shoulder, pulling him out of the way just in time. The driver of the moped shouts a curse as he passes, and iced coffee spills all over the bunny suit. Perfect. Just perfect.
She’s still holding Purse Boy, supporting him as he stares with shocked eyes at the spot where he almost got his lights knocked out.
“Here,” she says and plucks the CD from his limp hand. “I’ll take it if you stop getting yourself into trouble. I can’t save you every time, you know. I think the coffee is a lost cause, though.”
His gaze turns to the mostly empty cup. Its lid is on the ground, the straw sticking up like a white flag of surrender. “Yeah…” he mutters. “Lost cause.” He wanders off dejectedly without another word.
“I don’t get it,” Alya says to no one, then heads inside to clean up. Maybe the costume will be too stained to use for the rest of the week. She can only hope.
Adrien calls later that night, while she’s sprawled on the couch holding the CD case up and tilting it to watch the rainbows change in the light. He put the CD in upside down. Why? She’s just about to open the case and find out when the phone rings.
Tossing the cursed item down, she hurries into the kitchen and picks up the cordless receiver from its spot on the counter.
“What’s up, loser?” she says, not even bothering to find out who it is. Only one person calls her this late at night.
“Just checking in on you, weirdo.” Adrien stutters over the insult, having never really grown accustomed to Alya’s preferred method of showing affection. “How was your day subbing in for Bugs Bunny?”
“Don’t ask,” she groans.
“That bad?”
“The costume got covered in iced coffee, but Charles still wants me to wear it tomorrow. Stains and all.”
There’s a pause, and then a smirk she can practically hear. “Iced coffee, huh? Your friend made another appearance?”
“You’re like an annoying little brother, you know that?”
“Well I never had any siblings, so I can only imagine.”
Alya huffs and jumps up to sit on the counter, swinging her legs to let off some of her agitation. “Yes, Purse Boy showed up again. He brought an iced coffee just like yesterday, and…”
“And??”
“And a CD.”
“A CD by who? This is important, Alya.”
“It’s a mixtape! I think. I haven’t actually played it yet.”
Adrien sucks in a deep breath and puts on his most serious tone. “I have to tell you something.”
“I hope you can hear my eyes rolling.”
“No, listen! Are you listening?”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she says, “I’m listening.”
“Purse Boy…” Pause for dramatic effect. “...is in love with you.”
“Ha!” Alya barks out. ““Tell me how that even makes sense. And how would you know, Quirk? I don’t recall you asking Lila out with a mixtape.” She regrets the words instantly as the lighthearted joking comes to an abrupt end. Adrien’s relationship with Lila isn’t exactly a happy one. “How’s your mom?” Alya asks into the awkward silence.
“She’s doing okay. Better now that the last round of chemo is done. I went wig shopping with her today, had to convince her that she wouldn’t do well as a redhead.” His chuckle is forced.
“When are we going to have a movie night again? I need to see you so I can give you a hug and make you eat some real food.”
“I don’t know,” he sighs. “Things are so busy.” Between university classes, his mother’s frequent doctor appointments, and Lila’s incessant need to take up every second of his remaining time, Alya has hardly seen her best friend at all in the past year. Nightly phone conversations are nice, but not as good as being able to make sure he’s okay with her own eyes.
“Well, I’m only a call away.”
He hums in gratitude, then says, “Do me a favor.”
“Anything for my little brother.”
He laughs, more genuine this time. “Go listen to that CD, then call me back and tell me what was on it. The curiosity is killing me.”
“Ugh, fine. You know what they say about curiosity and cats, though.” That chaton nickname his mother uses is an endless source of teasing.
“Yeah, yeah. Go on. I’m hanging up now.”
The CD, it turns out, is a mixtape. When she pulls it out and flips it over, she sees that the topside has been decorated with a crude drawing of a bunny kicking a man’s ass. Interest piqued, she pops it into her stereo and lays on her back on the floor, ready to find out what Purse Boy thinks of her.
Thirty minutes later, she calls Adrien back.
“Well?”
“I think I’m going to date him.”
An almost evil cackle follows her announcement. “The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.”
Day 4
“Well?” Kim asks in the morning. “Are you going back?”
Head down on the card table that serves as an eating space for them, Nino lets out a forlorn sigh. “What’s the point? She hates my guts. And she’s way out of my league.”
“Did you give her the line I told you?”
Nino hadn’t really been in the talking mood last night, so Kim was still out of the loop. “No, dude, I didn’t get that far! She was getting ready to reject me, then I went and stumbled my way into a near concussion and she yelled at me, and on top of all of that, I dumped the iced coffee all over her bunny outfit! What if her boss makes her pay for it?”
Kim slams a hand down on the rickety table, making the metal legs shudder and threaten to bend. “You like her, right?”
“...yeah.”
“A lot?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna date her? Wanna kiss her? Wanna make cute little babies someday?”
Nino feels his face get hot, and he covers it before muttering through his fingers, “Well, I don’t know about all of that…”
“Only one way to find out, bro. You gotta ask her. Straight up. Take it like a man.”
“I can’t go today anyway! I have to get ready for the gig tonight.”
Kim pushes away in disgust. “Whatever you wanna tell yourself. I’m going, Ondine is waiting. You know, my girlfriend? Who I asked out?”
A middle finger is Nino’s only response.
He’s not coming, Alya realizes as lunchtime slowly ticks past and creeps toward dinner. Her shift is almost over, and she’s been waiting all day for that jerk to make an appearance. She doesn’t have his number. She doesn’t even know his name! How can he choose songs like that for her and then just disappear?
It’s infuriating.
Stupid, unreliable Purse Boy, she grouses as her work day comes to an end. She’s about to go inside when Charles sticks his head out the door.
“Alya, there’s a phone call for you!”
And her idiotic little heart does a flip, because what if it’s him? He knows where the restaurant is. He could look up the number.
“Hello?” she says, a little breathlessly, leaning on the counter next to the coffee maker.
“Guess who’s free tonight?”
It’s Adrien’s voice coming through the receiver, and her jolt of disappointment is quickly followed by excitement. “Oh my god, you?? No way!”
“Yep, it’s true. Can I ask a favor?”
“Anything,” she says, like she always does.
“Could we skip the movie night and go get some drinks instead? I could really use…” He trails off, but she understands.
“Let’s do it. Get dressed up, and I’ll be at your house around nine.”
It’s a Thursday night, and Nino is looking out at a very lackluster crowd from the DJ stand. He’s nervous, sweating liberally, and feeling like maybe this isn’t the breakout opportunity he’d thought it might be. When he’d had that interview on Monday, everything seemed to be coming together. He’d played some of his best mixes for the owners of the club, and they’d agreed to let him do a trial run on a less busy night.
It’ll get better as the night goes on, he assures himself.
“Hey!” a voice says from below the stand. He peeks over the turntable and sees the cute bartender who winked at him when he came in. “You need to loosen up!” she shouts over the music, lifting a small glass of clear liquid. “Drink this.”
Is that…allowed?
She sees the hesitance and rolls her eyes, lifting the glass even higher. Finally, he relents. The drink is bitter, and it burns as it slides down his throat. He makes a face, and she laughs.
“I’ll be back with more later!” she yells before returning to her post behind the bar.
As it turns out, alcohol was what Nino needed. He’s a bit of a lightweight and finds himself feeling a little tipsy already, a flush spreading over his body as the music pulses in his ears. He can do this. This is just the first gig of many to come. It’ll all work out somehow.
So the hours tick past with an occasional additional drink coming to him from the cheery bartender. More and more people start to push their way onto the dance floor, moving to the beats he’s creating. It’s a powerful feeling, to control a crowd like this. He smiles and nods in time with the music, closer to drunk now than tipsy.
One song ends, and he lets the anticipation hover in the air, allowing just a throbbing bass to fill the club for a few moments before he’ll move on to the next track. It’s in this space that she appears, lit by an orange beam from one of the many club lights above them. Her hair is loose, waving around her shoulders, the fiery tips licking against her collarbones in a way that makes him swallow nervously. He’s never seen her outside of the bunny suit, never seen these bewitching curves, that glowing skin. So much of her is exposed, he loses every thought in his head for a solid five seconds.
Oh my god, is the first coherent thing his mind produces. She’s here.
Then he’s scrambling, searching for the copy of the mix he made for her, fumbling to switch out the music before the lull goes on too long. She’s here, a mighty universe unto herself, the sun burning bright in a sea of stars. It must be fate. This is his chance.
“This place is great!” Adrien shouts as he comes up behind her with two drinks in hand.
Alya nods, moving in time with the beat, and grabs her lemon drop from him. “That bartender was really into you,” she yells back, which makes him roll his eyes. He’d never think of looking at another girl as long as he’s dating Lila, of course. He’s too loyal for that.
Which only makes Alya that much more determined to see them break up. Adrien deserves way better than such a scheming, manipulative—
He puts a hand on her shoulder, as if he can sense the train of thought that she’s barreling down. “Let’s just have fun tonight!” He’s barely audible over the pounding music, but she nods and guiltily pushes away her anger. This is a very rare opportunity for him to relax; she’s not going to ruin it.
The song they’re swaying to ends, leaving behind a pulsing rhythm she can feel in her bones. It’s hypnotic, an external heartbeat, as if the club itself is alive. She looks toward the DJ, wondering why he’s letting the moment linger on so long, and that’s when she sees him. It’s Purse Boy, bent over a turntable and looking very frazzled.
“Holy shit!” she yells, turning to grab Adrien’s shirt and gesture frantically with her drink. “That’s him!”
Then the music finally picks up again, the room filled with a song she recognizes—after all, she listened to it about ten times last night. It’s the first track from the mix he made for her, and every girl on the dance floor cheers for the feminist anthem. That’s what the songs on that precious CD were: an ode to feminine might, hymns of respect and awe for the strength of a woman.
“That’s Purse Boy?!” Adrien's mouth is open in a manic smile. “He’s adorable! Go talk to him!”
At that moment, the DJ looks up and sees them. His face falls, and he looks away, blinking quickly. Oh. He’s probably justifiably upset with the way she treated him yesterday. Alya swallows her regret, shoulders drooping. She lets go of Adrien’s shirt and chugs the rest of her drink.
“I’m going to get another one!” she shouts, and Adrien nods with a befuddled look.
It’s a long wait at the bar, bodies crushing in to call out drink orders, and Alya marvels at how busy the club is on a Thursday night. When she finally gets to the front, the woman behind the counter gives her a grin and tilts her head, waiting for the order.
“Another lemon drop, please!”
The woman nods, then pulls out two glasses. Alya thinks she must be making a drink for someone else at the same time, but then both of the glasses are pushed across the sticky bar.
“Free drink if you’ll take the other one to the DJ!” The woman winks. “Gotta keep the beats flowing.”
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Why do these things always happen to her? The bartender is already gone, though, and honestly, Alya wants an excuse to go talk to the guy. So she grabs the drinks and makes her way across the floor, catching Adrien’s eye in the process and giving him a saucy look. He grins and does finger guns, which makes her laugh. When she approaches the DJ stand, Purse Boy is already looking at her, mouth set in a thin line.
“Here,” she shouts and raises one of the glasses to him. He takes it reluctantly, then clinks it with hers even more reluctantly. Well, time for some groveling, I guess. “I’m sorry about yesterday!”
“What?” he shouts back. It’s too loud this close to the speakers to really be heard.
“Sorry!” she yells even louder.
His lips twitch into a grimace, but despite the lack of forgiveness there, Alya can’t help but notice that they’re very kissable lips. She licks her own and steps back a little. “Okay then,” she says, knowing he won’t be able to hear. “Guess we’ll talk some other time.”
Nino throws back the drink his goddess has brought him, puckering at the sour-sweet flavor. It’s good to be drunk now, good that he can’t fully feel the disappointment pounding through his heart in time with the music. Of course she’s not single! Why would a girl like that be single? Still, it hurts to see her with that other guy, the blond one with a face made for movies. Nino can’t measure up to that. And she looks happy with her boyfriend, touching his shoulder and moving with him on the dance floor. She even apologized to him, letting him down gently.
He keeps hoping they’ll leave so he doesn’t have to watch just how happy they are together, but of course that means they stay right up until closing, wandering from the dance floor and back to a booth in the corner. He can’t see what they’re doing but assumes there’s cuddling and kissing happening in the more private space. Thank goodness he doesn’t have to see that.
Finally, things begin to wind down. The club empties until there are only a handful of partiers left. One person is passed out on a bar stool, and a bouncer has to physically carry them to a cab. Nino plays some chill beats and starts to pack up his gear, fumbling with the cords and bags, his hands clumsy from the alcohol. He can’t stop glancing over at the booth and waiting for the happy couple to emerge. He knows they’re there; he can still see the tops of their heads over the seat.
When the last song fades and the lights come on, signifying the end of the club’s business hours, Nino slings his bag over his shoulder and moves to jump off the DJ stand. It’s something he did a half dozen times while setting up and during his brief bathroom breaks throughout the night, but he hadn’t been quite as drunk then as he is now. He lands wrong and yelps as he feels his right ankle give out. Though the pain is somewhat dampened by his sheer level of intoxication, he can still tell he won’t be getting home on his own two legs tonight.
“Shit,” he mutters, reaching down to grab the spot that’s throbbing in agony.
“Are you okay?”
Nino looks up to see a man racing across the room toward him. It’s her boyfriend, descending like an angel. Nino groans internally, not really wanting help from this guy of all people.
“M’fine. All good.”
The handsome man kneels down on the frankly disgusting club floor and reaches out to touch Nino’s ankle. “I don’t think you’re fine.”
Then she’s there too, his goddess, crouching beside them with an equally worried look. “Do you want us to call you a taxi?”
“S’okay!” Nino insists. He can’t quite keep the slur out of his words. “I can do it. Right down the street. Not far. Just…” He waves vaguely. “Go away.”
A look is exchanged between the two hovering guardians.
“I’ve really got to get back,” the guy murmurs.
“I can handle this, Quirk." Then those hazel eyes are right in front of Nino’s face, glowing and full of worlds he can only imagine being part of. “Hey? Purse Boy? Can you give me directions to your place?”
Nino pouts. “Can’t take you home.” He jabs a finger toward his enemy. “You’ve got a boyfriend.”
They erupt into giggles, as if his pain is funny. Nino grunts and pushes himself up, determined to get the hell out of here, to get back to his apartment where he can nurse his multiple wounds in private. “Whatever,” he grouses, then whines in pain the second a bit of weight is applied to his foot.
“Whoa, there,” the guy says, steadying him with a hand on his arm. “Alya, I trust you can handle this situation on your own.”
“Of course I can. You just worry about getting yourself home safely.”
They exchange cheek kisses, which makes Nino turn away, and then the guy is gone, leaving him alone with his goddess. Alya. Her name is Alya, and she laughed at him.
“Come on, hot stuff, can you lean on me to walk?” Her arm wraps around him, supporting his weight.
“Don’t call me that!” he says a little too loudly, drawing the attention of the cute bartender who’s cleaning her area with lackluster enthusiasm.
“Need any help?”
“I’ve got it!” Alya calls back, then addresses Nino. “Sorry, I shouldn’t tease. Will you let me help you?”
“Fine.” He’s enjoying the feeling of being in her embrace a little too much. But at their first step forward, Nin’s ankle screams a protest and his drunken brain spins with nauseating force. “Oof, not good,” he says casually as he nearly falls.
“Yeah, I’ll say. There’s nothing for it, I guess. I’m going to have to carry you.”
Exclamation points and question marks explode into his scattered thoughts, confusion and…arousal…warring for dominance. Carry?!
Alya crouches before him and makes a hand gesture. “Hop on.”
She wants to give him a piggyback ride? He must be dreaming. He’s blacked out from too much alcohol, and this is all a beautiful fantasy that will disappear into a hangover in just a few hours. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts. He climbs onto her back, and her strong, capable arms clasp his legs, holding him tight to her warmth. Her hair smells like adventure.
“Try not to choke me,” she coughs, and he loosens his grip around her neck. “Can you hand me his purse?” This is directed to the cute bartender, who raises an eyebrow and saunters over to retrieve the bag.
“S’not a purse.”
“Of course it’s not,” Alya says consolingly, then takes the bag and slings it over her shoulder, bearing its weight along with Nino’s as if she carries guys around every day. They make it out onto the street before Nino begins his drunken rambling.
“You’re so strong,” he sighs into her ear. “S’very attractive.”
“Mm,” is her reply.
“Your boyfriend is hot, too. You match.”
Casually, she hikes him up a little higher and says, “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my best friend. More like a brother than anything.”
This silences Nino for a long moment. “Not…your boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Is someone else your boyfriend?”
She laughs. “I’m actually on the hunt for one. Do you know any good men?”
“I– If you– I mean, I could…”
Her next words are softer, more vulnerable. “I liked the songs you gave me.”
And Nino is flying, face flushed, heart soaring, a little giggle escaping his mouth. “I did a good job?” He giggles again. “It’s because you inspired me. You’re inspiring. So pretty. Oops, I mean, so strong.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he sighs happily. “But I messed it up! I had a line. Kim gave it to me.”
“A line?” Her footsteps are heavy on the dark streets, but she still doesn’t seem to be struggling with his weight.
“Yeah. I was s’posed to hand— to give you the mixtape, then say…” He searches his fuzzy thoughts, then puts on a deeper voice as he recites: “I need that CD case back. You can return it to me when I take you out to dinner.”
“That’s a pretty awful line,” she says, shoulders shaking in subdued laughter.
He groans, and his head thumps down onto her shoulder. “I’m not cool enough for you.”
She pinches his leg.
“Ouch! Hey!”
“Sorry, must have been an accident.”
Neither of them speaks for a minute, until Nino tells her to turn right at the next street.
“You know, you haven’t even told me your name yet, Purse Boy.”
“Why do you call me that?” he moans into her neck, his breath making her shiver a little.
“Because I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Nino.”
“Nice to meet you, Nino. I’m Alya.”
He lets out a mournful sigh. “Alya. That’s a wonderful name.”
“Thanks.”
“I think you’re the most badass person I’ve ever met.”
She snorts.
“I’m serious.” Hell, if he’s dreaming, he might as well go for it. “I wanna have your babies.”
The laughter explodes out of her with such force, she has to double over and loses her grip on him. His fall knocks her off balance and then they’re both on the street, gasping for breath, Nino stunned while Alya laughs so hard she has to clutch her stomach.
“Tell you what,” she wheezes. “Take me out to dinner first. If you stick around for ten years, you can have my babies.”
Day 2,492
I’m going to kill him, she thinks, staring at the two pink lines.
Adrien is off on another date with his strange but endearing girlfriend, and Nino is due home any second. Alya grabs the test and stomps down the stairs, determined to confront him the moment he arrives. She doesn’t have to wait long, it turns out. The front door opens even as she’s storming into the kitchen.
“Nino Lahiffe!”
“Uh-oh.”
“Get in here!”
He steps into the kitchen timidly, unsure what he’s done wrong. Alya slams the pregnancy test onto the table and points at it.
“This,” she accuses, “is why we don’t use expired products.”
His golden eyes go wide, and his lips part in shock before twitching into the smallest, gentlest smile. “Babe,” he whispers. “For real?”
“We had a deal! Ten years! It’s only been seven.”
“Babe!” He laughs and lunges forward to grab her in a hug. “You can be mad later, let me celebrate! I’m gonna have your baby!”
“I’m doing all the work!” she shouts, then dissolves into laughter that turns into crying. “Oh my god, what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to have the coolest kid in the world, that’s what!”
Then he holds her hair back as she throws up into the sink. Standing upright and wiping spittle off her chin, she levels him with that hazel gaze that enraptured him from the very first moment.
“You owe me big time, Purse Boy.”
“Anything you want, Mrs. Rabbit.”