The door is shut not quite loudly, but not ever so silently either. A drunken chuckle originates from the hallway. It's almost immediately followed by a rather harsh thud and loud, "Ouch". Another chuckle. Converse are removed with great difficulty, but thankfully removed without losing full balance. The pair of shoes is carelessly tossed in a random direction as he steadies himself against the wall. He proceeds to take his clothes off while entering the rented apartment.
Surprisingly very small buttons are being undone in the living room. Slender fingers are fidgeting with such a difficult and even seemingly impossible task. He groans out loud out of pure frustration. Being closer to half undressed now with three undone buttons and his fly unzipped as well, he abruptly decides it should be faster to pull his dress shirt over his head, like one would do with a sweater. Fingers take a hold of the hem of the shirt and just as he's about to pull, he notices something is side of his body basks in the warm light of the early morning. He stops, looks around, and takes his surroundings in for the very first time since he has arrived - fluffy pillows, candlelight, a table set for two — a frown appears.
His nose follows an incredibly marvellous trail to the kitchen, which happens to be, he finds out, the point of origin of that oh so delightful smell. He makes his way over and regards the food with keen eyes, poking it almost experimentally with a digit – it's cold, he concludes after a few pokes. It's probably been sitting here for a couple of hours. A pity, because he's famished right now.
The corner of his eye suddenly catches something else: the porch. It demands his attention, as it's just like the rest: neatly done…. almost… romantic, even. Why would….? It doesn't make any sense. He's not that drunk, is he? Things don't just magically appear. Or has Bill slipped him a little something when he wasn't looking? Just to take the edge off?
His eyes then land on the calendar. He picks it up and blinks a few times. He's unable to read it just yet as he's unable to focus on the writing. It takes a few seconds to adapt to the rather small scribble, but when he is, brown eyes grow wide in horror.
"First anniversary"
Oh, no.
Everything seems to slow down. Fingers tremble, the clock ticks obnoxiously, and a headache starts to pound against his skull. At last, the pieces are falling together.
He almost immediately sobers up when memories of the previous day come to mind. You had asked him if he was heading here straight after the interview. And now, the romantic dinner, the beautiful decorated porch – it was all set up. You had..
"Oh, fuck", he utters underneath his breath. His eyes are glued to the little drawn hearts near the writing on the calendar. Hastily, he reaches into his pocket to check whether or not he has missed calls or texts, but none are from you.
"Fuck", he almost cries out. His expression is one of distraught as he's on the verge of panicking.
He has fucked up.
To make matters worse: he knows he has fucked up.
And he has fucked up bad.
He wants to call you. In fact, he has already dialed your number and his finger is moments away from pressing the call button, but that little voice inside of his head already tells him you won't pick up, despite the fact that Seth desperately wants you to. If you don't, he can't even blame you, though. But he decides to ignore his intellect, that little voice, and calls your cell phone nonetheless.
Despite knowing better, it still surprises him when you don't accept the call.
It's not all in vain, because your cell phone rings inside the apartment. He looks around to see where the sound is coming from.
The bedroom.
"Oh, no", he says softly, more so to himself than anything else. A hand covers his mouth and the ringing stops. Fingers caress his chin as he wonders what he's going to do next.
His mind, surprisingly unaffected by the excess of alcohol from the night of partying, immediately makes itself up – don't be a chicken for once and man up. However untempting it might sound, if he doesn't man up, there will be devastating consequences. He's not sure if he's willing to face those yet.
In order to gain the even lowest form of composure before heading into the battlefield, he pours himself a glass of water and downs it in one go. He takes a deep breath, as though to mentally prepare himself for the upcoming battle.
What'll you do to him? Scold at him until his ears bleed? Torture him? Withhold sex for weeks, months even? Ignore him passive aggressively? Humiliate him publicly?
No, he's certain you're uncapable of doing all those things. Those ones are rather petty compared to what you must have in store for him, as you're far more sinister, far more detailed, far more…. dark.
With his mind still in deep thought, he enters the room and braces himself – for absolutely nothing. No yelling, no slap in the face (or groin, for that matter). Instead, he finds you on the bed, lying with your back directed at him.
"Honey?", his voice of tone is gentle, perhaps a bit too sweet - as if he's testing the waters, your waters. He waits for you to reply, but not a single response escapes your lips. He sucks in a sharp breath. Okay, he mentally tells himself, passive agressive it is after all.
He approaches you and presses a knee into the mattress. A soft hand is placed on your side and it starts to gently caress you with its thumb. Another knee is placed on the bed. The hand becomes half an embrace, as his lower arm joins the hand. He lays down beside you with his head close to yours, mentally thanking a non-existing god that you haven't strangled or headbutted him to death yet for touching you so intimately in your current mood.
A tender kiss is placed against the sensitive flesh in your neck. "I'm so sorry", he breathes huskily against your skin.
"You promised", is your only, but thoroughly bitter, reply.
"I know, but we got caught up.."
You turn around to look at him, eyes making contact, and he wishes he hadn't had approached you as your eyes are burning with such fierceness. "You got caught up?", you scoff, "Well, that makes it so much better. What's it going to be next time, 'I'm sorry, sweetie, I just forgot the time'?"
"I'm sorry! If I had known, I would've come right after!"
"It was meant to be a surprise. The sheer point of one is to surprise people, Seth. And even so, it's our anniversary. How could you not have known I'd do something to celebrate it? You know how much it means to me… yet, here you are: late… and.. drunk.
"Unless… oh, of course". Realisation dawns upon you, and the corner of your lip twitches upwards in disgust and disbelief before you turn round again, as if to end the conversation straightaway.
Obviously, Seth had forgotten all about your first year anniversary. You didn't want to rub this in his face as well, seeing as, judging by the pitiful expression he gave you just before you rolled over, he already knows. Of course, it was also more or less implied.
A finger traces soft circles on your arm, "I'm sorry – sorry for making a promise and breaking it. I'm sorry you had to travel all the way down here for nothing, for only to be let down. I'm sorry for being drunk. I'm sorry for letting the food go to waste after you spend so much time, love, and energy on it. I'm so sorry for being such a shitty, disappointing...". He pauses to swallow hard. He almost manages to remove all of the disdain from his tone, "… boyfriend".
"You hate it when someone calls you my boyfriend. Heck, you even hate it when I call you my boyfriend", you state matter-of-factly. Though, you can't help but feel a little intrigued by this sudden change of heart. Maybe, he genuinely feels bad about all of this.
"It's the least I can do after all the effort you put into creating this – the food, the way this place looks, and god, let's not forget that wonderful smell..", his voice trails off, but the circles haven't stopped yet. You don't want to admit this, and this is also the reason why you haven't slapped his hand or arm away, but it's actually quite nice.
"So you've noticed?", and you sound genuinely surprised, too.
"How can I not, dear?"
Oh, how much you love it when he calls you dear. Your resolve is slowly faltering, fading away almost fully when he wraps his arm around you once more and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You open your mouth, attempting to say something – anything, perhaps to protest, perhaps to encourage, but words and the like all suddenly seem so foreign to you.
"You haven't pushed me away yet. Should I be worried?". The lips pressed against your skin twitch and turn into a smile.
"I'm disappointed in you", you finally say after a minute or so of utter silence.
In an instant, the playful demeanor disappears, "I know. I'll make it up to you, I swear".
"How? This meant – means – something to me, you know."
"I'll figure something out, don't worry."
The two of you are caught in another veil of silence before you decide to break it, "I hope you'll have a pretty bad hangover later".
He bursts out in laughter, "Me too. I deserve it".
"You're a jackass. At least pretend to not give a shit, it would've made things far easier"
"Things? As in… hating my guts?"
"Yeah"
A delightful chuckle is heard, and you can feel it against your back as well – really, how can you stay mad at this adorable man?
"Would that really make you feel better in the end?"
"Yes"
You can just feel his piercing stare on you.
"….No", you correct yourself.
Damn him.
"See? Besides, I'm truly sorry"
You sigh out loud, "I know, that's the thing".
"If you'd like, I can throw the food on the floor? Make myself look like a giant douchebag?", he humorously quips, poking your side lightly.
"The cleaning personnel would hate you. And rightfully so"
He sighs defeated, "All right, all right. No throwing food".
"So…", he starts, inhaling sharply.
"Yes, we're going to be fine, Seth"
"Good.. I mean –"
"I know what you mean"
A sigh of relief is heard, "Okay".
"But please, humor me by shutting up already. Normal people around this time are still fast asleep"
"That can be arr-"
You peek over your shoulder to glance at him with a single eye, the other one is already closed.
"Right"
"Seth"
"I'm sorry"
"Ugh. Just hold me"
The following morning had been a little uncomfortable, to say the least. You were still a bit pissed off - well, greatly pissed off, but you had every reason to be. The days that followed after the event were also quite unpleasant.
Most of the anger had subsided two weeks later, but every now and then, a bubble would rise to the surface and you could still get a little ticked off. Even about the little things. However, your disappointment had slightly faded, but you remained cautious nonetheless. You were even weary and distrusting – what if he would break another promise? Let your efforts be in vain yet again? Get your hopes up for nothing? Despite his sincere promise not to do so, a tiny bit inside of yourself still didn't fully believe him. It needed some sort of proof. And not just your average, insignificant promise, "I'll pick that up" or "I'll do the dishes", either. No, it had to be a little bigger than that.
He had picked up on your sudden change of behavior. And still, Seth tried his best to highlight his better qualities – until he tried to return the favor by cooking for you, that is.
Never again.
But he showed you time and time again how sorry he was and how deeply he cared about you by expressing so via romantic gestures.
It was different.
It was lovely.
He even made sure flowers with sweet little handwritten notes attached to them were occasionally delivered to your office.
Yes, he was trying (and succeeding) very hard.
"So", Seth starts, taking a seat on your desk, deliberately distracting you by parking his behind right in front of you, "What are you doing this upcoming week?".
"You think barging in like that is accep-"
A finger is pressed against your lips, which silences you and your protest. A warm smile starts to tug at the corners of his lips.
"What are you doing next week?", he repeats.
"I'm busy right now", you reply when his finger leaves your lips, releasing you from the shackles of silence. Instead, the digit now absentmindedly traces a non-existent line across the wooden piece of furniture.
"Oh", a brief pause, "Are you now?"
"Yes, as I said earlier-"
"Really?"
"Yes"
"Really?"
You stare at him, dull and unwilling to play along. Maybe, just maybe, if you remain silent, he might explain himself. It surely would be nice, but instead, the same warm but cheeky grin that awakens the butterflies in your stomach appears. Darn it.
You squint, eyes narrowing lightly while your suspicion is starting to rise through the roof, "What's going on? What did you do?".
"I did nothing", his hands are innocently raised in defense, "Well, maybe I did something".
You loudly sigh before rolling your eyes, "Oh god, I knew it. What have you-".
He cuts you off, sounding more serious this time, "Now, wait a minute-"
"Oh no", you pinch the bridge of your nose. Seth gets up and allows himself to sink into the chair across from yours.
"What did you do? Do I have to get someone flowers?"
"What? No! Quite frankly, I'm both appalled and offended that you'd think that. It happened once".
"Fine", you relax, releasing a breathe as you wave it off, "Are you going to tell me what it is about then?".
"I want to…", he starts, and you eye him suspiciously when he gives you a menacing look, "but I want to surprise you as well. So, you see, I'm a little torn right now".
"You know how I feel about surprises, especially your surprises, Seth". Your tone of voice is more or less a warning, but he proceeds nonetheless.
"Don't worry; you'll love it, I'm sure"
You cock your head and say smugly, "So, if you're so sure that I will, it's best to tell me already - for packing purposes and such"
"Such flawless logic, dear, but I'm not going to spoil the fun"
"And by fun, you mean the fun I should be having in deciphering your ambiguous talk?"
"Exactly"
Another adorable, sweet smile.
"Okay, but is it really going to be the whole week?"
"Yes"
"You know I have to work, right?"
"It's already been taken care of"
There's a spark of juvenile joy in his eyes.
Oh, how he loves teasing you.
"Now, if you'd guess, I might be able to share something with you".
"We're going away, aren't we?", you cautiously ask.
"My, aren't you clever?", he smirks and brown eyes twinkle playfully. He beams, "Correct".
He places his fingertips against one another as if to be in deep thought – it's either that, or pretending to be an infamous, wicked villain from your typical superhero movie. He looks at you with a smug smirk plastered all over his face. He must be so proud of himself, so full of himself right now, arranging things behind your back to surprise you,but little does he know that you've already found the tickets to Boston the other day. He left them in his coat, how could you have not noticed? But you will give him his satisfaction, his little moment of pure, unadulterated joy. He's so proud, so happy, with himself right now. It's best not to burst his bubble.
"Where to, if I may ask?", you play along, frowning.
"That", he rises to his feet and makes his way over to you. Before you know it, he presses his lips against yours in a captivating smooch, "will remain a secret. You'll see when we get there".
For a second or so, he places his lips on your forehead. This is before he turns round and heads for the door. He really is going to leave you in the dark. Or at least, partly, but he doesn't know that you already know.
"Pack a week's worth of warm clothing, though. It'll be chilly out there this time of the year"
"Alaska, you mean?!", you shout after him. You can just hear him chuckle with content before he disappears.
When you'd found the tickets, you had automatically assumed it was work-related. But no, he actually arranged something just for the two of you. You were impressed. Greatly impressed. Perhaps a little concerned as well as you had no idea what the heck he'd arranged, but hey, you were impressed nonetheless. And you'd never been to Boston either.