Carlton's hands trembled as he adjusted his tie for the third time, his reflection in the mirror of his small apartment doing little to reassure him. He glanced at his watch. Ten to seven. Good. He still had five minutes to spare before hitting the road. He had meticulously calculated the time needed to arrive on schedule: two minutes to get to his car, fourteen minutes to drive to Shawn's place, and one more minute to gather his courage before ringing the doorbell. Yes, he had planned everything down to the last second. So why was he so nervous? Forcing himself to unclench his fists, he took one final look in the mirror. He looked sharp. The navy blue suit he had chosen hung perfectly on his frame, yet it did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside him. Tonight was important. It was their first date, and he wanted everything to be perfect. Spencer deserved no less.
With a deep breath, Lassiter checked his watch again and, grabbing his keys, headed out the door. The cool evening air hit him like a slap as he stepped into the Santa Barbara night. He quickly got into his car and started the engine, there was no time to waste. The drive to Shawn's place was a blur of anxious thoughts and rehearsed lines, each one more absurd than the last. By the time he pulled up to the psychic's apartment, his palms were slick with sweat. He had hoped to use the minute he'd planned to calm his nerves, but Spencer had already appeared in the doorway, descending the steps toward him. Carlton swallowed hard. Well, there was no choice now. He'd have to improvise.
"Hey, Lassie! You look great" Shawn said with his trademark smile, the kind that could light up a room, or in this case, a dimly lit front porch, as he approached the car.
"Thanks, you look great too. Shall we?" Carlton asked, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched. Spencer grinned at him, amused, as the detective cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. God, he wanted to disappear.
"Yes, let's go" Shawn replied, walking to the passenger seat and getting in. Lassiter waited for him to buckle his seatbelt before glancing in the rearview mirror and starting to back out. Just then, Spencer slipped his hand into the detective's, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Their eyes met, and for a moment, he got lost in Shawn's hazel gaze. That simple gesture sent a jolt of warmth through him, momentarily calming his nerves.
Unfortunately, it wouldn't last.
Carlton splashed water on his face and stared at his reflection in the restaurant bathroom mirror. Where was the confident man who had left his apartment? And who was this awkward wreck staring back at him? This first date... it was a disaster. He had never imagined things could turn out so badly. He had thought that once he got over the initial awkwardness of asking Spencer out, everything would flow naturally. He had been wrong. Ironically, on paper, everything had been perfect. The restaurant he had chosen was one of the fanciest in Santa Barbara, known for its impeccable service and exquisite cuisine. He had even paid the maître to secure 'em a secluded table by the window, where the city lights sparkled like stars. Everything was set and uptight... perhaps too much so. The stiff formality of the place had made him feel out of his element, and he had noticed the psychic glancing around the room with visible discomfort. There, the weight of his own inadequacies had him starting to sweat from his forehead.
Things had gone downhill when the waiter had arrived to take their orders. Lassiter's heart had been in his throat, and his words had stumbled out awkwardly. He had ended up ordering something he hoped would sound impressive, without really knowing what it was. Shawn, on the other hand, had ordered with ease, even cracking a joke with the waiter despite his own discomfort. That was what Carlton admired about him: his ability to adapt and find humor in any situation, no matter how dire. It was a stark contrast to the detective's fumbling attempts at conversation. The meal had been punctuated by awkward silences and strained small talk. Work. Guns. Weather. How had he even ended up talking about the infamous soap-sculpting killer? No matter the topic, Spencer had always been ready to listen and engage, but still, he couldn't relax.
Lassiter's nervous energy had manifested in clumsy gestures: knocking over his water glass, dropping his fork and napkin, and nearly spilling an entire bottle of wine. Each mishap had felt like a personal failure and the psychic's attempts to laugh 'em off only had made him feel worse. Why did he suck so much? By the time dessert had arrived, both men were exhausted from the effort of trying to keep things normal, and their appetites were long gone. What hurt most was that Shawn had stopped talking. Carlton had never seen him stay quiet for more than two minutes, not even in tense situations. The detective couldn't really blame him. Spencer had tried several times to salvage the evening, but he had messed it up every time. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and his fists clenched with frustration. That evening had been a complete disaster, and he had no one to blame but himself.
When the bill had come, Lassiter insisted on paying, refusing to let the psychic contribute. Then, with a muttered excuse, he had escaped to the bathroom, where he now stood, replaying the evening's failures in his mind. Honestly, he wouldn't have been surprised if, when he returned, Shawn had bolted. He would have understood. Instead, after heading back into the dining room, Carlton found him waiting at the table, smiling warmly when he saw him approach. For a moment, he forgot about everything else, the pressure, the mistakes... but soon reality began to creep into his mind.
"Are you ready to go?" Lassiter asked, forcing himself to look calm as he walked to the table. He noticed that he had caught Spencer off guard, who probably wanted to stay a little longer.
"Sure, whenever you are" Shawn replied, standing and politely pushing in his chair. The detective couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.
"Good" Carlton said curtly.
The drive back to Spencer's apartment was quieter, the earlier nervous energy replaced by an uncomfortable silence. Lassiter drove faster than planned, arriving in nine minutes instead of twelve. The truth was, he just wanted the night to end as soon as possible. Not only for himself but for the psychic as well. He didn't want to prolong his torture any longer. When they pulled up to the curb, Shawn unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to the detective, his expression thoughtful.
"Thanks for tonight, Carlton. It wasn't what either of us expected, but... I still had a good time" Spencer said, his voice trying to be reassuring.
"I had a good time too. And... I'm really sorry about everything" Lassiter muttered, staring straight ahead, unable to face him. He couldn't, barely able to keep it together.
"Don't be. Just let me handle the planning next time, okay?" Shawn asked in amusement. The detective turned his head toward him at those words. Next time? Would there be a next time? Caught off guard, he opened his mouth to ask the psychic if he had lost his mind because, despite the terrible evening, he wanted to see him again. The words never came out, though. He was interrupted before he could speak as Spencer leaned forward and pressed his lips against his. Their first kiss... It was tentative, and hesitant, both men testing the waters before diving in. Carlton felt the tip of Spencer's tongue gently press against his lips, and he parted them, allowing the wet muscle to enter. For a moment, he melted into the kiss, the anxiety and embarrassment fading away, leaving only the warmth of connection. When they finally pulled apart, the psychic's smile lit up the air as he reached for the car door handle and opened it.
"G-good night, Shawn" Lassiter said, still stunned by what had just happened. Spencer got out of the car and waved goodbye from the window before walking toward his apartment.
As the psychic reached the entrance, he turned around one last time to nod at the detective before disappearing inside. Carlton watched him the entire time, sitting in his car, his legs feeling weak. Had it... had it really happened? They had kissed, he hadn't imagined it... had he? He pinched himself and smiled. Well, the evening hadn't gone as planned and that date was far from perfect, but right now, he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.