Has it been six months already?
Have I posted a story so fast?
Are you wondering "who the hell is this and what have they done to the moderately funny writer who uploads every new blood moon?"
I 'unno what happened but it did. Blame Frida and her plot bunnies.
I guess I dedicate this to her, FOR YOU CAPES.
This is really random, but I liked the idea. Hope you can enjoy it as well, and if you don't I am totally entitled to throw a bust of Archimedes at you.
ALSO, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO CALUM DAVID WEBSTER WORTHY (even though it's 2 A.M. currently, still his birthday in other places.)
They were both so nervous.
Like, meerkats in Africa singing a song about always being prepared, nervous.
And asides from being so nervous, they're panicking.
God, were they panicking.
As in sitting in the corner rocking back in forth, wide-eyed, panicking.
This could be called "First Date Night" but it's different because first date night implies preparation for the date, (which currently, neither of them were actually doing, they were rather busy panicking.)
This one thing they had wanted so long but in the efforts to not ruin their friendship had they ignored their feelings and saw other people which were terrible decisions really.
They didn't want to hurt them in the end of all things, they just didn't know what they to do anymore, nothing seemed to work out if the ending result wasn't them being together, so they took a leap of faith.
And here they were.
Mere hours away from a first date and at both homes they're quite sick of them for squealing about their hair, and their clothes and all the drama with is he going to want to match?
Is this elegant or casual?
What if we start fighting? What If it gets awkward?
Should I brush my teeth? WHAT IF WE HAVE ORANGE JUICE AND I BRUSHED MY TEETH.
Should any type of ocelot be on my clothing?
One side of the date can't even begin to swallow the knot form his throat as he has his best friend, supporting him through the phone.
"What if I got our reservations mixed? What if they spelled my last name with three O's and they don't let us in? I have to call the restaurant again, I have to make sure that I didn't spell my last name wrong—" He continues panicking, in his truck boxers while passing a brush through the same spot in his hair that it seems a cow has licked it.
"Did you give them your middle name?" The other end sighs, picking their nails. This is what happens when you're honest and say you don't have plans. You take care of your nervous best friend who can't blindly see that everything is going to be alright.
"My mom was glaring at me, so I did." He admits dejectedly. Why couldn't his parents have given him a cool middle name, like Ally's? Lester. He'd take Austin Lester Moon over Monica any day.
"Then you'll get in, no problem. Pretty sure it's memorable." A chuckle comes in return. Giggling at his middle name? Can't they just get over it?
"You're so funny," He sneers and keeps switching phones to the other ear and finally trades the brush as well. Now, all he has to pick out is clothing.
Oh goody.
He falls and slumps back on his bed, stabbing himself with a hanger in the back. Ouch. Austin groans loudly in frustration, unaware that the other half of the date was sitting in their room, screaming in circles, literally.
"Oh, God no. Gross. Please don't tell me you're doing what I think you're doing."
Oh, the phone.
Riiiiight
Awkward
"No, I'm not, you weirdo. I'm so frustrated right now." He pulls at his hair, shrieking slightly for messing up the only thing he had actually done to get ready.
"Please do explain to me, why." He stands up and grabs the brush to go through his disarmed cowlick again.
"What if it doesn't work out? What if this is all just a bad decision? We're going to ruin our friendship and I can't bear to lose h—"
"Austin, shut up. I will personally come over and smack you."
"You're so kind." He quips sarcastically.
"Thank you, I really try hard sometimes." He snorts. What magical best friend power had he not acquired to have the ability to do that when other people were nervous? Had he skipped a class or something? "Now shut up and listen to me,"
So polite, that one, honestly. All the awards, really. No competition whatsoever.
"Listening," He mutters then looks into the mirror and his hair looks good again. He starts looking in his closet for clothing; he pulls out both a black and then a white dress shirt.
"This is not a bad decision, you have been friends for years, for so long and you've doubted and stopped yourself so many times that I won't let you sacrifice this anymore, the only question you need to ask yourself if is this is going to make you happy."
"Of course it'll make me happy, Dez—" A blue dress shirt could look good, black pants and maybe a tie or not, it's not that fancy, or maybe it should be.
"Then stop focusing on what could happen and focus on what is happening. You're going on a date with the person you've been in love with for years. That's it. Go for it."
"Thanks. You're awesome."
"I know I am, and you look better in the white shirt."
"You think so? I thought that too but I keep leaning towards blue for some reason, is that wrong?"
"You'll look like a bus driver, stop it or I'm coming over."
"I can see you through the window."
"That's just my doppelganger… it would be for the best best if you slowly back away and change shirts,"
"I'm not taking my shirt off in front of you, you creep."
"Hey. Consider this as taxes."
"I feel so used."
_
"Should I wear more than one color? Like, should my pants totally match my shirt in at least one shade? Should I take sunglasses, wait it's seven o' clock, WAIT IT IS SEVEN O' CLOCK, PEOPLE, THIS IS NOT A DRILL. It's going to be dark out and you know what that means? DARKNESS, and you know what that means, that should mean making out. TRISH, STOP IGNORING MY DESPERATE NEEDS."
"Gross, I don't need to know when you and Austin make out."
"But my lips are chapped, what if he has the opposite of a chapped lipped fetish? What if he dumps me for having chapped lips, TRISH, THIS IS URGENT BUSINESS, THE DATE IS IN AN HOUR, WHAT DO I DO?"
"And you spent the first hour of preparation screaming your head off. I'm surprised you still have a voice." Trish snorts and switches magazines from Tiger Beat to Seventeen.
"It's because I use the diaphragm, it's what opera singers do."
"Yippee," Trish rolls her eyes, and flips pages when a tube of Chap Stick is tossed at her face. "Ouch! What is your deal?" She tosses the tube back on the bed and glares at her friend; raising her eyebrows, defiantly.
"My deal is that I have my date with Austin in exactly fifty eight minutes and forty seven seconds, forty six, forty five, forty four, forty three—"
"Okay, stop that. Put that black shirt I got you for your birthday."
"But it's not really my style."
"You wanted my help; you are wearing what I say you're wearing." Trish's tone is no-nonsense, and her friend quickly scurries to do whatever she bids for.
"Yes, ma'am," Doing a mock, (but not in a way, not a mock) salute towards.
"Now black jeans," she snaps and digs her face back into her magazine.
"Black on black, won't it look like I'm wearing a unitard?"
"Not when I'm done with you."
"I'm frightened."
"As you should be,"
_
When it's finally the hour, they're both jumping up and down in their separate distances with their best friends at their side, one in the car with the other reminding their latter to breathe as they try not to cause a car crash.
"We're going to die, we're going to die."
"Stop being so dramatic, I just turned around three times. Just breathe."
"WHY DID I LET YOU DRIVE,"
"You said it was practice for—but—STOP HITTING ME."
"KEEP LOOKING AT ME INSTEAD OF THE ROAD AND WE WON'T BREATHE ANYMORE."
The other pair is sitting on the couch going through of Do's and Don'ts for the date in the living room sitting expectantly waiting for the others to arrive:
"So, no pointing out if his hair looks weird."
"You'll crush his ego."
"And no going to the bathroom?"
"Only twice is admitted."
"But I have a small bladder."
"Only twice, and that's saying a lot."
The minutes were counting down until Austin arrived at the door and knocked, sending both teens literally squealing to the door, Trish looked at her friend, nodded and smiled, as they both exhaled and put her hand on the knob.
When she opened the door, they both saw Austin standing there in expectantly and his entire face lit up, his mouth opened slightly and the corners of his smile twitched up as he fumbled around for a few seconds to be able to form words.
"You look— I really— Uhhh…"
"He says you look good," Trish giggles pushing his date toward him because they were both apparently stuck there. She looks at Ally who stands there beside Austin, swooning at the moment.
"Thank you, you do as well."
They can't stop smiling at each other as Austin finally steps uptakes his date's hand and intertwines their fingers
"All set to go, Dez?" Austin smiles.
All in all, I enjoyed writing this. And according to Word, I took 410 minutes to write this. Nice.
"I did not attend his funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it."
― Mark Twain
Uhhh... what do I say now.
Oh, shameless self promotion to follow me. I'm not that annoying.
(Yes, I am.)
At the moment, like right now (Like, perhaps till tomorrow). CalumsParachute on Twitter, or if not LaurasParachute is my usual.
I must go save the world now,
one hour at the computer at a time.
*fades into darkness.*