I know I promised I'd have this up by Tuesday as I'm aiming for a weekly schedule, and I've had this chapter done for days, but the internet at my university dorms cut out and I didn't have time to go on campus and upload this chapter, so. Thank you so much to the fellow Sparchess shippers that have enjoyed this, I adore the fact that this story has been well received :)
same warnings: language, drinking, personal headcanons, but also, Sparchess :3
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Duchess strolls into Target the next morning wearing designer sunglasses even though the sun's barely up, for fashion purposes, and also to seem aloof and unavailable but more importantly, important. She also has no desire to look Sparrow Hood in the face since he'd witnessed the spectacle of Faybelle Thorne being a clingy, desperate drunk. As it turns out, he makes it unnecessarily hard to avoid him because then he's there, constantly, always trying to talk.
Duchess places a hand on her scalp and feels her immaculate bun, ready for the day, and even more ready for the dance studio. She is, incidentally, also not prepared for the dance studio because of the routine she'd told herself she'd nail yesterday. Which hadn't happened. But, oh well. The kids could go over basic ballet positions with Justine again.
"Fancy seeing you yesterday," Sparrow starts, making it clear that he doesn't understand that some things are better left unsaid. Also, he's still trying to engage Duchess in a conversation and she'll have none of that.
Duchess glances at him from the corner of her eye but only hmphs and turns away to where her phone is tantalizingly in reach, but as she's a model employee, she'd never do anything reckless such as text on the job, no matter how many missed calls she's racked up from Faybelle, and she knows that those calls must be about; likely, Faybelle needs someone to complain to.
"So, what? You're ignoring me?" Sparrow leans closer to her and she can smell his cologne, which for some reason smells like pine needles. "And here I thought we were friends."
She's known him for about a day, but she refuses to speak to him so she bites back a witty response and examines her manicure, which is starting to look a little worse for wear. She'd really have to fix that. As three new text messages light up her phone screen, each with Faybelle's name highlighted in bold, Duchess decides that, throwing back her shoulders, that she'll take her break and enjoy herself away from Sparrow, because she can.
"My head fucking hurts," Faybelle hisses through the speakerphone once Duchess has locked herself into an employee-only bathroom stall. "I can't believe you let me do that."
"You said you wanted a hangover, and you got your hangover," Duchess replies, keeping her voice low lest management creep up unexpectedly. "Besides, it's you who said you'd be fine for the morning."
"I didn't say that. Ugh, but whatever-after. I think I'm going to move out of the apartment. Let's be roommates. At least you won't lie to me and lead me on."
Duchess fondly rolls her eyes. "I would, but you know I'm rooming with Lizzie."
"So? Ditch her. I'm your best friend. That's how it works. If I say we should move in together, then you say, 'Sure, Faybelle, let me pack my things'. Got it?"
"That's not how it works. You're lucky I'm slacking off work and even talking to you after that stunt of yours at Briar's," Duchess counters.
"Uh, hello? I told you I was going to get drunk. That's hardly fair. It wasn't even a stunt. That singer was hot, Duchess. Besides, I know you know him and you haven't given me the four-one-one on who he is. And don't lie that you don't know him because youtotally do."
"Do you really want to know?" Duchess says, exasperated. "Fine. He's my coworker. He works at Target, Faybelle. He's a loser, andhe thinks Lizzie's attractive."
"I knew it," Faybelle gloats over the phone. "But, that's not why I called you. Have you been on Blondie's blog? Apple White canceled her exclusive interview on Just Right because a very reliable source just said that she was seen kissing Darling Charming at Briar's party yesterday. Darling, Duchess. Not Daring!"
"Wait," Duchess frowns, "What source?"
"Cedar Wood. The girl was practically bursting at the seams. You know she can't lie. That's, like, the worst character flaw ever, but anyway, everyone says she saw the action."
"And?" Duchess gasps, "Does this mean that Daring is single?"
"It means they're not, quote unquote, exclusive," Faybelle says, and Duchess can just picture the grin that's on her best friend's face. "Likely he's a cover up. I always knew she was a lesbian. Also, apparently? That rivalry thing between her and Raven? Totally bogus. She and Raven used to be in a relationship."
"You're lying," Duchess decides. "No way! Apple's not a lesbian. She's dated so many guys!"
"Um, yeah, and I dated so many guys before I realized that I like girls, Swan. That's how the road to lesbiandom goes."
"That's not a word. And, you're bisexual. You don't count, because you still like guys, and the guys you were dating were simply terrible people."
"Bisexualdom, then, in my case. But I know Apple's not bi. I can tell. She's a total lesbian. So, she's going down the road to lesbiandom."
"If you say so," Duchess says, not really caring about Apple's sexual orientation because she's still somewhat hopeful about Daring's botched fake relationship. Duchess thinks of how selfless he is, to put up a facade and pretend to date a girl so that the girl could pursue an actual passionate romance free from judgement. Oh, but it was just so chivalrous and charming and utterly lovable...
"You'd better not be thinking what I think you're thinking," Faybelle suddenly warns. "He called you Debbie, Swan!"
Duchess bristles. "How do you know that?"
"You told me last night when you were half asleep and I was crashing on your floor, re-mem-ber?" Faybelle snaps. "Don't you dare send him any more selfies! And don't go on his social media sites! Actually, it's probably safe to go on those. He hasn't been posting because of the scandalous details from last night."
"...you're really enjoying this, aren't you."
"Of course I am, I'm sick and tired of Apple White's perfect bullshit. Now that everyone knows she's not perfect she won't be put up on a goddamn pedestal anymore."
"I better go before my boss notices I'm gone," Duchess remembers. "You don't mind? I'll see you at the studio after my class?"
"Yeah, yeah, see you then. And ditch your roommate, Swan, I'm serious."
Sparrow is waiting for her when she walks back, and if Duchess wasn't in such a good mood to know that her crush is not in a relationship, she would have steered around him, but she didn't. She even let a little smile on her face. Not that he can tell how happy she is, though, with the sunglasses on her face.
"Aren't you a ball of sunshine," Sparrow remarks. "What, did your boyfriend Daring send you another picture?"
Duchess slides the glasses off her nose and triumphantly grins in return, deciding that her avoidance tactic is so premature and replies, "None of your business."
"You've got to give a guy something here," Sparrow says, and he steps closer to the cash register Duchess repositions herself behind. "Why were you at the party last night?"
"Also none of your business." Nonchalant, Duchess picks up a discarded and misplaced magazine that belongs in the books section and thumbs through it, pretending to be very interested in a recipe for parmesan-pesto aioli stuffed chicken, because that's the first page she lands on.
"You know Briar?" Sparrow asks, and then he keeps talking. "She's my friend Hopper's girlfriend. He got me the gig, you know. Briar flipped when she heard me and the band play. Said we were the best she'd ever booked." Clearly, he thinks he's being cocky, confident, and cool when he says this. It's rather sad, really.
"Briar's never been a girl of high taste," Duchess responds, moving past the recipe to read an article on juicing cleanses. "She's a party girl who basically lives off of cheap liquor."
"She also plans parties for a living, Princess. And you do what, work at Target?" There's a smirk on his face now.
"Says the one who also works at Target," Duchess bites back.
"Yeah, but I've got nighttime band gigs. What do you have, a narcissistic boyfriend who sends you ten million pictures of himself?"
"Nighttime band gigs," Duchess sarcastically repeats. "Well, aren't you simply the cream of the crop. You wouldn't work at Target if you were a professional musician and clearly you aren't."
"Ah, Princess, but I've got some talent going on for me. What have you got?" Sparrow goads.
Duchess narrows her eyes. "I'm a ballet instructor in the summertime if you must know."
"Oh, a dancer," Sparrow says, smirking like he knows something Duchess doesn't. "Forgive me. I thought dancers were utterly useless to the entertainment industry- oh wait, they are. Unless they want to end up in a Footloose remake or some music video."
Barely able to conceal her rage, Duchess turns another magazine page and almost rips it. "And I thought wannabe musicians ended up homeless one-hit wonders."
"A bit below the belt, don't you think?"
"Well spotted." Duchess crosses her arms and finally looks Sparrow square in the eye.
He's grinning, his straight red hair hanging in his eyes, and with another tacky fedora on his head, and this one has a dumb feather sticking out of it. "At least musicians actually have fans. I've never heard of fan bases for...dancers."
"Well, good musicians have fan bases. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that."
Sparrow whistles. "You're a real sore loser, Princess."
"Who says I'm the loser here?" Duchess glares. "If anyone's the loser, it's you. You have no non-refutable points."
Sparrow grins. "Your boyfriend puts up with all that?"
Duchess colors red. "None of your business."
"Oh, did I hit a nerve? Is there trouble in paradise?"
Duchess slams the magazine on the table. "I'm going to return this to the books section."
"Look at that, I did hit a nerve. What is it? Is he gay? Did you find out he cheated on you?"
"None of your business." Flouncing past, Duchess tosses her head high and walks en pointe all the way to the books section. Because she can.
Even the dance studio, with all of Justine Dancer's optimistic energy, is preferable.
"Henry, lift your leg a little higher. There you go, just like that. Samantha, don't cry, sweetie. It's okay. You're not hurt." Justine is smiling, and sure enough, having them go over basic ballet positions, ergo, nothing hard, yet kids are already crying, because the universe hates Duchess Swan. Or so Duchess has concluded, anyway.
Her head hurts. And Faybelle's slated to walk in any minute and she really, really hopes that Faybelle won't be in a bad mood and start to cuss because then the kids will hear it and...
"I'm here, bitch," Faybelle walks in, in all her Hocus Latte garb, hat on backwards and two coffee cups in hand. "I wasn't going to wait outside. The girl at the front desk said some bullshit about how I can't interrupt the class, but I was like, hell no! I'm going to walk in if I want."
The kids look interested in her arrival. Duchess sighs and wonders if taking an aspirin in front of kids counts as popping pills and if that's necessarily a bad thing.
"Why don't we take a juice break!" Justine gushes, looking worriedly over at Faybelle, and then gives the kids a pained smile.
"Great idea," Duchess replies, disinterested. "Yeah. Five minutes." Pulling Faybelle aside, she hisses, "I'm toast if those kids repeat those words, Faybelle!"
"Which words? Bitch? Bullshit? Relax, Swan. You worry too much." Faybelle hands her the coffee cup in her left hand and takes a deep swig of the other. "Besides, when's this class end?"
"Another half hour. Please keep quiet until then, at least," Duchess implores.
Faybelle groans. "Fine. Half an hour."
(she doesn't keep quiet for half an hour. Duchess ends up staying extra late because Henry's a little shit who starts calling every girl a bitch and then his parents are undoubtably mad)
Faybelle doesn't look any sort of apologetic as they walk home together to the apartment building.
"I've got something terrible to tell you," she says, "And it's not good."
"What's terrible?" Duchess asks, interested and suddenly wanting to forgive her best friend. Though perhaps not right away. And not solely on the basis of having gossip.
"Blondie's vlog, Just Right ? Well, Briar took over Apple's exclusive story slot, and she was sporting a huge rock. The news is out- she's getting married. To Hopper Croakington The Third."
"But you don't sound happy- how is that bad news?" Duchess hops over a crack in the sidewalk. "I thought you'd be happy. You've known Briar since you were kids. She's probably really excited to plan her own wedding."
"Ugh, don't remind me. Get this, she wants me to be a bridesmaid. Majorly gross. But," Faybelle adds, voice softening, and for once, she doesn't sound smug or baiting. "It's...about Daring."
"Is he officially confirmed as single?" Duchess beams.
"He's...dating Lizzie Hearts."
Duchess skids to a stop so fast, her ballet shoes slip from her grip and onto the dirty pavement. "Sorry," she manages, "I thought I just heard you say..."
"I'm sorry, Swan," Faybelle sighs. "I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news but I figured I was the best one to tell you. So, there. Apparently he was secretly dating Lizzie Hearts and was only pretending to date Apple so that Apple could secretly date Darling. Confusing, I know. Totally unnecessary."
"But- she's my roommate," Duchess stammers, dumbfounded. "She- she knew about all the pictures I sent him! She knew about all the pictures of him I had stored in my room and she never-!"
"Please don't do anything like cry over him," Faybelle says, and grabs Duchess's elbow to yank her along, forcing Duchess's shocked feet to keep moving, and Duchess barely has enough time to scoop up her ballet shoes. "He doesn't deserve that, Debbie."
Duchess ignores the sting of hurt that swells up in her throat. "Okay. Fine. So what does Briar's wedding have to do with Daring being in a relationship with Lizzie?"
"Because he publicly announced that he's taking Lizzie with him to their wedding. I know. Gross. Also, what a douchebag, making everything about himself, as usual. For that, Briar should take back his invitation."
Duchess knows Faybelle is right, but that doesn't stop her from feeling sorry for herself in the process- for having crushed on a guy for eons only to find out he'd been dating her roommate. That had to be a surefire sign that the universe was hell bent on punishing her if nothing else was.
"I suppose," Duchess half-heartedly agrees, even if she's unwilling to view her crush in a negative light like this, but she definitely can view Lizzie as being the wrongdoer. "I haven't been the nicest person, theoretically, in regards to Lizzie Hearts but doesn't this go against some sort of sisterly code?"
"No, sisterly codes are dumb," Faybelle says, and she rolls her eyes to the sky. "She did you a favor, Swan. Now that she scooped up your terrible crush and turned out to be a backstabbing whore, it means that you can move on with your life without Daring and without her. Killing two birds with one stone."
Duchess shrinks back. "I don't know if I think of it like that."
"Well, I do. Now you have a great reason to ditch your roommate and an even better reason to find a new crush." Faybelle smiles (and when Faybelle smiles, it's unsettling) just as they reach their apartment complex.
"I don't think of Lizzie as a whore," Duchess ventures, "I think- I think she's rather nice, really. Behind the demanding front she puts on."
Faybelle stares at Duchess like she's crazy when they reach the elevator. "You can't be serious. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're taking this so well, but like...Lizzie stole your crush. That just screams 'backstabbing whore'."
"Let's just not call her that word, please?" Duchess asks of her, and she hates saying cuss words as it is. Faybelle mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like 'what the fuck' but begrudgingly nods.
"Anyway, now that you don't have to save yourself for 'someone special', let's do something fun. Let's hit up a club or something. Let's drink until our livers give out!"
"...let's not do that."
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Sparrow is watching Lizzie, and he's looking at her...differently. Like he knows something she doesn't, per usual.
She decides to hate it and strides forward in her ballet flats, tossing her long hair behind her head. The best part about working weekends is that she doesn't have to go to the dance studio right after work, and the worst part about working weekends is that she has longer shifts and no dance studio time at all lest it be for recreational use and Duchess knows that Faybelle will complain if she ends up waiting for Duchess to finish dancing when she doesn't have to dance. Also, Duchess wants to get home before Lizzie does; she's been avoiding her roommate and sleeping over at Faybelle's apartment (Duchess thinks it may be to make Bunny jealous, though she's gotten no confirmation on that), but Duchess also has no clothing to last another night and she really wants to sleep in her apartment again.
He's still watching her as she gets behind the cash register. "What?" she demands, and wrinkles her nose as she notices another tacky hat on his head, this one a forest green color wrapped in an odiously obnoxious gold chain.
Sparrow draws himself out of his stupor and blinks once or twice. "Nothing." Then, after a minute, he asks, "Do you have plans tonight?"
Duchess stares towards where a few kids are playing the demo versions of video games and pretends to be transfixed on them. "Maybe I do."
Sparrow doesn't believe her. Or maybe he chooses not to believe her. "Right, sure. Anyway, if your other plans fall through, you should come to this party I'm hosting."
Duchess suspiciously eyes him. "Why?"
"What, you don't think I can invite you to a party, no strings attached?" Sparrow wiggles his eyebrows. Which is dorky.
"No, you can't, because we're not friends," Duchess replies, eyes narrowing.
"Alright, fine. A friend of mine's been asking about that girl that was trying to pull me off the stage. Thinks she's cute, wants to see her again. Think you can arrange that for me?" Sparrow asks this in a propositioning manner, and Duchess wonders if he's a natural born salesman. And, she also knows that Faybelle's ego will grow ten times if Duchess shares this information so she knowsshe won't.
"I knew you had your own agenda," Duchess primly responds, running her hands over the buttons on the cash register to avoid answering.
"But you'll come?" Sparrow presses. He slides a piece of paper towards her and she sees an address written on it with a pen that's not his and is most likely from the school supplies display.
Duchess shrugs and acts as if she has several offers waiting around. "I'll see if I can swing by."
"Awesome." Sparrow's lips stretch into a wide grin. Duchess sees his smile and ventures to smirk back before she turns away and their moment is over. She won't really go to his party, but a pending invite makes her feel better- er, even if the invite isn't for herself, per say.
Duchess doesn't even plan to tell Faybelle. Really, she doesn't. It sort of...slips out.
"You can't avoid Lizzie forever without packing up your bags and getting a move on," Faybelle points out as she walks Duchess from Target all the way to the apartment building. It's a longer walk than the dance studio, but Duchess usually doesn't mind it. Keyword usually.
"I know," Duchess says, crossly. "But I haven't found a new apartment yet. Besides, our apartment building is close enough so that I can walk to school, to work, and to the dance studio. There's no vacancies for me to just move into a new apartment, Faybelle."
"So this means you're going to keep crashing on my couch?" Faybelle asks. "Because Bunny's not saying anything but she's apparently bringing Alistair over tonight, so, fuck my life. I need to get away from her. What do you say about switching things up and letting me sleep on your couch?"
Duchess sighs. She knows if she agrees, she'll still see Lizzie, and she'll have to say something. "Let's not."
"Uh, you have to. I'm not going to play third wheel," Faybelle snaps.
"Let's go out tonight," Duchess decides, all in a rush, "Yeah. We won't come back until late at night and even then Lizzie will be asleep so I won't have to talk to her at all. It'll be great."
"Go where?" Faybelle asks, raising an eyebrow. "You never want to go out."
Duchess shakes her head. "It's- to a- friend's house!"
"You also don't have friends," Faybelle adds.
"I do too," Duchess replies, but then realizes Faybelle's sort of right. "Um...do you remember my coworker from Target?"
Faybelle lights up, predictably. "The hot lead singer?"
"Right, him. He's having a party tonight, and he invited me," Duchess says, "So let's go!"
Faybelle's suspicions are overruled, as always, with the promise of partying. Sometimes Duchess swears Faybelle's worse than Briar Beauty, party planner extraordinaire.
"Give me a second to change and then we're leaving, and we're not coming back 'till two in the morning!" Faybelle crows.
Duchess regrets even opening her mouth the second she hears that, but she regrets haven told Faybelle at all once they're actually in Sparrow Hood's home. Or, rather, the home he shares with his bandmates, because he doesn't live alone, but more importantly, Duchess wishes she could've prevented the disaster of even attending, because Faybelle is off being an imposing social butterfly and Duchess is sober on the edge of the couch, half-listening to a conversation between two equally boring girls.
Faybelle, it seemed, had found the "friend" of Sparrow's that had thought she was cute: a girl with short and half-purple hair who's unfairly adorable, whose name was Poppy O'Hair (a weird name) but Duchess knows that by the many texts Faybelle has been sending her on the basis of possibly finding herself a new girlfriend, and that makes Duchess feel worse than before and wants to drink liquor more than ever.
Duchess hasn't even seen Sparrow. Not that she's been...keeping an eye out of anything, but it would've been nice to get a hello from the host, as proper social etiquette called for that.
"Hey!" One of the boring girls next to Duchess leans closer to her and says, "You look so familiar. Have I seen you before?"
"No, I don't think so," Duchess responds, trying to freeze her out before she attempts further conversation, not that it works. The boring girl keeps going. It's not her fault that she's boring, actually, Duchess would think that about anyone who was sitting next to her discussing boring things like hair products.
"I swear I've seen you before. Are you one of Briar Beauty's friends?"
No. "Something like that," Duchess decides.
"I knew it. My name's Holly." Holly sticks out a hand for Duchess to shake, which Duchess does (she wasn't raised in a barn, after all). "You know Sparrow, too? I heard The Merry Men might play at Briar and Hopper's wedding. Everyone's saying it's going to the coolest bash ever-after."
"So I've heard," Duchess says, and takes a long drink of the water in her hand, wishing it were spiked somehow.
"Everyone's trying to score an invite," Holly continues. "Her maid of honor, Ashlynn? She's getting so many Facebook friend requests because everyone wants to go to Briar's wedding."
Duchess decides that she really doesn't care about that, but she nods along, pretending to listen. "Hmm."
"I don't blame them, you know, but I'm friends with Briar so I'm glad I have an invite for myself. Are you going to their wedding?"
"I'll decide when it's time," Duchess replies, looking around to see if anyone she vaguely recognizes is there so she can get away from Holly.
"I heard that Briar's going to have an ice sculpture of herself and Hopper at the reception. Isn't that so cool?"
"Right," Duchess absently answers, but then she notices someone walk out of a door at the end of a hallway, and locks eyes with them on accident, when- she registers that it's Sparrow. At the sight of him, she widens her eyes and ever-so-slightly tilts her head towards Holly, as if imploring for him to rescue her.
Luckily, he does.
"Holly, I see you've met my good friend Duchess," Sparrow says when he gets close enough. "I actually need her help with something, though, so- see you later?" Not letting Holly get a word in, Sparrow pulls Duchess off the couch with one hand, leading her away from the general cluster of people in the room, so quickly that Duchess's cup sloshes disastrously.
Glad to be away from the music and the people, Duchess figures that she shouldn't have come at all and instead faced Lizzie, because she's reminded on how much she hates the chitchat and formalities that come with mingling with new people. Her water, which spilled down the front of her dress in her haste to get away, is surprisingly cold and very prominently dark against the lilac color of her outfit.
"Holly doesn't know when to stop," Sparrow explains, but then he sees that Duchess isn't paying attention to him and is instead frowning at her wet dress. "Oh- shit. Sorry. You wanna borrow something?"
He gestures for her to go into a room, the one he'd come out of, and Duchess follows rather than complain, because it's blissfully quiet in there, and she guesses that it must be his bedroom. His walls are forest green, his bed is a mess of rumpled gray and black sheets, but it's surprisingly clean. She isn't sure what she was expecting- adult magazines littering the dressers, maybe, with possibly a mountain of dirty laundry, but there's none of that. The only poster he has on his wall is of comic book superheroes, and the calendar hanging is one of landscapes.
"I can get you a towel to dry off," Sparrow suggests, head buried in his closet. Duchess sits on the edge of his bed, and realizes that the sheets smell like his sharp cologne but it's not entirely unpleasant. Except, she's not supposed to think of things like this- she's not allowed to think Sparrow is anything less than what her predetermined agenda made him out to be.
Duchess is only torn out of her reverie as he tosses her a blue towel covered in orange seashells and then a long t-shirt with some logo she doesn't recognize plastered on it.
"Thank you," Duchess hesitantly says. "Um...you didn't have to do that."
"It's the least I could do." Sparrow's grin is back. "Poppy's over the hill with your friend Faybelle, so I've heard."
"So you have," Duchess responds, and peels the wet fabric away from her skin so that she can rub the towel over the material.
"Do you want me to leave?" Sparrow asks. "I didn't think- I should give you some privacy." But, Duchess notices, his eyes linger a little too long on the pearly buttons on her dress top.
"That would be ideal," Duchess admits, and once Sparrow is gone and the door to his bedroom is closed, she takes off her dress and instead pulls the t-shirt on, and it's so long that it fits her like a dress anyway. Overall, it feels completely better, and definitely drier. She appreciates Sparrow going out of his way to do this for her, and it's a surprising thing- appreciating Sparrow, that is. She's used to him being annoying, not kind, and especially not polite.
Duchess opens the door to the hallway and sees Sparrow sitting there, looking down at the phone in his hand, but he looks up once he hears the noise the door hinges make.
"Hey," he says, cheerfully. "My shirt looks good on you."
Unnerved because that sounds suspiciously like a compliment and Duchess has no need for those, she frowns. "What do you want?"
"What do you mean, what do I want? You've already got me what I want. I told you the terms," Sparrow says, "Just bringing your friend Faybelle over because Poppy thought she was cute."
That doesn't explain his overtly nice behavior. "You're being weird," Duchess decides, flicking a strand of hair away from her face.
"I'll take that as a friendly comment," Sparrow chides, and he's grinning at her. It makes Duchess's cheeks color red but only slightly and she's upset at herself for that. "Do you have plans tomorrow?"
Duchess doesn't, and she has the day off from Target, but she debates answering the question at all before she finally says, "I might. It depends on underlying circumstance at this point." Which isn't entirely untrue. She does, actually, need to go apartment hunting with Faybelle and possibly work on her dance routine.
"If those underlying circumstances don't get in your way," Sparrow says, and he's still staring at Duchess so intently that she isn't sure what to make of his behavior, and he stands to lazily lean against the hallway wall. "You should go out with me."
Duchess is taken aback. "You mean, like- a date?"
"Exactly like a date, Princess."
She thinks he must be joking and almost calls his bluff before she realizes that he's patiently waiting for an answer. "You're being serious."
"Don't get too overwhelmed, Princess," Sparrow jests, and his electric grin is focused entirely on Duchess and she thinks it must be because he's high. Or drunk. Or- anything far from sober.
"You don't like me," Duchess states, plain as day, and crosses her arms. "What is this really about?"
"What do you mean I don't like you? I do like you. I think you're pretty with your hair in a ponytail and I think your clothes lookmuch better on my bedroom floor."
The last comment earns him a scoff and a disgusted smack on the back of his head that almost tips his hat straight off. "If you think this is a joke," Duchess snaps, "I'm not laughing. It's late, and I think I'll get Faybelle and go home." Turning on her heel, she makes to flounce away.
"Wait, I didn't mean it like that!" Sparrow bursts out and grabs her wrist before she can leave. "Well, I did, but I thought you'd laugh. I was joking around."
Duchess pries her arm from his grip, but obligatorily turns to face him. "Fine," she hisses through gritted teeth. "Fine. I'll go on a date with you."
Sparrow lights up and opens his mouth, presumably to start talking, but Duchess will have none of that.
"But I expect a date that is neither foolhardy nor tasteless," Duchess demands, "And don't expect me to like you or anything."
"You're so sure of that, Princess?" Sparrow prods, that ever-present smile gracing his face.
"I don't like you, so don't get any ideas," Duchess responds and ignores the nervous pitter-patter of her heartbeat.
"Whatever you say."