Cú held the shopping cart, pushing it lightly as he strolled through the grocery store. Diarmuid had left him that very morning, saying that he was in charge of going grocery shopping and after finding nothing in the cabinets, fridge and even his brother's room (Take not that he always had a stash of food somewhere), he thought it best not to starve and get his butt in the car. He had picked up some frozen foods and meat and was heading out towards the produce isle to pick up a few fruits and vegetables.
His brown boots dragged on the tile floor as he walked past the many isles, mind set on the lasagna he was going to make when he got home and his stomach ready to start a riot. He heard his phone ring, just a notification as the screen lit up. He reached for it, arm stretching over the shopping cart to reach just behind the eggs. He pulled the phone back to him and turned it on again, a short message popped on screen; a text from his brother.
Don't forget the milk
He scoffed, "I'm not stupid." He then took a mental note to return for the milk after he got what he wanted. His cart turned sharply as he made it to the produce, his red eyes catching some peaches. The price made him smile slightly before he caught eye of something else—or rather someone else.
A lady, dressed rather formally for the supermarket, was examining a peach. Her loose soft pink flowery blouse matched her cheeks and the tight black pencil skirt to her knees made the man smirk. Her hair was bright blonde and was neatly placed in a braid, purse around her arm, shiny black heels accentuating her calves.
Cú patted his hair and took a deep breath, time to flirt. He took a step towards her, discarding his cart near the grapes. Just as he reached the peaches, he opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by the loud ringing of a phone.
The woman was startled at first, dropping the peach she was holding back into the pile. She opened her purse and began quickly searching, all the while Cú watched her frantic actions.
"I deeply apologize for the noise," She cringed as she pulled her phone out of her red purse. She looked up at Cú through her bangs.
Cú gulped and slowly felt his cheeks heat up. He immediately looked away, "Yeah, sure, no problem." He rushed. I am not blushing, what the fuck?
She was fumbling with the phone in her hands and finally shut it up when she answered. "Allô?"
Wow, her voice… The Peaches! Cú! The Peaches!
"Yes, I will head over immediately…No, do not worry, Artie. I'm not hungry anyways…Okay, I will be there in fifteen minutes. Yes. Yes. Mhm. Okay, see you soon then." She spoke quickly and right after hanging up she threw her phone back into the purse and tapped the man's shoulder.
Cú turned towards her, his head slightly spinning, he coughed, "Yeah?"
"Take these, I just picked them, but I got to run; they are completely perfect, you don't have to worry about it." Her eyes were wide and lovely, like glittering lilac painted clouds of the sunset sky.
He blinked, taking in her soft French accent, her pale lips and simply all of her. "Ughm, thanks." Play it cool, idiot. Ask her for her number. "We-"
"Goodbye," she smiled before running out of the store, leaving him just staring at where she had been.
"Peaches…" Cú mumbled under his breath as he lifted the small bag of peaches she had shoved in his arms, "I'll be sure to meet you again, little miss peaches."
Cú was sprawled on the couch, hand faintly picking at the bowl of popcorn that was balanced on his stomach. The television was blasting a comedy movie he found as he had been flicking through channels. There was a lingering thought in the back of his mind as if he had forgotten to do something. "Lasagna; check. Bathroom; check. Bedroom; check… Peaches," he smiled, "Check and check." Then he frowned, "Number; not check. Other than that I'm not really missing anything…"
The door opened and in strolled a messy and tired Diarmuid. Feet dragging as he rubbed his eyes. He made his way to the kitchen and riffled through it for a while before he slowly opened the fridge.
In that exact moment, it dawned upon Cú what it was that he had forgotten. "Shit."
"Uhm, Cú," his brother spoke with concern, "where's the milk?"
Cú was silent, slowly sitting up from the couch and letting the plastic bowl of popcorn fall straight to the floor. He gulped, standing up and sneakily escaping to his room.
"You forgot the milk?" Diarmuid turned around to face his brother who was about halfway to his bedroom door.
Cú grinned innocently enough. "I brought peaches?"
Diarmuid grabbed a peach, frowning, "Are we going to use water for cereal now? Or are you making peach juice?"
The blue-haired man shrugged.
The younger man threw the peach back into the fruit bowl before sprinting towards his brother. Cú tried to make it into the bedroom as fast he could but Diarmuid caught him just at the doorway, taking him by the arm, "Not so fast. Go get the milk, now."
"But… you're not even going to let me explain why I forgot?" Cú struggled to take his arm back.
"No. I told you not to forget."
Cú huffed, "Okay but get this. There was this girl."
"It's always a girl with you."
"Uh, this time it's different."
"Sure."
Cú glared at his brother but then looked off into the distance. "I saw the universe in her eyes. She was this perfect woman. Not only was she sizzling—"
Diarmuid cringed, "Sizzling? Really?"
Another frown from the older man. "She was hot, okay? There…" he finally drifted back to his daydream, "And her voice was like a French songbird's; it was, ah, 'ow do you say, uh, exquisite." He mimicked a French accent for the last part of his sentence.
"French songbird? Now I'm concerned. Are you doing drugs? Is that why I bailed you out? Oh no!" Diarmuid gasped.
"Diarmuid! I'm serious here; this girl was divine."
Diarmuid blinked. "Right. Now tell me something new." He let go of his brother and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'm serious!" Cú pouted.
"And I'm the Queen of England."
Cú groaned, stomping his foot the way a rebellious child would if he didn't get his way. "I'll prove to you that I am being serious about her!"
"So, did you get her number?"
"Uh… ah…about that…"
"What's her name?"
"She…"
Diarmuid sighed. Surely disappointed he groaned, "Right. Thought as much. She's only a fling, isn't she?"
"Her name is Peaches." Cú proclaimed, rather proud of himself.
Diarmuid stifled a laugh, "Peaches? Okay sure, who names their child Peaches?"
The red-eyed male rubbed the back of his head, "Well, her name isn't Peaches, but I call her Peaches."
"Then maybe, if you get the milk, you'll find Peaches again."
Cú's eyes lit up, he gasped, "Wait a second! You're right!" Then he ran into his room and shimmied into a jacket before racing out the door.
"Don't forget the milk!" Diarmuid managed to call before his older brother disappeared into the hallway.
The following morning, Diarmuid awoke to the annoying ringing of his alarm clock. He groaned as he shuffled in his bed, reaching over for the classic black clock that was currently dancing on his night table. His hand knocked it down to the floor, accidentally, shutting it up but with an unwanted crush.
He shot up from his bed, looking down at the now broken clock. A frown formed on his lips and he rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up before he picked it up. After examining the alarm clock, he saw that it was alright and only a bell had fallen off; but it was nothing he couldn't fix.
Delicately placing it back on his night table, he pushed himself off the bed and dragged himself towards the bathroom. He was feeling lazy but he had promised Arturia that he would go for a shoot early that morning which meant he had to be up at five in the morning.
He went through his daily routine and prepared himself. He had not been up that early in such a long time that he was feeling exhausted and drained. He had been working diligently at the auto shop for three days straight with no rest in between and as always, a nice warm shower answered his prayers. Though, a cold shower is what he got, reminding him that the hot water was not going to be working for three days due to a malfunction in the heater of the apartment building.
Diarmuid's day was already starting out cranky. He was frowning and groggy as he searched his fridge for the milk, luckily his brother had not forgotten it a second time around; something he was grateful for. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and ate next to the sink, hurriedly so that he wouldn't be late.
After he had finished, he washed his plate and spoon and left his flat, running to the bus stop, unsure as to when the bus was scheduled to pass. The morning was breezy and unusual for late summer, but it was in a way refreshing for him; he was not a fan of blazing hot weather.
He made it to the building by seven and the day was already starting to warm up. The sun shined brightly through the skyscrapers, filling the streets along with the many people that ran to their destinations, causing a huge clutter in the streets. He once again took a deep breath, stepping into the building and shielding himself from the crowded sidewalks.
It always seemed, to Diarmuid, that cities were much to anxious; people always needed to be somewhere and they would stop at no lengths to get there. He stepped into the elevator without any problem and even made it to the floor she was located in. Yet of course, if Diarmuid's day started bad, he knew much too well that it would end on the same note.
He tripped.
Embarrassingly so.
Just as he had stepped out of the elevator, he tripped, falling face first and barely having time to use his elbows as support. He crashed against the floor. Hard. Precisely the elevator's doors closed and he was left alone to wallow in embarrassment. His arms were aching and he knew he had sprained something—his wrist to be exact.
Diarmuid rolled over on his back and sat up the best her could. He held his wrist in place, taking deep breaths so as to let the pain subside. He was not feeling well from the fall; tiled floor hurt. He was aching, and most likely bruised.
The doors behind him slid open and he quickly turned back to see who had the grace of walking in on him in his lowest. A pair of heels clacked on the floor of which belonged to his manager. His cheeks lit up in bashfulness, holding his hand tightly again.
"Diarmuid?" Her voice came with the sudden halt of her steps, "What happened?"
"I…uh… I tripped, that's all."
She rushed to him. "Are you alright? Here, let me help you up." She then extended her hand towards him, crouching down a little bit.
Diarmuid shook his head, "I think I can manage." He denied her out stretched hand, trying to hold whatever pride he had left. He let go of his aching hand and tried pushing himself off the floor, he was able to stand—with a lot of trouble, but stand nonetheless.
Arturia looked at her watch, her brows knitting. "Why are you here so early?"
He tilted his head, "What do you mean? I thought the shoot was at seven thirty."
She blinked, "Did you not get my message? The times changed because of an issue with the studio, I'm sure I—is your hand alright? Did you injure yourself?" She finally noticed that he held his wrist tightly and had a slight look of discomfort.
Diarmuid nodded, "Mhm, completely fine."
The blonde frowned, then she reached for his hand, taking it in to her own and pulling him towards her; earning a pained groan from the man. "Completely fine?" She glared, "Your health comes before work, there is no way I am letting you be in a studio while you are in pain; that is out of the question. We ought to get you to the hospital."
"No, no, no. That is really not necessary. I am fine, just a little pain, I landed on it wrong, that's all."
Arturia blinked. "I will not allow you to work until a doctor confirms that you are fine. Diarmuid,"—why did his name sound so good when she said it?—"please cooperate with me."
Wow, he thought, her eye lashes are so pretty. They were short and light brown, against her soft skin they complemented her a lot. Her hands were rough, yet soft at the same time, fingertips warm and causing him goosebumps. "This is not the time." He stopped himself before he could go any further with his daydream.
"Pardon me?" She brought a hand to her chest, "I think it very well to be the time to listen to me."
His eyes widen, dawning upon him the realization that he had said that out loud. "Oh, no! I was just thinking to myself about the pain."
"Oh, well either way, we are heading to the hospital. Wait here while I speak to Jeanne." His manager disappeared behind the sliding doors for a few minutes and returned, leading him out of the building and into a cab, knowing that driving him in a motorcycle would only cause him more problems.
