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His date is running late.
He rolls up his sleeve again, checking the time. Then, he folds his arms over his chest, sighing slowly and recounting the reasons he should have for patience. The sleeves of his shirt strain as he squeezes his arms around himself, trying not to appear too visibly impacted. His brow lowers slightly, and his stormy expression intimidates the other patrons at the restaurant.
Cross rolls his shoulder, pulling it across himself and listening to the mana lines crackle. He’s already fussed about his appearance several hours in advance, and spent the entirety of that time ruminating in his apartment before it was time to go. His mind was stuck in a progressive loop of ‘getting ready’ that whole time, so absolutely nothing productive was done since he woke up. Luckily, he’s done plenty of things in advance to prepare for clearing his entire day just for this event.
Which is being postponed, because his date isn’t here. Is he going to be stood up?
Is it possible that something could’ve happened to them? Traffic, injury, political assassination? Cross’s blank stare burns into the tablecloth, to which a nervous waiter shakily refills his second cup of water. They frantically retreat as his hand mechanically lifts to drag the glass over the table. The liquid slowly drains.
Perhaps they don’t care about this as much as he does. Or they forgot it was happening at all, and he’ll make a fool of himself today. Or…
He breathes out, shutting his eyes briefly and taking in the darkness. If they don’t show up in the next thirty to forty minutes, he’ll leave. It’s too soon to text them and ask if they’re still showing up. The appetizers aren’t here yet, so he won’t start fussing.
Cross fights the urge to rub his face or fidget with the hem of the white tablecloth, which bunches up at his thighs from where it drapes off the edge of the table. The dark storm that he’s summoning with his disappointment is so palpable that all of the patrons who were dining near him cleared out.
Save for one man, who he can feel staring at him blatantly.
Slowly, he turns his head and glowers back. What the hell is he looking at? Cross has been perfectly minding his business.
One lidded blue eye pierces through him as they make eye contact. The other monster’s form seems to absorb all of the light around them, like a cut out silhouette of a person in the fabric of reality. They’re the total absence of anything. He feels a chill race through him, not unlike the kind of danger sense that rings loud bells before he’s forced to fall back from an attack. Whatever is looking back at him, pretending to be a man or taking the form of such, smiles thinly with white teeth that are perfectly shaped and maintained.
His face warms, though he’s not exactly sure if it’s from embarrassment. Cross huffs out and he looks back down to the table, checking his wristwatch again. It glints in the low light. Only five minutes have passed so far. It felt like twenty.
Now that he’s past the height of his anger at his date, he just feels kind of embarrassed about himself and disappointed. The pity party is beginning. The low simmer of his indignation is still there, but his thoughts slowly gravitate towards self-consciousness. He sighs again, for the nth time, and finally gives into the urge to rest his chin on his hand.
Is it because he came on too strong? He stares down at the woven fibers in the tablecloth, tracing the pattern with his eyes. Was it something he said, and they’re too scared or meek to take it up with him? He’s so sure that they were doing well. From what he’s read in the dating manual, something at a nice restaurant like this shows that he’s willing to go further and be serious about their relationship. They agreed to come at this time, and they planned this months in advance… After all, they were busy with work and such. Same as him.
Cross feels his shoulders fall. He stares down at his phone, where there are no new notifications. Not even an update or an excuse for why they’re not here right now. A cold feeling chokes his chest.
He knows that they’re not really as invested in this as he is. Cross was so sure that they’d enjoy this place- he’s listened carefully to whenever they drop hints about where or what they want to eat, what they want as a gift… They seem so happy with him sometimes, but he can feel how they’re getting bored of him. It’s always when he buys them something that they love him most.
He’s sure he’s been doing it all right, but something must’ve been wrong. There’s always something about them that’s not fully there, and no matter how hard he tries, it feels like he’s lacking a part of them in the conversation. Cross, deep down, knows that it’s because they just want gifts or such from him, and he’s an idiot to be entertaining this for any longer. He hasn’t told his family about them because he knows that his brothers will probably have things to say.
But… he rubs his brow. It's just… What if it’s a misunderstanding, and he’s being insecure because his emotions are getting ahead of him? They’ve barely done much talking or sorting out any of the tension he can feel between them- admittedly, he’s easily distracted when they kiss him. Cross won’t deny that he’s desperate for any sign that they’re still interested. It’s pathetic, he knows.
He was hoping that this dinner could reignite something between them that’s been falling off, and if they seem open to it- he’d be able to talk about the things he’s been feeling. No matter what he does, though, they’ve just been so absent… it feels like they’re getting farther away as he struggles to chase them.
The sound of the chair scooting back in front of him jolts him out of his thoughts. The wildest flare of hope chokes him before he stuffs it down, glancing up and keeping his expression carefully neutral.
His palm tingle, and instinctively, he feels his magic surge to form an attack or a weapon. It’s only his training that keeps him completely still without a flinch. He’s in a public place, after all- it wouldn’t do to scare that poor waiter.
The dark stranger tilts his head at Cross. “Is this seat taken?” His voice is deep, with a slight accent that’s untraceable. There’s a slight gravel to it, a hoarseness Cross recalls himself from the worst nights of his life, where he lost his voice screaming. The most striking thing about him is his eye, which is bright like the first glimpse of the moon in the night sky. The rest of his body seems to be coated in that darkness that consumes all light. He’s mesmerizing, in that way, and Cross is intrigued.
With a glance around them (the restaurant has entirely moved away to the other half of the floor) and back to the table where the other was originally sitting, he debates his response. What were the chances that his date would even show up, especially after- he checks- forty minutes have passed? Without not a single word or a call? After months and months of on and off connection, of unanswered messages and dismissive tones, of taking and never giving back?
A spark of spite alights in him, and a small smile slightly curls his mouth. “No, it’s not. I was just waiting.”
“Shame on whoever left you doing so, then.”
“Forty minutes now, and I haven’t heard anything from them. I’m thinking I’ll just end it here.” He lightly says, as if joking- while entirely serious. Given the way he looks at him, he’s entirely aware.
The mystery man raises a brow, and he notices what he thought were parts of their clothing curling. “I’m sure they’d deserve it. What monster would abandon a vision like yourself in a lovely place like this?”
Cross huffs, a bit more of his grin peeking out. His cheeks warm slightly, and he tries to wave the words off, narrowing his eyes at them. He ignores the handsome tilt of the stranger’s smile. “Don’t flatter me because I feel bad.”
“I wasn’t flattering you, but as you say.” The man lightly responds, leaning back languidly in his chair. He moves like fluid, all grace and ease. Every motion is like art in action, which he’s sure his friend Ink would very much appreciate. Maybe he was a model in his spare time, or some kind of dancer.
Cross appreciates his clothing, put together and classy without being stuffy or overdone. It’s fashionable, and clearly he knows how to dress to emphasize his best features. Given the way that striking eye lids as it scans him, his new conversation partner also appreciates his appearance. At least someone will, tonight, considering all the time he spent fussing.
More friendly than before, “What brings you to my table, stranger?”
With a twist of his pretty mouth, the shade rolls his bright eye to the side before evenly admitting, “I was expecting someone, but no longer.”
His own concerns briefly ease away from the forefront of his mind. Cross makes an empathetic hiss of pain, and the other man shrugs a dark shoulder in a ‘what can you do’ way, beckoning a new waiter forward. They’re presented with menus, and wordlessly, both of them open it and begin to order. Once that’s done, they glance at each other in the grey area of unknown expectation before Cross speaks.
“I’ll pay for myself.”
“Ah, good. Thank you for ordering that bottle, I’m sure we’ll both be needing it later.”
Cross scoffs in amusement, and the other’s mouth splits in a satisfied, thin smile at his reaction. “Definitely.”
The words are cutting. “They were a waste of my time and energy.”
Nightmare stares into the bottled water he was given, leaned against his couch with one long leg folded over the other. Cross pours himself a bit of juice from the container at the bar, using a fancy glass decanter. He never uses these damn things, since he’s usually too busy to drink his nice alcohol.
“Do you want to talk about them? Or talk about something else?” Cross suggests, lifting his cup and taking a sip. While he does so, he rounds the counter, so that he can be closer to where the couch is facing the bar. Nightmare makes a see-saw motion with his hand, his eye tired.
Cross perches on a tall seat, leaned over with his elbows on his knees. He faces his new friend, and Nightmare tilts his water bottle at him. His reservations have since eased after a half a glass of red wine and conversation, though the two of them made sure not to get fully drunk.
“You go first. It seemed pretty fucking severe when I saw you across the floor.”
The curse word coming from who he thought was a very proper guy startles a small chuckle out of him, before Cross groans and leans his back against the edge of the bartop. The memories of the past few years go through his mind all at once, and he closes his eyes with a scrunched grimace.
The broadly-set man spreads his elbows out on either side of himself, using the polished wood as an armrest. There was so much to talk about, but he didn’t want to dump it all on a guy he just met and randomly invited to his place to talk shit. His glass is set on the counter, since he doesn’t trust himself to hold onto it properly.
“Where do I even start… It was just… we started off so well, and then things kept on dying…” He looks past Nightmare’s focused expression to the wall, where there are a few pictures of his family hanging. There are some rare pictures of the person who has, after some deliberation and a tearful conversation with Nightmare, let go of. He still needs to take them down.
His phone is silent in his pocket, though he can feel it warming up with all the messages and calls he caught a glimpse of. Cross feels enormously guilty and spiteful for doing it over text, but most of all he feels free. It’s not as if they’d even pick up a call from him anyway, given their history. He’s wanted to do this for a while, deliberated over the steps and how it’d feel for the longest, but never truly committed to the idea or the plan he made. He wanted to do this better, in a less… cowardly way, but he knows that if he tried to talk to them face to face…
His brow furrows as he recalls a few different instances with them.
“Could I talk to you about something? It’s important.”
“Can it wait a little bit? Sorry, I’m really busy.”
They’d probably put off that , too, until next year. Just like they did with the date they had tonight. The first few times, Cross understood- he was busy as well, and things changed often. Schedules were like that. He had odd hours. But after months and months of waiting or trying to have important conversations…
“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Nightmare makes a low, humming sound, tossing his water back like he’d rather be drinking a beer. “I thought things were going well, and I was pretty into them. I don’t think they felt the same way, and it fell off pretty hard as time went on… we were together for a while now.”
“How long?” Nightmare glances up at him from the couch. Cross winces, embarrassment coloring his face.
“About a few years, but it doesn’t feel like it, to be honest.” He waves a hand, staring down at the floorboards between their feet. “Not in a good way. In a, ‘I’ve been dating you for years, and you still don’t know that I’m afraid of heights,’ way.” He shakes his head, remembering that disastrous day, a sour taste coming into his mouth.
“Now that I think about it, they made mistakes like that often. We’d come apart for breaks and I’d always be the one crawling back, because I just…” Nightmare leans back, mirroring his posture and holding his bottle loosely by his slender fingers. Cross averts his eyes, though the graceful splay of his hands is enticing.
His voice is quiet. The words that come out have been bouncing around in his head, but he hasn’t had anyone to speak them aloud to. When they leave his throat, they feel raw on his tongue, the same way his mouth feels when he bites his cheek. “I dunno. I wasn’t ready to lose them when I thought about the good times we had. Those were the things I thought of most when we took breaks or when I thought about leaving them. But I don’t think I ever had them in the first place.”
There’s a lapse of pensive silence, and Nightmare’s patient expression gives him the courage to continue. He takes a deep breath in, and then out. Cross’s eyes follow the grains of the wood beneath their feet. His mouth keeps on moving, and the words are relieving to air out. He thinks of the times he’d see them smile or laugh at something on their phone, and glance at him as if they were doing something wrong. Cross always tried his best to seem unaffected by it. He didn’t want to be controlling, like they were afraid of.
“I don’t know if I love them anymore.” He suddenly says. He swallows roughly, and finds himself in the words that follow. “I did, at some point, and I think it was mainly the memory of what we were, when it was good, that made me hold on tightly.” His chest squeezes, and he picks up his glass to take a sip from it.
“The rest of the time I spent on them, stuck in place because of nostalgia, was a waste. I knew they were bored of me a long time ago, and… I’m too stubborn to give up on someone or something I care about. That’s one of my biggest flaws.”
Nightmare tilts his head, and Cross leans back against the countertop, from where he’s come forward to hunch over his knees. The soothing flow of Nightmare’s words makes him close his eyes. “I could say the same about myself, but it’s not exclusively a character flaw. I would say there is always something honorable about fighting for someone or something you love.”
“Honorable? Me?” Cross shakes his head. “That sort of thing does not fit me at all. Back to flattery, Nightmare?” He teases, and his friend rolls his eye again.
“Hardly.”
He laughs quietly, though it’s dry. The shade on the couch watches him, his expression unreadable- in the way Cross didn’t want to acknowledge the affection tucked into the tired lid of his bright blue eye or the soft curve of his cheek from where it rose with his pretty smile. Fuck, he was starlight and the darkness between it all, the breath held before twilight and the choked out, relieving words he never thought would see the light of day. It’s only been a few hours but this is the closest Cross thinks he’s ever felt to anyone, and he knows it’s bad. He can’t do this again, can’t be tripping over himself right after getting out of a relationship.
“What about you?” Cross offers.
Nightmare huffs, taking a moment to himself to gather what to say. He raises his brows at some memory before lowering them in thought, his mouth spread thin in a line. Given how quick-witted he’s been all this time, Cross can only imagine the amount of words he has to deliver on his previous partner. He takes another sip from the decanter, waiting.
Eventually, the other man sighs. “I had an inkling that they were cheating for some time now.” Cross’s soul pangs, and he recalls the first time he saw his ex looking at someone else with affection that was never directed at him.
Nightmare doesn’t meet his eye, tapping the bottom of the plastic water bottle against his knee. The water sloshes around inside. His face twists with a sneer, though his words are even and measured. “I was right, of course. I’m always right about things I have an instinct about.”
”I just didn’t want it to be true.”
He glances up at him. Something uncertain flickers across his face. Cross nods supportively, and Nightmare continues as his shoulders ease.
“A friend of mine stopped by my place to surprise me, and texted me about an extra car in the driveway. Among many other things stacking up against them, this was the last straw. I have all the evidence I need recorded. Once I figured out how they were slipping past me, it was all very clear.
”I intended to bring them to the restaurant and expose them in front of others, using what I had gathered. It would have been magnificent.” a glint comes to his eye, before it fades with his heavy sigh. Cross’s brows raise. He didn’t assume Nightmare would resort to something so vengeful, but he was learning a lot about the other as he continued talking.
The shade’s voice is low, borderline a snarl. “I wanted them to be as humiliated as I felt. Played for a fool by someone I never really knew. I gave them everything I had, rolled over onto my back and let them rip my heart out.” His voice gradually rose as he spoke. Anger rolled off of him in waves, but the pain was clear in the twist of his mouth in the pauses between his words. He let go of the crushed water bottle and shook out his hand, before letting it lay on his lap.
“If it’d suit them, I’d do it. I would have given them anything, to my best ability.” Nightmare mutters.
The room is quiet. The two of them look away from one another.
“We had been together for years, as well. We moved in together.” Cross hisses through his teeth, and Nightmare chuckles. Some of the tension alleviates. “Yeah, I know. In my own home.”
“I bought the house, of course. I worked for everything we had, and they knew it. I would have been willing to try sharing them with someone else, if only they’d just ask . If they could have told me, if they just said something, I don’t know.” He gestures sharply, before sighing, and all the anger leaves his body. He sinks down into himself, his head lowered.
“I would have done it. For them. After I learned they were being untrue, I… was suspicious. And the things that I learned…” he presses his mouth into a thin line.
There is the starkest, briefest flash of white hot pain across his face, like a strike of lightning. His eye squints before shutting, and he laughs at himself. The sound is cold, biting, so much unlike the person Cross got to know before. It’s twisted by how he knows Nightmare’s soul chokes in his chest.
“I thought they were better than that.” His words are thin. “I thought they were different.” Nightmare rubs his face, and the sharp smile that spreads on his mouth is bitter. He doesn’t let himself feel or steep in the emotion, moving on blatantly.
“It’s no problem getting rid of them, though.” he waves a hand. “I’ll figure it out. The lease is under my name, and I own all the furniture.”
“Do you need help burying the body? I know a secluded place in the woods.” Cross blurts, before blinking. Nightmare’s responding startled laughter makes it all worth it, though he feels like a total fucking idiot. His soul flutters and he tells it, mentally, to shut up, though his face continues to burn.
The other man waves his hand frantically, before catching his breath. “Oh fuck, I haven’t had a laugh like that since my mother died.”
Cross blanches, if possible, and Nightmare responds with a wild grin and a wide eye. “She was a bitch of a woman, don’t look so shocked!”
“Usually people don’t say that,” Cross exclaims. “What the hell do I say to that?”
“Nothing! What was that about that place in the woods?” Nightmare quickly says, his voice slightly high-pitched. They both fall into small giggles, before Cross sighs.
He downs the rest of his juice. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“About what?” Nightmare dryly responds. “The cheating, or suggesting I would kill my ex?”
Cross has the feeling that he would, but chooses not to remark. “Erm, the latter. But both.”
“Don’t be. I would actually do it, but it’d be too easy to implicate me.” his new friend flatly responds, finishing his own water. “Now that we’ve gotten to know each other, shall we part ways until the next day and possibly regret baring our secrets and shitty relationships?”
“Hopefully not the end of that, but it is getting late. Traffic in this area picks up in an hour.” Cross rubs the back of his head. He hesitates, and meets Nightmare’s eye. A thrill shoots through him, and he tentatively continues. Is he projecting the hope he sees in the other’s face? “.... but I wouldn’t mind it if you stayed a little longer. Just to talk about something other than our exes. You’re a really interesting guy, and I don’t mean that in the-” he grimaces.
“You know what I mean. Yeah. I promise I’m not this awkward all the time, I’m processing everything.”
Nightmare smiles at him. Cross feels his soul try to escape out of his throat. He mentally puts it into a cage and throws it into the darkness. The other man stands up and throws away his water bottle. He gives him a side eye. “Forgive me if I sound presumptive, but… Don’t get your hopes up for anything other than talking, Cross.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He firmly responds. “That’d be irresponsible of us both.”
“Yes…” the other drawls, looking down at his body. Cross has the urge to fold his legs shyly, where he’s been carelessly leaving them wide open where he sits. “Very irresponsible of us.”