This one goes to the reviewers that keeps me going! this chapter is a spicy one!
His head felt imprinted onto the bar table, the wood grain sinking deeper into his forehead. In front of him, he heard ice fill a glass then following of pouring. He didn't bother to look, since the bartender was gracious enough to read his mind, his tongue dreaded to fill his momentary addiction. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a hand placing down a napkin then a deep smoky drink. His hand automatically grips the drink, he goes to lift his head but is greeted with the bartender still in front of him.
The young lady was short and buffy, fitted with black hair and studded piercings on her nose and ears. She accustomed the bar's outfit with some of her own style to her apron. She was cleaning of some residue off of whiskey bottles as she stared at him, as if she were waiting for an answer.
"You've drank a lot tonight," her voice rang high, thick with a German accent, "Here to remember or to forget?"
"Forget." he mumbled.
The bartender answered with an amused hum, placing her hand on the bar to support her leaning forward, "You're new. What's the name?"
"Jeremie." he mumbled again, staring into his drink as if he regrets seeing it again. Digressing his feelings, he sipped it, feeling his tongue crowd with whiskey.
"Renée." she answered back, still thinking how to approach him, "Today ain't so good, huh?"
Jeremie sighed, setting his glass down, "Not today."
"Passing?"
"Birthday." he frowned, thinking if he wanted to take another drink, "It feels like somebody died though." he decided anyways to down all the whiskey that was left.
"Oh! Oh, uh." Renée laughed nervously at his comment, "Well, Happy Birthday! How old are you this year?"
"Twenty... five." he felt like he forgot.
"Ah, that's a fun number." she turned around and grabbed an elegant bottle from the shelf behind her; a tall slender bottle with an opaque glass, assuming it is vodka, "How 'bout I give you some. On the house."
"Well, I haven't stopped you yet." his voice felt raspy from the burn of the last drink, but didn't mind mixing. Jeremie watched her pour the vodka seamlessly then capped the bottle. He raised his glass to her as he tried the new liquid. It burns just the same.
"So how bad was it?" Renée asked, placing the fancy bottle next to her, "I got all day."
He looked up at her to see that was a promising idea. He was hoping to spill his day onto someone.
"I get paid by the hour." she reassured him, "I'm pretty humble when I hear stories."
"I'll have to tip you extra then." Jeremie chuckled, shrugging. His finger rubbed the rim of the glass, "It all started when I woke up."
"Oh, ain't that the worst." she joked.
"Don't get me started."
The alarm blared in his ear with the following of the radio playing something obnoxious. Almost jumping out of bed from the sound, he cursed himself for making the volume so high. It read 5:30am and the sun was barely licking the horizon. He looked around his room to see how he was going to trek his morning routine. Throwing his blankets off him, he reached his glasses and wore them on. The room was greeted with light as he pulled open the shades that covered the large window. The music continues to play.
Jeremie lived in a low-rise apartment, notably closer to the borderline of Paris in Prince-Marmottan. It was a one bedroom-one bathroom luxury; Jeremie feels that this was all he needed despite of his job. Sadly, the Eiffel Tower wasn't in view in the distance or the Seine River like he hoped, alas another building was in his view with the bustling street below despite the dark hours.
He decided to live here for his job; a Database Administrator. A job that feels it could be more useful to him than the corporation itself. It was a hard task to find yet an easy job, but with his Masters' degree the job could have called him themselves. These professionals organize sensitive datasets such as financial records, purchase histories, and customer details, and they make materials available to other professionals while maintaining information security and privacy settings. It only fitted him since it what made him sane as a child, stuck in front of the Supercomputer. He could get any information he wanted back then, and he can do it again.
It was so fitting...
The music faded out as the radio host greeted herself as Jeremie trekked to the bathroom connected to his room, wetting his toothbrush.
"Remember to listen all day, every day... even when your sleeping! Here at Radio MAX 80, we are giving away free tickets to you and your plus one..."
Jeremie huffed through his nose as he brushed away at his teeth, staring down at the sink drain as if it was the most interesting thing to stare at.
"I'll bring in the good news of a special artist coming to Paris for a show at Club Asus, coming here is Rose Angélique. One energetic and slow rising artist from America to our home. I think this makes me quake in my boots!"
Jeremie stuck his head out the door to stare at the radio with his eyebrow raised, almost wanting to question the inanimate object, but ironically interrupted him as the host went on.
"Alright, alright. Call your crush, call your lover, because you... can rule this world. For a quick treat from America to you; Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears. Here on MAX 80 for all your 80's music pleasure..."
And as promised, the song played before the hostess finished her sentence, sending a smooth transition to the introduction. As Jeremie wanted to shut off the radio on his nightstand, he concluded that this song wasn't so bad to listen to. He spit into the sink and rinsed the rest of the paste off his mouth. Looking up, he saw his reflection.
He wore a stubble around his chin, and his hair was contempt and kept his curtain bangs from his high school years. He agreed to himself that it was best that way. His body was broader, as he frequently goes on runs in the mornings that counted. Jeremie felt proud that he endured exercise more as it benefited him, even though he hates it, a certain someone complimented him on one of his first runs. The thought of them made his stomach bubble.
Which reminded him; he needed to get ready for his run.
Jeremie changed into a plain white shirt and green basketball shorts, anything that was comfortable, slipping on his old pair of sneakers. Also changed out his glasses for contact lenses so those don't break again. Blinking to adjust his sight, he completely ignored his need for breakfast and walked to the front door. Grabbing his MP3 player on the table next to the door, he placed his earbuds in and trekked out the door, through the downstairs lobby and entered outside.
It was gloomy, and the skies promised for no clear weather, but the temperature was warm. His music played in his ears, probably Nothing Lasts by Bedroom, which was one of her favorite songs before she stopped talking to him.
Don't think about her.
Jeremie was too focused on the sidewalk. Huffing through crowds of morning rush, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears. Businesses started to open up their shops, the sounds of scooters and mopeds filled the streets, and pigeons picking at the curbs for scraps.
His mind was on autopilot, mapping out his route he takes every time he ran. There was a corner he took, passing through a park then out through the other side. Then passing an elementary school, the sounds of children laughing was louder than his music. At last, his final turning point was a bakery, it filled his nostrils of fresh muffins. Possibly blueberry flavor today.
Jeremie remembered being there for the first time; The overwhelming scent of bread, the yellow and green theme casted around the front of the store of La Farine, outdoor seats filled with customers, and one bright woman. He would be lying if he said he ate every time he visited, if anything he's very burnt out on pastries. All because it was an excuse to speak to Chloé. Jeremie's heart would start aching from the sight of her; sometimes his fingers would shake.
But he was to jaded by his surroundings, ignoring his desire to stop, he saw a blurry silhouette in his vision.
"Jeremie!" a young girl waved at him before he ran past her (If anything, running into her), stopping on his heels. Immediately he pulled out his earbuds.
"Whoa, hey- Chloé!" Jeremie almost sounded too excited, but then cleared his throat as he was breathing hard. He stared at the young lady before him; a preppy blonde-haired woman that fashioned a lacy dress with an apron powdered with flour. Her arm carried a small basket of, assuming, bread that was covered with a red cloth. Her hair was short with a ponytail, and her eyes were beaded of green. Jeremie loved that color.
"You're seriously exercising? On your birthday?" Chloé's voice raised her eyebrows, placing her free hand on her hip.
Jeremie rubbed his neck, ignoring the sweat glued to his skin, "You'd be mad if I skipped a day." he laughed nervously.
"Oh, posh. It's the only way for you to stop by my store."
Red filled his cheeks, almost smiling ear to ear, "Oh, so you like it when I stop by?"
"Don't be so weird! I wanted to give you some bread..." she reached down and pulled the cloth off, displaying the fresh sourdough bread to him, "You'd be hungry by the time you got here."
Jeremie gracefully took the basket, almost wanted to laugh, "How did you know I didn't eat?"
"Well, you just told me, for one." Chloé said sarcastically, waving her hand at him lazily, "And two, I really wanted to ask you a question."
"Oh? Do tell." he took a small piece from the bread and ate it, mumbling through it. Jeremie loved her bread. It was the reason he stopped here for his run, or it was a reason to conversate with the cute baker girl. He didn't decide yet.
"Okay so... Happy birthday, by the way." She giggled nervously, watching him nod at her sprucely, "I was wondering... If there aren't any plans for tonight..."
Chloé fumbled with the hem of her apron, wanting to count the patches of dried flour on it. He noticed she was very hesitant, starting to get anxious himself.
"Maybe we could have dinner tonight... at my place?"
This made him choke, trying to not make it obvious he was. It was worse when he almost dropped the basket in full. Cooling himself fast, he paid more attention to the crowded streets than her.
"Oh no, I made it weird... Didn't I?" Chloé's voice grew disappointed, slapping her forehead.
"Wha- No! No, I was just thinking!" Snapping back to his full consciousness to her, Jeremie placed a hand on her shoulder to quickly reassure her, "I don't work tonight so... I think... I think I might like that."
"Oh!" Chloé jumped up, holding her hands to her chest like her heart could jump out, "That's cool! Very cool!"
Jeremie nodded, happy how well he was taking this interaction. He felt he needed to be more daring with himself, "I wish you were on your break."
She nodded, scratching her flushed cheeks, "I'm technically supposed to be back working. I have a whole pan of bread proofing in the cooler."
"So, you've wasted your whole break waiting on me?" Jeremie scoffed, a smirk felt permanent on his face.
Chloé scoffed back at him, playfully pushing his shoulder, "Don't be weird, Belpois."
"You're the one asking me on a date here."
"It's a dinner, not a date."
"It's technically a date."
"It's your birthday."
Jeremie and Chloé stared at each other, laughing. At the same moment, her boss called for her back to work, making her slowly walk away without breaking eye contact.
"You're a smart man, you can figure it out." She smirked, turning around to make a full sprint back inside the bake shop. Jeremie lifted his finger up to say something but she immediately already answered his silent question, "Seven o'clock!"
With that, Jeremie changed his hand to a fist, slightly shaking it in victory. Holding the basket close to his side, he walked back to his apartment with a smile plastered on his face. The earbuds he placed back in played something more jovial.
"But that's good." Renée shrugged her hands as her elbows was glued to the bar, "I'm from Hoppegarten and that's considered a good thing there."
"That's near Berlin." Jeremie mumbled as his head was laying on the bar.
"Shh, fokus. That's not the point." she stopped him, clearly invested in the story, "Keep going."
The empty corridors were cold, but felt impossible for late spring. The humid weather shouldn't leave such icy touch in the hallways.
Jeremie stood in front of Chloé's apartment door, unmoving. His forehead was planted on her door as a plastic bag hung on his hand, figuring out how to knock like a normal human being. His mind couldn't make it up; He liked her, he really did, but why is he so hesitant and willing to go home. Wasn't this what he wanted? To like a girl? To look into people's eyes? To speak like he meant it?
Perhaps it what he was wearing. A light blue button-up and dark dress pants. No, it couldn't be that. He wasn't wearing his glasses either. It could be he was self-conscience without them. There was no way he was overdoing it. Or... was he underdoing it?
He felt like his throat closed up on him, gently brushing his hand over his Adam's apple on command. Maybe this was a bad idea. It could be that he was scared of commitment, or wasn't sure how to satisfy his other half. Was Chloé the other half? His heart felt like it was beating irregularly.
Will she be jealous? Or mad? Or cursed him for being with Chloé?
Don't even try thinking of her.
The door opened, falling forward slightly and catching himself on the frame of the door, meeting his eyes with Chloé's.
"I'd love to let you inside but you're being a complete stranger." Chloé smirked, watching his face rush with red. This left Jeremie unable to speak, leaving her to talk again, "I saw you in the peephole. You're not thinking of bailing on me, are ya?"
Jeremie gulped, "W-Why would I do that?" It was strange but he did want to leave. So badly.
Chloé nodded to the bag in his hang, "That?"
He looked down at the bag too, remembering he was holding it like it never existed. Abruptly, he stuck his hand out to give her the gift. She raised her eyebrows.
"I thought this was your birthday?" Scoffing with a smile, she let the bag lay in her arm as she opened it. It was a tall box that held wine in it.
"House-warming gift?"
She let out a hum, walking back into her apartment. With Jeremie confused if he could be let in, he slowly inched into her home and respectfully closing the door. Observing around, the flat held simple furniture with a proper living room and a kitchen when first entered, the kitchen island separating the two. Right across the room parallel to the door was the balcony; it took a good view of the street below. She occupied herself with the radio to fit onto a station. Most importantly, the aroma that filled the room of chicken and banana shallots.
He watched Chloé as she set the wine down on the island and examined the bottle. Her figure was dressed in a deep sangria slip dress with white flats and only wore mascara. Her hair was let down in a bob cut, some of it always bother her as she swept away strands to read the label. She looked pretty. There wasn't another word that described her.
Jeremie never seen her shoulders before. Or her collarbone.
"Northern Rhône Syrah?" She mumbled under her breath, then she turned to him, unaware of his staring, "I never tried this wine before, and I don't think chicken is a good palate for..." She lifted her head to meet his wandering eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, their face heating up from such exposure.
"You... look nice..." Jeremie said quietly.
A small smirk laid across her lips, bashful by the compliment, "You don't look half bad, Belpois."
Another silent moment went by. The air felt incredibly... comfortable.
"Well!" her voice cracked, setting the bottle down almost dramatically, "I think dinner sounds good right? I mean- That's what you came here for-" she let herself distract herself with a conversation, moving around the island and stirring the pot on the stovetop.
"Would you like me to help?" Jeremie cleared his throat and followed her, her hand gesturing to one of the cabinets above the sink.
"Deux glasses, please."
"What's wrong with three?" he sneered at her, reaching for the wine glasses. He felt her feet playfully kick his back leg.
"Unless you invited your dad without letting me know." Chloé laughed, tapping the wooden spoon off of any liquid into the pot.
"Trust me, he doesn't like when I drink in general." Jeremie leaned over her shoulder to examine where that savory aroma came from, "Soup?"
She flinched, surprised by his closeness, "Oh! Uh no... Well, since it's still technically rainy weather-"
"Technically Summer now."
Chloé rolled her eyes, "...I thought that chicken basquaise was a good choice."
"And I'm weird?" he chuckled, moving away to place the wine glassware on the island table with a soft clink.
Chloé turned to say a remark back, but silently gasped, "Speaking of weird, you're not wearing your glasses!"
Jeremie almost went to fixed his eyewear only to quickly remembered that he never put them back on after his run, it sometimes felt like his face was empty, "Well, you're quite the observer."
She gasped again but more dramatically, hovering her hand poorly over her mouth to hide her smile, "You're not trying to impress me with your blindness, are you?"
"Contacts exist." Jeremie popped the cork off the wine, "And be ungodly impressed if I was able to get here on my own without it." he pointed the cork at her like it was his index finger.
"By golly, I am." She grinned, turning back to the boiling pot.
As their stomachs could wait no longer, Chloé served the basquaise in a casserole dish, followed by a nice serving of sliced baguette topped with honey butter spread. Jeremie was astonished how easily it melted in his mouth, complimenting Chloé how she used chorizos and paprika so well. The Syrah wine didn't fit the palate, but it was dry but good nonetheless.
As the night got quieter, they kept each other company as the radio played soft jazz. Chloé sat across from Jeremie in the island table, chewing on a piece of chicken as she watched him sip his wine. She pierced her lips, "I've never seen you so laid back."
Jeremie raised his eyebrow, setting down his glass, "I can get relaxed when I know my environment."
"Oh, so you're always anxious then." she nodded her hand at him.
"It's hard to be when I was served a good meal." Jeremie smirked, "It was very delicious."
Chloé scoffed, feeling herself get hot. She answered by taking a large drink of her glass, "Well, happy birthday. I'm not that good at gift giving anyways."
Jeremie nodded, viewing her pour herself more wine, "Are you anxious?"
"What? Noooo." she hopped off her high-rise chair, walking to her couch, "I'm not having this switched on me."
He swiveled in the chair to watch her seep into her couch, beckoning Jeremie over for a spot next to her. He obliged as he grabbed the bottle and his glass with him.
They sat in their presence. The soft music was enough. Her eyes were closed, embracing the faint trumpets and low piano that played from the radio. Jeremie couldn't look away, marking the distinguished features of her face. Chloé has dimples; Jeremie didn't know that.
"Why are you so fond of me?"
Jeremie answered with a hum, shrugging.
"I've never seen you have other friends."
Jeremie sipped his wine, "I do have friends, just very few."
"So, you consider me as a... friend?" Chloé smirked, resting her elbow on top of the couch as her hand homes her head.
He knew where she was taking this, her actions and remarks all night was a sign. He tried to shrug off the thought of it. It was foreign to him.
"What was your childhood like?"
Jeremie almost laughed, "Boring and excruciating." he lied. His chest started to ache.
It's like a memory in physical form, that painful tautness - it tells of a repeat cycle of sleepless nights hunched over a computer chair, of a mouth that's beginning to forget how to smile, of lying awake against a dormitory-room headboard and worrying, worrying. It represented everything he became.
It was different, though. So much had happened in the time since it had all started. So very much in terms of the struggle which they had come to call their own. The battle between good and evil, the insane crunch of repeating events so often, again and again. They had seen much change within them, and yet, in a bizarre way, around them, the world was relatively the same. The world would never know them for who they were.
Then their gateway to the virtual world vanished and parted ways. Remembering that faint peach fragrance. She was right there but he still sent her away.
"And you abandoned her, you fucking freak." he heard a grueling voice say in the back of his head. Jeremie snapped at her, whipping his head to the sight of her drinking her wine.
"What... did you just say to me?"
Chloé stops mid-drink to side eyed him, quickly gulping it down, "I just asked... what made it so painful? Is... Is it that too personal of a question?"
Jeremie glared for a moment as he goes lightheaded. Holding his head, he placing down his wine on the coffee table, "I- I'm sorry. I think I drank too much."
Chloé followed suit and placed her glass down too, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I think we both had a lot." she sounded sympathetic, giving him a slight smile. Jeremie moved his hand that blocked his sight of her, freezing his eyes.
Those eyes – She was staring up at him. That raw stare. Something behind them was beckoning him to come closer. This last affirmation was accompanied by a dazzling smile which blinded the little ease that remained in Jeremie. His befuddled eyes stared into hers.
Right now. Right now, it's happening.
Jeremie leaned forward, but stopped himself inches in front of her face. He realized what he was going to do. Kiss her. It really isn't that hard. Just fucking kiss her. What made him so worried? Who was going to shame him? Jeremie is a grown man; this isn't academy anymore.
Chloé just stared, waiting for him. But she was impatient and understood the situation. Jeremie choked and she had to finished what he started.
She closed the distance between them, their lips meeting. At first, he had no idea how to act, freezing in place. Only for moments, he felt the heat of her mouth before he raced upwards to stand on his feet.
"-And I just stood up!" Jeremie shook his hands at the implications. The patrons around the bar area within earshot took part of the story uninvited.
"Oh, that's hilarious." Renée raised her eyebrows, not even laughing. It was that kind of embarrassing.
"That's not the worst part. She thought it was her fault, too."
This time Renée was laughing, smacking her hand on the bar. They all snickered around him. Jeremie deadpanned.
Jeremie was fighting with his mind on how to precede, his face felt stuck with embarrassment. Chloé looked up while slightly covering her mouth, feeding her thoughts of awkwardness.
"Oh god, I did something bad. Was that a bad thing?" Chloé's voice cracked, her face as red as a tomato, "Look, I'm really sorry-"
"I think it's fine-"
Chloé stood up too, her hands getting frantic as they moved with her words, "I thought you were gonna kiss me so I just-"
"It's fine..."
"I won't do it again-"
"Do it again." Jeremie quickly said. Chloé's eyes widened, slowly dropping her hands.
Bewildered at the sudden failure of his thought-to-speech filter, Jeremie felt the blood drain from his face. They both had a staring contest, wondering who could stand still the longest. It was weird to him that she would obey his instructions and stood on her toes.
It was unexpectedly sweet: a gentle brush of lips, a brief, chaste moment of contact. It was different to Jeremie that he couldn't take pleasure to kiss her first, or maybe he was being polite. All that mattered was Chloé's lips against his own, and their mouths opening for each other, and the bright taste of Chloé on his tongue. There was no precision in the kiss, just heat and the rough slide of their tongues, teeth catching on lips in their frenzy for more.
Jeremie finally made his hands useful and handled her hips; she answered by wrapping her arms around his neck as her hand snaked through his hair from the back of the head.
Exhilarating.
He had envisioned moments like this so often in the last few months, but his imagination could not compare to the reality of Chloé leaning against him, or the softness of her chest against him, or how the feeling of the woman in his arms sent a swell of arousal through his body. There was no hiding how Chloé affected him. Every fantasy Jeremie had indulged was not enough to prepare for the surge of white-hot arousal down his spine. His body was all too eager to respond.
They fell onto the couch, Chloé being on top, saddling him. At this point Jeremie didn't know how to proceed; he'd never gotten this far before. His hands were scared to place anywhere on her body, and she noticed this immediately.
"Are you afraid to touch me?" her voice was battered with intense desire, guiding his hands under her dress, feeling her thighs. His face lit up, almost stammering.
"I think we drank too much..." he felt the heat of her thighs shamefully, like taking a bite of an forbitten apple. Moving up more, his fingertips slowly brushed her underwear, "We should... stop..."
"Don't lie to yourself, Jeremie." Chloé smirked, letting her dress ride up more for him to see, "Look, you can tell my favorite color is pink."
It reminded him of...
Jeremie refused to move his gaze from her face, a boyish innocence creeping over his features at the thought of sneaking a peek. It was as if he would be reprimanded, if he did. Lowering his gaze, there was indeed pink underwear that hugged her hips and thighs as if it was too tight on her. What made him unhinged was that she right over his groin, hairs apart from rubbing against each other.
Her smirk grew wider at his reaction, her hand unbuttoning his shirt. Jeremie's head couldn't be lighter, might as well pass out. All was too much to take in, but braved himself to pull the strap off her shoulder to kiss it. Chloé pressed in close, lips darting along her neck, and his hand deftly took hold of her, his fingers wonderfully unfamiliar. Chloé rocked into the touch, head lolling down to rest against his shoulder, and a low moan escaped his lips. After waiting so long, just the lightest touch from Jeremie already threatened to undo him.
Jeremie knew his heart ached, yet it wasn't unfamiliar territory. He wanted this, but he still didn't understand love. This moment seems so unforgettable, but it reminded him of something. Something so important that couldn't leave his mind when he heard her moans.
Her grinding felt reasonable, making Jeremie hitch his breath. He wouldn't lie that he had a problematic erection from her and Chloé knew to take advantage of it.
"You're making me go crazy..." Jeremie groaned, feeling her tongue ravish his throat. She answered with a breathy laugh. She shifted her body downward to let a free hand grip his member. The stars in his eyes couldn't be brighter, the hormonal spike in his spine jolted him up.
"Aelit-" he lost his breath, mentally choking himself to stop him from finishing that name. Almost devastated, they both stopped their tracks.
"What did you say?" Chloé's reaction changed from lust to skepticism, her arms slowly covering her almost exposed chest.
Jeremie felt horrified, thinking about her at this detrimental timing. He gently helped Chloé off of him, swiftly buttoning his shirt back on, "Uh... It's been a wonderful night. I-I have to-" he ran his fingers through his hair in panic, looking around the apartment as if to find any of his belongings.
Chloé fixed herself as she shook her head in confusion, "Was it me?"
"Oh, god, no." Jeremie laughed nervously, begging for his erection to bury back down, "You are wonderful. This was a great birthday- I got to go." He almost tripped over the couch on his way to the front door. Chloé threw her hands up in defeat, letting herself slump into the couch.
He held his head in panic as he walked out of the building, taking a random direction on the sidewalk to walk on, "I can't. Not now. I can't." Her pink curls kept a burned picture in his mind, her laughter, that damned peach scent. That was it; he was thinking of her grinding against him instead of Chloé. The absolute sheer will it took him to forget about that woman. He wanted to forget her. Jeremie wanted Aelita to just fucking disappear.
Everyone winced at the peak points at the end with Chloé, shaking their heads as if they were sorry for Jeremie. The patrons departed finally when all the good parts of the story were over, leaving Renée and him to themselves.
"Is that how you found my bar?" Renée cocked her hand at him, "To forget that one girl?"
Jeremie started at his reflection in his drink, "I just want to forget it all." he rubbed his eyes.
"Scheisse, I should tip you then." she tried to be sympathetic to him.
Jeremie shrugged barely, then turned his head to the entrance that dinged welcoming customers. He takes notice of an old friend.