Clive had never been fond of the holidays. He's sure he must have, when he was younger, back when he had a mother and a father and they were a family. But now, he only saw it as an advertisement opportunity for companies; using the season as an excuse to encourage people to spend their money. And he knew that with the holidays came various parties, which he regarded with contempt. Another excuse, he thought, for people to get drunk, which he could do perfectly well in his apartment.
And that's what I would be doing right now, he thought bitterly. Clive recalled the earlier conversation with his boss, in which he was forced to attend the annual holiday party.
"So, Clive!" his boss boomed, clapping the startled young man on the shoulder. "I'll be seeing you tonight, yes?"
"Erm… No, sir. I actually had some paperwork I wan-" he tried to explain.
"Dove, as your boss, I am requiring you to attend. You're going. So, I'll be seeing you at the party, right?" he said.
"Yes, sir." he mumbled.
And he was now sitting alone at the bar, sipping scotch, as a result. He sighs, surveying the crowd. How this had anything to do with their productivity, or even law, he has no idea.
Another scotch later, and he's bored out of his mind. That, combined with the alcohol, is enough to make him slam his drained glass down, muttering, "Fuck it."
He was going to have fun tonight, even if he had to get completely wasted in order to do so.
As soon as he steps out, a woman falls into step with him, pretending to be interested in lawyers while flirting shamelessly. He manages to ditch her, only to be confronted by another, and another. He knew it was only for his looks; no one every wanted to get to know him or anything like that. And honestly, he was fine with it. It wasn't like he wanted to know them, either.
One more drink, then another. Clive's moved on to gin and tonics, but he's always been able to hold his liquor well. He isn't drunk, just pleasantly buzzed. Enough for him to relinquish some of that control, that careful mask. But he nearly spits out everything when he turns around and sees her ordering a drink, some fruity cocktail.
"Flora?" he splutters.
She turns at the sound of her name, surprise registering on her features as she recognizes him. "Clive! Hey!"
"Oh, um, hi." he mentally curses himself. What happened to his cool, calm composure? "What are you doing here?" he asks, genuinely curious.
"My friend invited me to come with her." Flora gestures with her drink to the crowd.
He raises an eyebrow. "The one dancing on a table?"
"She's really the sweetest thing." Flora defends. "She's just a little, well, drunk right now."
Clive steps closer, his voice low as he murmurs, "Well, I never thought you'd be one to lie, Flora."
She stumbles back, but he's quick to grab her. "Wh-what? What do you mean?"
"You're the sweetest person, Flora."
And suddenly she's pressed against the wall, his mouth on hers, and he can't remember what his name is. He's not sure if it's seconds or minutes when they pull apart, both breathing heavily, but he suspects the latter.
"Where the hell does someone as innocent as you learn how to kiss like that?" he wonders.
Now it's her raising an eyebrow. "I did go to a high school with high school boys, you know."
Clive can't help the jealous feeling he gets at the thought of someone else with Flora. He's startled out of his thoughts on the most painful death for them when Flora grabs his tie, pulling her body closer.
"But that's just it, Clive. They were boys." she tells him, obviously seeing the envy on his face.
The rest of the evening is a blur. He remembers more drinks, and dancing. Her body, pressed right up against his as they swayed with the music. The murderous looks several women were throwing at Flora. Her perfume, the one that smells like roses; his favorite.
And in the back of his mind, he realizes that he's actually enjoying himself.
The next morning, Flora wakes up, groaning as sunlight streams through. Why didn't we close that? she wonders. It probably didn't seem important at the time, but with her head pounding, it's quite irritating. When willing the curtains to close doesn't work, she reluctantly gets up.
And finds that the only thing she's wearing is a dark red and cream striped stockings. It's at that moment Clive walks in.
She blushes.
He smirks.
"I distinctly remember something about my thing for candycanes and, well, I'm sure you know the rest."
She nods.
After covering herself with one of his shirts (which looked very good on her, he noted smugly) she joins him in his small kitchen. They eat breakfast, chatting about a wide range of things: his job, hers; the Professor, and even Luke. As far as Clive could tell, the boy still followed Layton around like a dog. And then it was quite late in the afternoon when Flora regretfully had to leave. She kissed him on the cheek, promising to keep in touch.
Perhaps the holidays aren't bad after all, especially when he has this little tradition to look forward to.
A/N: I was blushing the entire time I wrote this. But anyways, I hope you guys review! Seriously. I'm depressed at the amount of reviews I get. Is my writing really that bad?