notes— for some reason i thought starting a rareship multichap would be fun. none of my friends were kind enough to remind me that fics like these are the sadistic spawn of satan bc writing them is like waiting in line for three hours only to learn that the last ticket sold out two and a half hours ago. assholes.
so, i'm thinking somewhere between 200 and 1200 each, sound good? okay great. that can be our rule. great.
out
of
style
i. in which the honeymoon vamooses
;;
love's a game—wanna play?
.
.
"You can't be serious. Hawaii?"
"Mm~. It's supposed to be lovely even during winter."
"How romantic of my Laxus—"
"Shush, Freed—"
"The hell's he thinking, taking you to Hawaii? What happened to the Venice plan?"
"It vamoosed—"
"Freed, would you stop—" Mirajane gives a serene smile. "I'd rather Hawaii than Venice, to be honest. I could do with a relaxing honeymoon and Venice is so cold in November anyway. Some quiet privacy is long overdue, don't you think?"
Evergreen fixes her glasses, pushing them up the bridge of her nose. "But Venice is so romantic! The gondolas, the midnight singing, the moon's reflection on the canal!" She clears her throat haughtily. "I can't believe you're not making a bigger deal of the change. You'll miss out on so much."
Bixlow lazily twirls a teaspoon in his coffee, gazing distractedly at the Parisian street through the café window. Ever's voice, loud and American, feels unusually rough to him in contrast to the gentle French babble around him. He doesn't really pay much attention to what she's saying. It's nothing new — he hears this on repeat at least twice a week. She's always moaning about her office in New York, full of complaints about what's keeping her from making the transfer already.
But she's been dating that meat-head for more years than he cares to count, and she's managed to keep up with the monthly weekend trips for all that time. Bixlow suspects that there is a part of Evergreen that is worried that the exotic allure Paris presents to her would be dimmed should she make it her permanent residence.
His best friend's always been a bit weird like that.
"Right, Bixlow?"
"Huh?" He drops the spoon and leans back in his chair, glancing at Mirajane. "What'd ya say?"
She throws him her characteristic angelic-monster grin (sans monster for about six years now) before shaking her head in amusement. Across from her, Freed continues to slowly sip his decaf upside down soy milk with whipped cream latte macchiato (because he's just obnoxious like that), unfazed.
Evergreen, however, is not as forgiving as the rest. "Would it kill you to pay attention?"
Bixlow raises an eyebrow half-heartedly. "Probably?"
"Ha. You're funny."
"You're stating the obvious."
Before Evergreen can cut in with another snippy remark, Freed intervenes. "She was asking if you were going with Laxus this weekend."
"What?" He blinks twice.
"He's flying back to the States this Friday for wedding preparations..."
"Oh. Right. 'Course he is."
"Wow." Freed blows lightly across his steaming mug. "It's not like you should know or anything. You only see each other for six hours every day."
"We're hardly discussing our social lives while filing film scripts."
"You're his best man, Bixlow."
He levels Freed with a blank stare.
Evergreen lets out a frustrated cry at Bixlow's deadpan silence, burying her face in her hands. "What was he thinking? You're going to manage to screw this up single-handedly, I just know it."
"Was Hawaii your idea, Bixlow?" Mirajane asks too innocently.
"I suppose I'll have to go with him," he answers Freed, casually ignoring the girls sitting across the table. "That's cool. I haven't been back for a few months."
Freed cocks an eyebrow at his indifference before raising his cup to his lips again and asking Mirajane about potential seating arrangements. The conversation carries on, floating over florists and caterers and all sorts of other topics that Evergreen can try to panic over.
Bixlow yawns and settles back with renewed vigour to stare at the grey day outside.
