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Artyom held the ₽2200 rubles in his pocket as he walked down the cold street. He never thought Nikita would push him to this, but shit happened.
Nikita was too clingy. Always wanting to be at Artyom’s side, always wanting to hangout. Always wanting more. He needed a break.
He walked up to Y/N’s house, dreading the weird conversation and ask he had prepared. But he was Artyom, after all. Charming, manipulative, rude...
He knocked on the front door gently, but firmly and waited. Finally, you opened the door.
You had a simple baggy black t-shirt and navy sweatpants on your shirt. Casual for Saturday morning. You look up and see your classmate, Artyom, from biochemistry. Weird. You never gave him your address, oh well.
“Uh, hey Artyom. What do you-”
“I need a favor,”
You flinch at his harsh tone, letting him continue.
“I’ll give you ₽2200 if you go out with my friend. On a date.”
“What? Is he that bad?” You asked, confused on why you were getting paid to go out with a guy... You thought that only happened in fanfiction.
Artyom gave a semi-charming smile, trying to convince her, “No. Just thought to make it worth your while. Money and a date.”
You pause, thinking about his offer. Money and a possible boyfriend? “... Sure. What time-”
You couldn't finish your sentence before Artyom grabbed your wrist and shoved the money and a slip of paper into your hand.
Before you could ask, he practically sprinted away from your house. Guys are weird, you supposed.
You quickly count the rubles. 2200. Then you looked at the note.
‘Baykal’skaya St 203, Irkutsk Oblast
17:30pm
Nikita
5’9, black hair, green eyes, leather jacket’
You sighed, realizing that you’d have to leave by 6pm if you wanted to be there on time. Looking at your clock in the hallway, you read ‘10:48am’.
You should go shower.
Nikita sat in his dark room, only illuminated by a small crack of sunlight at his window and his computer, opened on some gore forum.
He ignored his front door opening, assuming it was his mother or something.
Then his bedroom door burst open, and Artyom was there, panting with a flushed face. He immediately started talking, saying he got Nikita a date, that it’s tonight and he’ll pay so Nikita can go.
“Dude, what are you on about?? You know that-“
“SHUT UP. Listen. I got a girl from one of my classes to go on a date with you. 7:30pm at some restaurant. I’ll ay for a taxi for you and the whole dinner. You gotta go.”
“Why should I-“
“Don’t you want a girlfriend to rape or something?”
Nikita paused. He did want sex… Maybe this was a chance?
“Well, you're going! Go get ready. Now.”
“... What do I wear to a date?”
“Something nice and not poor. Bye.”
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You walk along the empty street. You’re nervous, obviously. How couldn’t you be? You got paid to go on a date with a stranger. Red flag... But moneys money. Who were you to pass?
You walk up to the restaurant. Your stomach felt like it was exploding. What if it was a joke? But then why would she get paid?
You walk up to the restaurant, spotting a guy with black, greasy hair, green eyes, and a worn leather jacket. Not even one of those cool bad boy's jackets.
You walk up to him. He looks at you, pausing. You’re wearing a fitted, black long-sleeved button up V neck, a mini white skirt with black tiles at the top representing a piano with floral designs laced into white, full leg stockings paired with fluffed up cream white socks just an inch or two above the ankles and polished black mary janes.
-other option if you’d like-
You walk up to him. He looks at you, pausing. Off-the-shoulder cream top with one short sleeve, one elbow-length sleeve, and a bold 'typical' print. Black floral design underneath, with faded paragraphs of text. Black bra strap and silver cross necklace peek out. Puffy denim jeans, faded at knees, with black shoes peeking out. Black leather jacket and bag top off, with bronze-gold accents.
“Uh... Hey.” Nikita coughed awkwardly, feeling his throat closing. You... You’re hot. Surprisingly. It makes him feel insecure. Acne, greasy, stinky.
Compared to him, you’re perfect. At least, in his eyes.
“Hi... Nikita, right? I’m Y/N.”
“Ah... Yeah.”
The two stood there, silence, Nikita gripping the rubles in his pocket. He can barely look at his own mother in the eyes, now he’s on a date with some random chick.
The few “words of encouragement” Artyom gave him were to not touch her, not insult her, and to not be edgy.
You stand there, staring at him. He was surprisingly cute. Not that bad, better than you thought.
“So... How old are you...? I’m 18”
“Oh, uh. I’m also 18...” Nikita lied shakily. He was 17... Oh well, logistics didn't matter on some random date, did it?
You and Nikita walked inside the restaurant, neither of you really spoke. The two of you sat at a table; looking at the menu. It was an average restaurant, first date fancy but not anniversary fancy.
Nikita scanned over the menu, not even trying to pick something to eat. How was he meant to think about food? A cute girl was sitting across from him, looking perfect. This was probably the second time in his life that he’s ever been to a restaurant. He didn't know the proper etiquette...
You read the menu, it mainly just being traditional Russian / Slavic dishes. Borscht, pelmeni, ukha, chicken klev. You settle on golubtsy with a side of salo. You look up at Nikita, watching as he awkwardly scanned the area.
“You okay?”
“Uh. Just nervous... First date, y’know. I’m... I’m paying. What are you having? I’m just gonna have a pelmeni...”
You smile sweetly at Nikita. You found his nervousness adorable, “Golubtsy. Is it okay if I have a side of salo?”
You watch as Nikita gave a slight nod, before he spoke up, “Can... May you order for us, please...?”
“Yeah, sure, I don’t mind. You want a side?” Nikita shook his head no.
You flag a server over and order. After, you glance around. The carpet was a bit manky, a maroon colour. The walls were beige, with a few paintings on. The tables were nothing special, just a table stained dark, with a white tablecloth and matching chairs.
“So, Nikita... What’s your favourite colour? Mine’s [your fav colour]”
“Black {It’s cool we both like it} ... [y/f/c] is nice... Uh. You lookin’ for anything serious...?” Nikita winced internally at the fact that his voice squeaked.
“I’m looking for anything, really. Casual or serious. You?”
“Same... Uh. You’re... Your teeth are really clean.” He added a nod for good measure. That was the weirdest compliment you’ve ever gotten, but the poor guy looked so cute and nervous.
“Awww... Thanks. Your jackets nice.” You held back a giggle, watching Nikita frown and flush red. You immediately think he’s so cute... How could you not? He was squirming in his seat just looking at you.
The two sat in silence for a moment, looking anywhere but at each other. After some time, you both get your food and begin eating. Nikita was so nervous that he nearly dropped the spoon he was eating his pelmeni into the broth.
“Fucking... Tch...” he grunted softly. You let out a soft giggle; quick to cover it after receiving a glare from Nikita
You take a small bite of your golubtsy, before speaking again, “So, what TV do you like? I like those trash TV shows, like Kitchen Nightmare’s. I like seeing people get yelled at.”
“Oh, ah, uh... I don't really watch TV... But trashy TV sounds cool...” No, it didn’t. To Nikita, trash TV was stupid. And Gordon Ramsey is fucking stupid and gay.
You pause, staring at Nikita right in the eye, “Well, what about movies? I like [ur fav genre].”
“Ah. I like horror {too}.” Nikita thought most genres were stupid, but he’d be okay with [genre], for you.
The two of you eat your food, making small talk. Nikita’s cute, for the most part. Every so often he lets a misanthropic comment slip, about how much he hates humanity, then again, who doesn't?
The two of you have finished eating. Nikita pays and literally drags you outside. It’s around 18:48pm as you step into the cold air of Irkutsk.
“Wanna take a walk?” You ask, keeping your tone friendly and polite. Nikita nods, his cheeks going a soft pink.
The two of you walk around the streets, no general direction. You hold hands, letting you feel Nikita’s sweaty, calloused palm against yours. It’s nice.
“Wanna go out again?” You ask suddenly, feeling a surge of happiness at the idea and nerves at the thought of being turned down.
Nikita’s green eyes flicker to you for a moment, long enough to make eye contact, “Yeah... I’d like that. Do you want my VK?”
The two of you exchange VK profiles. Maybe this blind date wasn’t a complete bust.