((uuuugh I've been sitting on this for like. For forever, and I'm still not really happy with it, but such is life, eh? I kind of just want to stop fretting about this chapter and start working on the next bit. Thank you for all your kind comments and reviews, it really does inspire me to try to get work out! I'm glad I've converted some people to my crazy, weirdo crack pairing.))
It became a routine, the knocks sounding like drumbeats on his door, followed by the creak of it opening and the chirruping hello of the mermaid beyond. He escorted her to the bar every night, barring a few exceptions - mostly when matches called one of them away - and they worked together, day after day, amidst the hustle and bustle of the League.
Thankfully, blessedly, being around her became less dizzying, mostly because she seemed to quite take to helping them with the bar: so much so that Gragas could not, in good faith, keep allowing her to help without making her an actual employee. She helped set up, brought drinks to customers, and by Zaun, with her water magic, cleaning had become positively painless. With that kind of of continued, regular contact, he had to find some way to manage daily life without hyperventilating in her presence.
He couldn't keep his mind off her still, of course, but his heart hammered a little less intensely every time she kissed his cheek at the end of the night. Perhaps he was building up a tolerance! A wonderful thought, one that brought a smile to his face. The more it happened, the less it would affect him, and soon these feelings would be a passing memory. Life really was going quite splendidly for him.
He'd even done stunningly in his last match! With a dexterous flick, he spun a canister in the air, caught it, and squirted it into a dainty little glass. Twirl, pluck, a splash of this and a dash of that, and a Zaunite Firecracker was ready for consumption.
Wait, not quite. He popped a match out of its box, struck it alight, and set the rim of the glass on fire. There!
A small burst of clapping accompanied the finish of the show, and Nami beamed up at him from behind the bar. He bowed, drinking up the praise like the finest wine.
"You're really good at that!"
"Of course I am, my dear. Will you take this to table seven?"
"Right away!" She admired the flicker of the flame for a moment before bearing it away on her tray, along with a bottle of Graggy Ice and some noxious looking drink for Sion.
Humming, he began pulling the empty glasses she'd left behind to him, grabbing a rag to clean them out before someone else ordered a drink. They were busy tonight.
"Yer awful chipper, eh?" He heard Gragas laugh beside him, shaking something in a tumbler. "I guess love gives a man a spring in 'is step."
He'd gotten used to fielding comments like this. Usually a sarcastic joke did quite nicely. "Yes, indeed. A love of life, my friend, in my last match I had the pleasure of ending the former Starchild at least five times. It brought the warmest of fuzzy feelings to my heart."
Another one of those belly-smacking laughs. Well, Gragas certainly was in good cheer. Singed rather thought he'd been sampling. "You know what I mean, boyo! There's no need to keep secrets, aye?"
"Well, considering how loud you are, I don't think keeping a secret is even remotely possible."
"Hey!" A shock of pink hair interrupted their conversation. "Gimmie a Bilgewater Barcrawl and make it snappy!"
"Right away," Singed replied, reaching for the rum as he eyed the Piltover Peacemaker. "And I hope we won't have a repeat of last night's… incident."
"Hey, no worries!" A wide grin spread across her face. "Besides, I didn't do that much damage."
"You broke two tables and three of our chairs."
"See? Not that much damage!"
"Awh, c'mon Singed. It ain' been a good day without at least one barfight!"
"A-Aieee!" A sudden screech drew the trio's attention. A screech in Nami's voice. Nami screeching, wide eyed and panicky, with Olaf, suspended in a bubble of water, flailing about wildly before her. Well then. It didn't take a genius level intellect to figure out what had happened, and Singed definitely had a genius level intellect.
"You're right," Singed's voice sounded surprisingly calm to his own ears. "The night really hasn't gotten started without one person having gotten kicked out."
Smooth, even steps took him to where Olaf hung suspended in the air. Three, two, one… he held out his arms, preparing for the catch. Some people had quieted, watching him, and others just kept laughing and drinking. This sort of thing was a daily occurrence. Although, normally Singed didn't involve himself personally.
Still, special circumstances.
"Singed, I'm sorry, I - "
"Whatever are you apologizing for?" He looked down at the berserker in his arms, like one would look at a stray thread on the edge of a garment. Olaf stared back, stunned by the entire situation. "Rammus, could you open the door?"
"Ok."
Singed turned sharply on his heels, his very nice polished shoes clicking against the floor.
Fling!
With a ringing bang, the viking's helmet struck the doorway, and then, clattering on his way out, Olaf rolled out the bar. The door closed and peace returned to the bar. Singed dusted off his hands. "Are you alright?"
"Y-Yeah!" A pause. Nami fidgeted with the empty serving. "You didn't have to do that, you know…"
"Of course I did." Another pause. "What exactly did he do, again?"
"O-Oh, well, um, he… er… Slapped me on my tail." Nami pointed to a place where a bottom would approximately be on a human. The idiot.
"Yes, I definitely did have to. Feel free to shout for Rammus if anyone is giving you trouble, it's his job, after all."
A quick nod. A little smile played across her lips as she moved her hands across the metal plate. "Thank you, though. I appreciate it."
"Well, it's common courtesy to look after your support." He reached out, lightly patting her on the head. "And don't put up with anyone treating you badly. It's not permitted in this establishment. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
Gragas and Vi stared at him as he returned, and he simply shrugged at their inquisitive looks. "Back to business, then. Bilgewater Barcrawl, you said? I'll endeavor to make it snap just for you."
Singed was a little bit scary when he was in a good mood.
He stoppered the vial, turning down the heat and then leaning back. Breathing deep, he felt like a swimmer who had just come up for air, fresh and pure and clean. Well, relatively speaking. His workshop had a bit of a stench to it at the moment; he really ought to air the place out. In a habitual gesture, Singed whisked his hand across his (mostly) bald head. Once, he would have buried his hand in his hair, easing out the tension from careful work and intense concentration.
Well, not so now. His hand dropped, and he considered the spread before him. For a single, blissful moment, his mind was entirely blank. He compared it to the bliss one attained after a particularly exhilarating workout, and he basked in it, allowing himself a small measure of pride.
Then, a few things hit him, toppling him like a wave would for a surfer on the ocean. For one, he was actually quite peckish, and could not actually recall when he'd last eaten. This morning? Last night? Had he eaten last night? What was the date?
A second realization followed this one like a small child trailing after the skirts of his mother. It had been quite a while since Nami had last visited him, bearing a tray with food for the both of them. It'd happened by gradations, subtly, her time at the bar taking the spot of the hours they spent together. But now he couldn't really remember with any clarity when the last time she specifically visited him for the express purpose of seeing him.
Immediately, his mind jumped to the silver lining. He shouldn't care, really, it was inconsequential. Warwick didn't visit him every day, inquiring after his well being, yet the pair were fast friends. She probably just felt less of a need to care for him. Perhaps she had other things to do, and wanted to devote less time to him, perhaps because of her added attachment to the bar.
But…
...He'd liked it, quite honestly, the feeling of her coming and making time particularly for him. Setting aside a portion to come sit with him and talk with him, of all people. They chatted at the bar, of course, but normally they were both too busy for long, indepth conversations, and Singed ever so loved the meandering roads of a long discussion. A sort of niggling anxiety started up inside him - did she care less?
Had she ever cared, or did she just feel sorry for him?
Did Nami think of him as a friend?
He obviously thought Nami as a friend, he realized with a small jolt, blinking dazedly in the aching light, or else he wouldn't compare her to Warwick: an old and very dear friend. She'd always occupied a space of his mind separate from all of that - first, as a passing annoyance, and then slowly as… well, something that made his heart throb in equal measures of delight and vile queasiness. There was a divide there, his life with Warwick in it and his life with Nami in it. Different circles, he supposed. At least, he used to think like that.
But whatever it is he felt, well, he didn't know her mind on it. Perhaps he was an obligation, one that she felt was less necessary, as time went on. Singed began to pace.
Why did she even start volunteering at the bar, anyway? What drew her there? He didn't even know her mind on that, and that stirred something in him, a kind of odd anxiety. Really, he didn't know much of the reasoning behind her choices… What was going on with her, lately? How was she progressing in the search for her stone? What about that elusive question she'd asked, those weeks ago - nay, months, at this point?
Suddenly, she felt rather distant from him, and he from her. Had she... become just a coworker? Their interactions did seem significantly less intimate now. There hadn't even been one blasted picnic lately. Did something change? Did he do something? Had she finally been convinced by all those well meaning Ionians and Demaciains that he was an dastardly, maniacal source of inherent evil that would corrupt her?
(Likely, he was, but anything those peaceniks said was trite and inconsequential, so he'd fight it to the bone.)
Another realization struck him like one of Graves' bullets in his chest - he'd been pacing and fretting over this for ten minutes and had come not an inch closer to actually securing himself some lunch. Feeling quite the fool, he stormed out of his room, throwing open the door and slamming it shut as if he could shut away these thoughts along with it. However, like the unruly children they were, they kept getting up, needing a drink or to go to the bathroom or -
What if -
No.
Why -
No!
But -
No!
What about!
Agh! He'd been doing so well, and now this! Singed stormed down the halls of the Institute of War, radiating a grim, stormy aura thicker than his miasmic toxins. Truly, his temper was a volatile thing.
He didn't see her at first when he stepped through the wide doors to the eating hall (made to accommodate the variety of heroes wandering the hallowed halls of the Institute). Singed entered at an odd hour - after the initial rush of food consumption, but only slightly, so everyone who came on time already had found seats and were finishing up. So, while he didn't have long to wait in line, there was little table space to claim, and no matter what he did he'd end up taking a seat next to someone else.
After getting his food (some sort of sandwich, honestly he'd grabbed it absentmindedly without thinking about its contents) he scanned the area for anyone he cared to share his company with. A discontented grumble sounded in him when he spotted neither Wawwick nor Gragas, and it turned darker and stormier when he finally did see Nami.
The fullness of her table obscured her at first, but he picked out her greenish yellow hair from in between Fizz and Lux. Across sat Riven, Ezreal, and Lee Sin.
Basically, all people he hated.
So this is what she's doing now?
It made sense, he told himself, it made sense. These are the sort of people he expected her to be happy around. It made sense and he expected it, so why did it hurt? It made sense, so why did he hate how happy their laughter sounded, or how close Fizz sat next to her? It made sense, so why did he worry about what Riven might have said, or Lee Sin…
It made sense. He liked it when things made sense. So why did it make him feel so heavy now?
Silently, he took a seat next to Zyra. They gave each other silent regards, conveying an acknowledgement of the other's presence and a resolve to leave each other alone. Relieved he wouldn't be drawn into conversation, he fell deeper into his thoughts.
It amazed him how much it bothered him. He'd see her later, and she wasn't obligated to come see him anyway. He had feelings for her… he thought he'd come to terms with that. He thought he was fine with how things were.
But…
Now it…
"Would you be lonely if I wasn't around?"
He picked at his sandwich a little.
Now it felt like a wall stood between them, like something key had changed. He should be fine. This wall - it meant they could drift apart. He knew this feeling; no one stayed in his life for long, really. It wasn't like Warwick had been his only friend throughout the years - he was an unsociable man, to be certain, but still, even he had other friends, other affections, other attachments, but eventually that wall would come up. Usually, due to his work demanding his attention, or something happened to draw his focus away and soon, friendships dissolved, a slow, unnoticeable fade. He didn't think about them anymore, he didn't see them anymore, and all those previous, brief acquaintances became phantoms in the mist.
They were behind a wall.
It was never something he mourned or minded, until now.
Did he…
Enjoy being in love?
The sensible part of his mind said no, of course not. Love was nonsense, it made him think strange things and distracted him. He'd given up love years ago. It was, overall, a hindrance. That's what he should feel. But apparently… his traitorous mind had other plans.
A rebellious mind, an unquiet beast. He wasn't hungry anymore.
People around him started to leave, and he stared at his forlorn sandwich in desolation. What miserable bread, what limp lettuce, what grey tuna. He didn't even like tuna. He should get up, throw it away, get back to work. This had been an unwelcome distraction.
"...Singed?" a light, questioning voice made him look up, yellow eyes widened in surprise.
Thud, thud. Oh, dammit.
"Hello, Nami. How are you today?" He greeted, completely casually. Smooth as an oil slick.
"I'm fine. Why are you sitting by yourself, not eating?" A beat as she peered at the food item in front of him. "You don't even like tuna."
"I was thinking about an experiment and grabbed the wrong item. By the time I realized my mistake, I'd already paid and sat down, and I did not feel like correcting my mistake."
She laughed, a sort of helpless sound as she covered her face with her hand. "Oh, Singed," she shook her head, smiling at him behind her fingertips. "You're hopeless!"
Suddenly, he felt at ease, and couldn't hold back a smile. With a casual gesture, he pushed the sandwich aside, and folded his hands on the table. "I have a lot of things to think about."
"That doesn't save you from being hopeless!" She heaved a sigh, looking over her should. "It looks like the line is closed…"
He waved it off, a careless gesture. "I'll get something from one of those new Piltover food machines; it'll be fine."
Nami crossed her arms, piercing him with a commanding look. "No, you should eat something real."
"That would be too much of a bother."
"Well, would it be a bother if you went out to eat with me?"
He stared for a moment. Swallowed. "What do you mean?" he asked, feeling like he'd misunderstood.
"I mean," she laid out patiently, "I'll take you out to lunch."
"...At a restaurant?"
"...Yes, Singed, at a restaurant."
Like a date? He stopped himself from saying that. "Are you certain you want to be seen with me?"
She gave him a flat look. 'Why would I care about that? Come on, let's go!"
She 'stood' (more like wriggled out of her seat, but he didn't know what else to call it) and beamed at him, motioning for him to get up as well. Well, he couldn't refuse - her enthusiasm forbade it. He stood, his worries from before slipping away. He picked up the sandwich, and then tossed it into a trash bin. It felt cathartic in a way, like he was tossing away those bitter feelings along with it.
"Where should we go?"
"...Um, I… I don't know, actually." His question seemed to pull the wind out of her sails, so to speak, and she waffled about it for a moment. "I've only been to a few restaurants…"
A dim chuckle. "Would it be easier if I chose?"
"Oh, yes! I'd love to see what kind of place you like to eat at." A pause. "As long as it isn't like… y'know."
"As long as it isn't…?"
"...Well, as long as the food isn't glowing, or anything!"
"Ah. Well, I think I can manage that. Actually, I might have an idea."
He only sort of knew where to take her. In truth, Singed wasn't really a... restaurant sort of person, per se. Even as soon as the steps of the Institute he was regretting his decision, although the company was certainly pleasant. Still, while he, personally, enjoyed the locale, his companion might not - it was sort of a cramped, seedy joint, the kind of infamously famous restaurant that had terrific food and a terrible exterior. He and Warwick often went, and it about summed up his entire restaurant experience.
Ugh! Confound it! He shouldn't feel so self-conscious!
He was going to take her to her to this restaurant and he would stop worrying about it if it killed him! Seriously! Absolutely! Definitely!
"What're you thinking about?"
"Excuse me?" Somehow, it caught him off guard, even after all this time, when she asked about things like that.
"Oh, you just… looked super determined about something."
"...It was…" Excuse! He always had an excuse ready! "...I figured out what I wanted to do about a project."
"What project?"
"...What catalyst to use in a reaction."
"Oh! What's a catalyst?"
Excellent. More comfortable ground. He began to explain, fingertips swooping as he gestured. One of the things he loved best was how attentive and curious she was - he could explain things to her, and she'd ask questions, soaking it up… but he also didn't have to worry about her stealing any of it. He didn't have to guard his recipes, he didn't have to protect his research. The day she tried to pass of any of his work as her own would be the day he dropped dead from shock. She just wasn't that kind of person.
Yet she didn't mind listening to him talk for hours. It was wonderful! In a way, it reminded just a little bit of the old days, of him and Warwick, cooped up in a little lab, talking for hours and working for hours and spending hours pondering over a whiteboard. Of course, Nami was more like a student than a companion on his level, so it hardly perfectly replicated the old days. Still, the enthusiasm was nice.
He would never stop missing the days when Warwick had the focus for his work, of course. But… he supposed the world always changed, didn't it? Dealing with the changes was part of life.
And so they talked, and he barely even noticed it when they came to the peeling exterior of the enigmatically named 'Lola's', as nobody actually involved with the establishment bore that name. If she minded the shabbiness, she didn't comment - they passed through the doorway, him twirling his finger about as he delved deeper into the reasons behind the differing properties of materials. Cutting edge science, as it were.
"Hello, Singed! No Warwick? Who's this?" A fast talking young man at the counter asked - the owner's son, a hardworking, eager to please lad. He peered over at Nami, scrutinizing her in the dim light spilling through the windows.
"I'm Nami!"
"Well, let me get you two seats, then. Right this way!" He practically bounded over to a small table by the window. Despite the eclectic nature of the town surrounding the Institute, they still stood out a bit - a bandaged mostly bald man and a mermaid would do that - so he was grateful that they were put at the usual table off to the side. He wasn't sure which drew more attention - Warwick or Nami.
Probably Warwick, due to the size difference and his unfortunate habit of ravishing his food.
They sat, being offered menus quick as a blink. Singed passed with a wave. "I'll have the usual."
"Hah! I figured. Shall I give you some time, Miss?"
"Oh! Um…" she flipped it over, scanning the menu. "Actually, I just wanted to order a dessert. What's good?"
"I'm fond of the cinnamon-chocolate cake," the waiter helpfully suggested.
"Well, alright!" Apparently wanting to order quickly as well, she nodded at his recommendation. "Can I have that, and… um… Ooh! A mango soda?"
"Alright! That'll be right out."
Nami grinned, cupping her chin on her hands. "That's one of the great things about the surface! Soda. And mangoes!"
Leaning back, Singed flicked his fingers, chuckling. "Life above the waves does have its advantages."
"So what did you order?" Her tail bobbed in curiousity, her smile bright and unsettlingly infectious. He leaned back in his chair, allowing a smirk to spread across his face.
"A curry. I like spicy dishes."
"Oh!" She seemed at home in the atmosphere, which eased his previous anxiety. He was glad that she wasn't very picky, honestly, he was entirely incompetent at pleasing ladies. It wasn't a skillset that he ever had to develop. Her not being fussy made his life significantly easier.
Well, in a manner of speaking. Really, nothing about this whole situation with Nami was easy. But, he found himself becoming comfortable with her once more, sitting here in a sort of dreary looking restaurant with sun streaming on the tabletop. She began asking questions again - first about the food, then about the restaurant itself, which somehow got them onto the subject of Warwick, and his days of schooling in Zaun, and from there transformed into a discussion about atomic theory utilizing the peas in Singed's food as a diagram.
She laughed, and he chuckled modestly enough to be acceptable for his standards. Well. Until Nami tried a bite of her food, and then had to wave desperately at her tongue in an attempt to cool her burning mouth. Not even guzzling her juice had much effect.
"Ahhh, I don't get how you eat that! It hurts!"
"You build up a tolerance for it."
Grabbing her fork, she shoved a piece of cake into her mouth, and then another in a desperate attempt to wash out the taste of spice. A small piece of chocolate frosting flecked the side of her mouth, a byproduct of her distress. She seemed more satisfied though, relaxing a little, and he assumed that the prodigious sampling of sweets had worked some sort of magic.
"Better?" He asked, absentmindedly picking up a napkin.
"Mhmm!"
"You have a little spot there," he teased, absentmindedly picking up a napkin.
"What? Where?" She scrubbed at her face, completely missing it much to his amusement.
"Let me." Leaning forward, he reached out to wipe it away, a gentle little gesture that softened his eyes.
She stared up at him, mouth frozen mid-reply. He stared down at her, hand frozen mid-motion, realizing how close he really was. Her surprised face was caught by the afternoon sunlight, highlighting her cheekbones and the space by her dark eyes. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he was entranced, heart hammering thickly in his chest. He was caught off guard, fully and completely, and she was just… staring at him, her face mere inches away.
The washed over them both, and in it, Nami was beautiful. He swallowed thickly, his adam's apple bobbing. He couldn't move; he couldn't even think, not with how loudly his pulse was thundering. Distantly, he wondered if she could hear it. Beat by beat, he could count them - it was a strange moment, one that made him want to lean forward, just a bit. He could do it, her face was turned up to him, all it would take would be a little push, and then -
-His mind stuck on the 'and then', halting like a gummed up gear. Neither of them had moved. Wasn't this the sort of thing that got interrupted in those trashy books where love and romance ruled the world? Shouldn't something come and - and distract them, and put this moment off a little longer?
He didn't want to confront it. Not now, not ever. He didn't want to confront his feelings, his shameful, abysmal feelings, nor the wideness of her eyes and the slight parting of her lips. Singed didn't want to, he so desperately wanted to run from this, so - so - why did he feel like leaning forward?
It wouldn't take much. It wouldn't take much at all. So -
"Singed?" After an eternity, she quietly spoke, and his name sounded as sweet as that chocolate-cinnamon cake on her lips. (Someone, strike him down, he had lost all of his sense.)
"Yes?" Finally, finally, he managed to pull his hand away, setting it and the napkin down on the table. They were still staring at each other, though, and his voice sounded outrageously squeaky to his ears. Someone, save him before he absolutely ruined every bit of self respect he still possessed!
"I…" Her gaze dropped to her almost empty plate. Suddenly, sorrow enveloped her expression, a wave washing over her face and pooling in her eyes. The atmosphere changed, and Singed could tell he wasn't going to like whatever she was about to say next. It definitely, absolutely wasn't something that he wanted to hear.
All the words he had to put it off with had long dried up, though, and all that was left was silence for her to fill.
"I'm leaving in a week. I've - I mean, I think - I think I've found a lead on the Moonstone. I'm sorry, I - I wasn't just going to leave, without telling you or Gragas, but…" She wrung her hands, looking so sorry that it killed him. A week? Seven days? Already, it was - seven days? "I'm so sorry. I didn't know how to… It doesn't matter, I should have told you sooner."
He knew how things would happen. He could see it. She would find the Moonstone, because - how could she not? She was the one who fought bravely for her people, dedicating her life to their salvation. She was a hero, and she could accomplish anything she set her mind to, so it seemed like a natural fact that she would find her precious destiny stone. Then, the artifact in hand, she would go back to her people, and live below the waves as their champion (and after all she was doing for them, she had better be regarded as nothing short of legend.)
Nami would go back to her people, and he would never see her again. She would forget about him, and he -
- he about her, for he was not the sort to be a companion to heroes.
It hurt. He hated how much it hurt, but he know the second he saw her pained expression that he couldn't let it show. For both their sakes, he had to hide it, lest he hurt her more. Singed forced a pleasantly neutral onto his face, sitting up straighter and levelling a patient look at the young fish maiden. "Calm yourself Nami, all is well. We both know your situation, and I'm certain Gragas will only wish for your success, as I certainly will."
"Thank you, I appreciate it." She smiled up at him weakly, having been on the verge of crying before. He looked down at Nami and it (hurt like staring right at the sun he pulled down the blinds) was easy to smile passively in return.
"Are you going by yourself?"
She shook her head lightly, nursing her her bottom lip between her teeth. "No… Fizz offered to help me, and I think Diana might, too..."
"Well, that's very fortunate. I'm glad that you won't be alone." I hate him, Singed thought, and studiously kept hidden. It wasn't like he could go with Nami, anyway. It wasn't like he had a right to be jealous. Love was for fools, and it -
- would be so much easier when she was gone.
He was comfortable behind his wall. Truly. He could be comfortable.
"...I'm sorry I won't be working at the bar anymore," she pressed her thumbs together, looking anywhere but at him. Had the situation been different, he might have found the sudden shyness adorable.
"It's no matter." In the end, it was easy to dismiss everything that had happened, all those little moments. Like trinkets, like good weather, like a bright blue sky, it's easy to forget if you want to. To take away the meaning, to shut yourself away. It's so easy. "Some things cannot be helped."
She paused, finally letting her amber eyes stray to him. He had his hands folded in front of him, pulled very precisely to his side of the table. It wouldn't do to have a repeat of wasn't appropriate. Nami opened her mouth though, pursing it into a little 'o', and then asked, "Are you sure nothing is wrong?" Her words were timid, soft spoken, filled with trepidation. However, Singed had found his footing. It was easy.
Far too easy (for how much it hurt) to quirk a brow and casually say, "Mm? Truly, I am fine. Simply unsure how best to congratulate you. Are you finished with your cake?"
Her concern was touching, but he did not need it.
She looked down at it, turning the fork about on her plate. "...Oh? Um, yes. It was good!" She asserted, convincing herself, convincing the world, when in truth she sort of looked like it had turned to ash in her mouth.
The air between them was stifling. It was easy. It was easy. It didn't hurt at all. A wall to hide behind, armor to protect, thick skin burned and strong. The waiter brought the bill, took away her plate. "Singed - "
"Yes?"
"I..." Poor thing. She look the picture of remorse.
"Nami, you have not offended me. It will be a shame to see you go, but your destiny awaits." Only for her sake would he use that trite word unironically.
"I hope it's my destiny. I really, really hope so..."
"You are a smart and magically adept young woman. You have nothing to be concerned about. Now, shall we go tell Gragas the news? He will absolutely giddy with glee at the thought of a farewell party."
"A - a party?
"Well, yes. We have to give you a proper sendoff, correct?"
"Wh-wh… I don't need a party!"
"Given Gragas' tendency to ignore anything he doesn't want to hear, I think you are you to have to resign yourself having one."
Nami pouted, wringing her hands and clearly unnerved at the thought. Singed smiled at her sympathetically, trying to pretend that he didn't want to strike out the words 'goodbye' and 'party' from the dictionary entirely. "Well, shall we go?"
"A-alright - Wait. We've paid?"
"Yes, I did."
"For mine too?"
"Yes."
"W-What? When? Huh?"
"While you were distracted."
"Wh- I could have paid!"
"You could have, but I did it first." Singed raised himself from the chair, pushing it in. "Shall we go?"
"-You…! Ahh! You're insufferable! Incorrigible!"
"All the makings of a true gentleman." He bowed elegantly, as if he wasn't some parody of a human with scarred and burned flesh. "After you."
"...Ugh!"
He followed her, relishing in the return to normalcy. It was easy to pretend, like this, and it was even easier to forget how close he'd been to kissing her earlier. Singed would survive behind his wall.