Work Text:
The quiet R&B tune playing over the speakers muffled the noises of the bar just after its rush hour, melding into one not disharmonious layer of noise.
Headlights passing by cast stripes of lights across a young woman’s face as she gazed out, chin propped on her hand as she bobbed a toothpick-stabbed olive in her martini glass absentmindedly.
The man at the bar counter mirrored her position, only staring at her instead of the bleak rainy night outside. The bartender caught his attention, and he straightened, turning away from the object of his thoughts to close his tab.
Tucking his wallet back into his inner jacket pocket, he was distracted from his surroundings, blinking in surprise when he looked up again and the woman was perched on the stool one over from his.
She received the replenished glass with a small smile and nod of thanks, sipping at the drink appreciatively.
Deciding he’d better regret the things he does that the things he doesn’t, he swiveled on the stool, leaning a little closer so he wouldn’t have to shout over the buzz of the business.
Noticing his attempt to get her attention, she leaned in a little as well, turning her stunning baby blues to study his face.
He cleared his throat. “Did you fall from heaven?”
Her brow furrowed at his strange opener.
Flustered, he tried to remember how the next part of the pickup line went. This was why he never tried to pick up people at bars (or anywhere else).
“‘Cause that would explain what happened to your face.”
The incredulous look on her face deepened. “Excuse me?”
She even had a cute French accent, a small part of his brain noticed, while the rest yelled at him to fix this horrible flub.
“Wait, no, that came out wrong!” Panicking, he waved his hands earnestly at her. “I’m so sorry.” He hung his head. “I should’ve stopped a drink ago…and not tried pickup lines; they’re not my style. Have a good night.”
Her soft voice paused him as he slid off his stool, prepared to leave in ignominy.
He glanced back.
She was smiling earnestly at him. “You happen to be my type, and you’re polite, even if it comes across awkwardly. It’s cute. Will you stay while I finish my drink?”
He nodded, hopping onto the stool next to her that she patted in invitation. “I’m Jason.”
“Marinette,” she grinned over the rim of her glass. She shook his hand calmly. “It’s nice to meet you. So, if pickup lines aren’t your style, what is?”