One Word And He's Smitten
You tap your manicured fingers on the table top and sigh in annoyance. You hate it when people run late, because if Sue Sylvester tyranny taught you one thing in all those years of highschool it was that there is no such thing as tardiness, only lazy people who are too stupid to read the clock.
You're Quinn Fabray, though, and you're definitely not too stupid to read the clock (heck, you came ten minutes early and even then you had enough time to stop at Bureberry because that one dress caught your eye) and you know that Santana isn't an idiot, either - although you do find it debatable sometimes, but it might just be you being a bitch - and you just know that Santana is only doing this on purpose to irritate you, because she's a bitch, too, and she knows it.
You should probably find new friends, you conclude.
Your eyes scan across the café, fingers still drumming against the table, beating the same rhythm as the past ten minutes.
That's when you notice him.
He's sitting in the corner booth with a book in his hand and reading glasses on his eyes that actually make him look even hotter, and he's all tall and dark and handsome and your fingers suddenly stop tapping on the table.
"Ha.", you lightly exclaim and, after a moments thought, you get up, fix your dress and head over to his table, head held high and hips swaying.
You sit in one of the empty chairs, crossing your legs, and he looks up from his book (something about dance, you notice), taking off his glasses and putting them on the table.
You take that as your queue so you extend your hand and give him your thousand-watt smile because he's kind of cute and you're bored.
"Hi.", you say, the words leaving your mouth as sweet as honey.
One word and you just now he's smitten already. You almost chuckle. He shakes his head, snapping out of it, and accepts your hand, shaking it lightly. "Hey."
"Quinn Fabray.", you introduce yourself and widen your smile.
"Mike Chang."
You repeat his name in a whisper and you find yourself liking the way it falls off your lips.
You're definitely not bored anymore.
After half an hour of small talk - apparently, today was not one of Santana Lopez's good days - you find out that he owns dance studios all over the States and that he just came back from touring with Lady Gaga.
"So you're a real catch, huh?", you say and he laughs, almost embarrassed.
"Apparently, yeah.", he surprise you with a cheeky response, but you simply chuckle. He really is a catch. "Who are you waiting for?", he asks and you look around the café for a moment. You almost forgot you were waiting for Santana.
"Just a friend.", you reply. "She likes making me wait."
"Ah, it's a she."
You narrow your eyes. "Yes?"
He shrugs. "I just thought you were waiting for a boyfriend or something."
"Or something?", you repeat, smiling.
"I'm not judging.", he says, lifting his arms up in fake defense. "Live and let live, that's my motto."
"Well, I did experiment a bit during freshmen year at college.", you confess although, to be frank, it was just a kiss or two with Santana and you don't really consider it experimenting, but still. "I'm single, Mike. Don't worry.", you smirk and he blushes lightly, laughing.
This is just too easy.
Santana then sends you a text - "I'm there in five, tops." - and you say goodbye to Mike Chang, but not before you slip your number written on a napkin into his hand and you just know that he'll call.
They always do.
Surprisingly, it takes him almost a week to pick up the phone and dial your number.
You try to convince yourself that you don't really care, but Mike has somehow gotten under your skin and you just couldn't get him out of your head. You hate that feeling, because you just wanted to have fun while you waited for Santana, not actually develop a crush on a guy you talked with for less than hour.
"It took you a while.", you say, trying to make a joke out of it. You just hope he doesn't catch that tiny bit of annoyance in your voice, because other guys call the same day, but Mike Chang decided to wait a whole damn week.
"Yeah, sorry about that.", he says and you find yourself forgiving him already. "I just got asked to do choreograph another tour so I was a bit swamped with work."
"Well, you'll have to make it up to me.", you say, biting your lip and you can almost see him smile.
"How about dinner?"
You tell him to pick you up at eight.
"Favorite book?"
"'Catcher in the Rye'.", he replies almost instantly. "Yours?"
"Either 'Anna Karenina' or 'Pride and Prejudice'.", you respond.
He nods in approval. "Nice choices."
"Thank you.", you reply. "Favorite place you've been to?"
"Ah, Tokyo. More for the memories than the city itself, though.", he replies. "Plus, it was one of the rare times I've travelled only for pleasure, not for work.", he responds with a smile on his face.
You smile back. "I'm feeling a story behind this.", you say and he chuckles.
"Your feeling is right.", he says and you lean back into his sofa as the light sounds of the forgotten movie fill the room. "So, I decided to go on a trip with some friends with highschool, and there was this amazing concert with some guys that just rocked on their cellos, and-"
You spend the rest of the night exchanging your favorite memories, until you both fall asleep.
"So, you've been going out with the Chang guy?", Santana asks and she's surprisingly nice. And on time.
"Yes, why?", you asks, almost defensively, and Sanatana raises her eyebrows.
"I just didn't think it'd be anything serious.", she says. "It's just, you don't usually date guys like him, Fabray."
"Then what kind of guys do I usually date, Lopez?", you asks and she shrugs.
"Lets take a look at your dating history: Puckerman, Finn, Trouty Mouth, and that's just naming a few. You go for popular jocks that don't really have the brains.", she explains and for a moment you think that she may be right. "You don't date guys like Mike."
You take a sip of your coffee. "Then I guess I do now."
Santana laughs. "Well, I be damned-"
You send her a glare. "If I were you, Santana, I'd stop talking now."
Santana lifts her arms up defensively and mumbles a unsincere apology, but her smirk still stays intact. "Whatever you say, Fabray."
You change the subject.
He keeps looking at you - well, more like staring - as you eat dinner at his place and you smile uncomfortably. You've never felt uncomfortable before. "What is it?", you ask and he shrugs.
"What are we?", he asks and you feel unprepared. You like the way things are going - the dates at the small restaurants you've never been to, and the exotic food he knows how to cook because he's toured in more places than you can count, and the way he dances with you at concerts of the indie bands that are yet to have a breakthrough, and the way you just know you'll find him at one of the dance studios, working hard on a new routine even though he's got the whole Usher or Madonna or Beyoncé tour already planned out.
You pause for a moment and put your fork down. "I.. like you.", you say and you find yourself hoping to God that he likes you, too, and that this wasn't just another creative way to start a breakup. "And I.. like this.", you move your hands between the two of you and you smile shyly.
Oh, you're screwed.
He laughs. "Well, I like you, too."
You sigh in relief and it's like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders.
"I love you."
He says it while laughing over the phone and your heart skips a beat and you swear to God this both her most frightening and best moment of your life.
"Say it again?", you say and it's like he finally realised what he's said.
"I love you.", he says and it almost sounds like a question, like he's not sure that it's something you wanted to hear.
You take a moment to repeat the words in your head over and over again until it's sealed into your mind. "I love you, too.", you reply and then you just stay like that, your phone in your hand, Mike on the line and you lay on your bed there in silence, and you know he's doing the same, and you realise something.
You've never been this happy in your whole life.