"So," you struggle to say between fits of laughter, "was this before or after you diagnosed his attitude as a result of his "repressed homoerotic tendencies"?"
"Oh definitely after," Rose laughs. "I swear, I had no clue a person's face could turn that particular shade of red! He made a point of avoiding me after that," she adds with a smile.
"I bet he did," you smirk. You've been at this café with Rose for over an hour, and so far, you've had a really nice time. You're sitting across from her in a booth tucked back into one corner of the café, and are currently discussing some of her more memorable high school diagnosis. The café itself is about medium in size. With the low lighting, which creates plenty of shadowy little areas much to your delight, music murmuring through the speakers, and cake that truly is worth mass homicide, you feel strangely at home.
Of course, the strangeness may stem from the fact that you've never had a real home. But hey, when you've got a second helping of triple chocolate cake, who cares? You've got better things to focus on.
You scoop another heaping forkful of cake into your mouth and sigh.
Much better.
"Speaking of certain tendencies," she says with a smirk of her own, "You and that cake seem to be getting along pretty well." Rose has gotten a slice of something strawberry flavored and coated with frosting, and she'd laughed at your amazement as you took in the sheer size of the cake selection when you first arrived. Every single thing looked good, and you've resigned yourself to eating here every chance you get. It will be a challenge to pull yourself away from the triple chocolate, but you think with a little determination you can probably try each cake by the end of the year. Twice.
"Ywou're jus jealous," you mutter around a mouthful of cake, your eyes closed. When you open them a moment later, you see her smirk turning into a softer smile.
"What?" You ask, your next forkful of cake freezing mid-way to your mouth.
"You uh," she says with a quiet laugh, "you've a bit of cake on your nose."
"Huh? Oh damn you're right," you say, looking for a napkin. Well that's embarrassing. Note to self: keep private moments with food to a minimum in public. You look up to make a joking apology about having been raised in a barn, when you see that Rose has already found a napkin.
"Don't worry, I'll get it," she says, leaning forward. She's barely made any contact when years of deeply ingrained instincts kick in. Your response is immediate as you violently push yourself away from her touch, and successfully ram your head into the back of the booth.
"Oww, shit!" You exclaim, rubbing the back of your head, relieved when it comes away without any blood. Your relief quickly fades to knot of anxiety though as you look up and see that the people at the surrounding tables are staring at you. Your gaze sweeps over to Rose and you feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter as you take in the look of mortification on her face.
Way to go, Serket.
"Vriska-," she begins to say before you cut her off.
"I'm sorry," you say, grabbing your bag from beside you. Your anxiety is quickly morphing into frustrated embarrassment, and you refuse to meet her gaze. You can feel the curious stares burning into your skin, and your only thought is to leave before you draw more stupid attention. Your first day and you've already managed to fuck things up. You shouldn't have come. You should've just stayed in your room like always and-
"Vriska, wait!" Rose says again, standing up and efficiently blocking your path to the door. Before you can say anything else, she turns to glare at anyone still gawking. You see several people turn away instantly at the force of her stare, and within seconds the café has gone back to its normal flow of conversation and murmuring music. You see someone behind the front counter throw a questioning glance your way, having just noticed the commotion in the far corner, but he too looks away after checking that nothing appears to be wrong.
"I'm the one who should be apologizing," she says, "I'm sorry. Please stay?" She asks, gesturing to the booth, and you realize that you're both still standing. Freshly embarrassed, you quickly sit down. You start to speak, but are cut off.
"I'm sorry," she says again. "We were laughing and joking together and I didn't even give it any consideration and I should have kept in mind that dumb as it is not everyone is comfortable with it, not to mention you've only just met me and I've made you so uncomfortable I really am sorry for that, and-" This time you cut her off, holding up a hand for her to stop.
"Wait. Back up," you say. "I'm missing something here. What are you talking about?" You ask, shaking your head, confused.
"I-uh I believed," she stammers, looking equally confused. "I thought you knew. Isn't that why…?" She trails off; making a gesture with her hands that could be interpreted as someone hitting their head against a booth. It could also be interpreted as a spasming shadow puppet minus the shadow, but you decide not to point that out.
It's takes you a minute to figure out her meaning, and even then it's so absurd you can't quite believe it. That's what she thinks this about? You bite back the ludicrous urge to laugh, because while this is ridiculous, it's also a relief. She doesn't know. "You think I flinched because you're gay?" You asked her bluntly. "That's absurd."
"It was a bit more than a flinch…" she says under her breathe before looking up at you again.
"Rose, I don't care if you're attracted to the flowers in that vase over there," you say, gesturing to the floral arrangement on the front counter. "Much less to girls. You just watched me groan over a slice of cake and laugh at your stories of diagnosing high school pricks as having homoerotic tendencies. Obviously, I'm not prudish," you say, watching as her expression loses some of its worry.
"No, I suppose you're not," she replies. You both sit there quietly for a few minutes before you sigh and decide to answer the question you know is on the tip of her tongue.
"I don't like to be touched," you explain. "By anyone. It's just the way I am. Handshakes and stuff are fine, as long as I'm expecting it. But anything else, just…no."
"Oh," she says. "I'm sorry then, for encroaching on your personal space," she adds, and the sincerity in her voice puts some of your own tension at ease.
"Don't worry about it," you tell her, your tone lightening. The faster you can move on from the awkwardness of this better. "You had no way of knowing."
"Thank you," she says, though you're not sure what for. You shrug and say,
"No problem. You did buy me cake after all," you smirk. "That's like a "get out of jail free" card right there."
"I thought you said it would get me a soul?" She asks, beginning to smile again.
"Not this time," you smile back. "You've used up all your cake-related favors for the evening."
"Drat," she says, looking vaguely disappointed. "And I didn't even get a chance to ask you about your affinity for the number 8."
"No much to tell," you shrug. "I just like it. It feels-" you stop mid-sentence. "Right," you substitute. "It just feels right. OCD maybe." Not your best save, but Rose seems to accept it readily enough. "Sorry there's not much of a story to it," you add.
"That's quite alright," she says, and you let yourself relax. "Though since you failed to provide an interesting story," she continues with a devious grin. "I think it's only fair that I get to ask you something else."
"Depends on what it is," you say, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.
"It's more of a promise really," she says, still grinning. "To atone for your lackluster story today; you, Vriska Serket, must meet me here at exactly this time each week for the foreseeable future, for cake and conversation. Preferably without denting the café's décor again."
"Wha-I didn't hit it that hard!" You exclaim. You turn to examine the wooden booth behind you. "Did I?" Rose just laughs, and a moment later you're doing the same. You shake hands on your agreement with mock seriousness, and as you both dissolve into another fit of laughter, you feel all your residual discomfort fade away. In the back of your mind you think, Maybe, just maybe, this whole friendship thing could work out for once after all. A girl can dream, can't she?
AN: My apologies for the long wait! Life has been...hectic to say the least. I've got a question for my readers though, any ideas for the name of this café? *Spoiler alert: Kanaya works there, and I'm considering having it belong to her family. Nothing is set in stone though, and it doesn't have to be Homestuck related, so all suggestions are welcome! As always, thanks for reading!