Chapter Text
"Ooooh, running late Sean?" I teasingly shout as I watch him stumble out of a taxi.
"Yeah, not everyone is allowed to be late like you, y'know, I hate being late!" he shouts back.
"I'm just special ," I imitate, flicking my hair back over my shoulder.
"No, your just a little shite," he says playfully. He grabs my free hand and swings it dramatically as we start to walk toward our destination.
Since visiting LA, Sean's Irish accent has somehow gotten stronger, but so has mine. My friends constantly mock my very obvious British accent. I even think it has gotten posher these last few days, and I accept the ridicule. I feel like a poser, pretending to be English to be special. But if I hear, 'Oh my Gawd, do you know the Queen?!?!' One more time, I'll blow my brains out.
I couldn't even really explain how I got into this friendship group. All the boys are youtube stars or streamers, and then me. I sit at home, crochet, cry, eat and sleep. I dabble in the art of PC gaming, and that's how I met everyone. We ended up gaming for countless hours, at first with pseudonyms. It then became undeniable on voice chat who my international friends were. I felt embarrassed at first. I've known and watched them for years, but I pretended to be a little oblivious cool girl who doesn't fangirl because that's cringe… But who am I kidding? I was screaming and rolling around on the inside. I wouldn't dare say that to them now, though. 3 years down the line, and here I am for dinner and games.
I watch Sean brush down his buttoned shirt and tuck in the pockets of his chino-style trousers. I consider my outfit for tonight - a nice top and leggings - I'm not really one for fancy attire, but being the curvy gal I am, leggings and a (fancy) top seems perfect to me. We both stand at the corner of the street, a couple of yards before Mark's house.
"Soooo, how comes you are late?" I jive.
"I could say the same to you?" He rebuttals.
"Well, I couldn't come empty-handed," I say, pulling out a bottle of blue WKD, Smirnoff ice, Sours, vodka, and 2 bottles of echo falls.
"I wanted to give the guys the true experience of sitting in a field at 13 and getting smashed with your mates." Sean grabs the blue bottle of WKD with a massive grin.
"God, I don't think I've had this since I was 13!!" he spins the bottle in his hands, reading the labels with nostalgia.
He puts the bottle back in my bag, then takes the bag and its clanging bottles out of my hands to carry for me. Little gestures such as that make me realise how much I love him (in a platonic way). He knows that holding heavy things causes me some pain, but he doesn't say anything. Doesn't make a big deal of it. He just does it. I smile in appreciation. I suddenly feel better for spending a small fortune getting the drinks imported. We start towards the house.
"Soooooooooooo?" I elbow Sean. He groans
"I was late because Mark asked me to pick something up," he stands still. "But I can't tell you, so don't ask, because it is super secret and only I was chosen to take part in such an important quest," he dramatically fains his hand to his head.
"Wow, I'm so jealous that I didn't have to run around doing Mark's errands," I say sarcastically, copying his dramatic pose.
We laugh and shove each other on the path. Out of everyone, I'm closest to Sean. Since we both live in the UK, we have met regularly throughout the year, going to conventions or just days out with his other friends. We also both have similar banter.
I start up the stairs of the porch first and press the doorbell. I can hear faint music and the voices of my friends getting closer to the door, as well as two furry friends scampering along the floor toward us. I step back in line with Sean and wide-eyed him. To signify a cautionary oh no, preparing for the chaos.
"...Hey, come on…move your butts… I'm trying to…." The front door swings open. "Hellooooo! Yeah, Chica has decided to greet everyone first…." Mark is cut off by Chica, a golden retriever bounding over to Sean and me.
I scratch behind her ears and use my 'ohmgoshwhatasweetbabywhoseacutie' language. She wags her tail almost violently, rolling on her side for tummy rubs.
Sean greets Mark with a hug, and the general welcome, come in conversation. I straighten up, brush off my knees, and greet Bob and Wade with a hug. They both wear smart dark colour shirts; damn, I should have asked what everyone was going to wear.
"Chica got you first?" laughs Wade as he notices me picking light fur off my clothes.
Bob chimes in, "I prepared for the fluffy angel; I've got a lint roller inside," he gestures behind him. They go back inside, calling Chica to accompany them.
Wade and Bob are Mark's closest friends. They get along like a house on fire, and with the gang back together, I can only imagine how tonight is going to go.
Henry, Mark's other dog, who is a little shy, is gently guided by Mark back into the house with words of encouragement. Sean follows behind, turning back to give me a goofy thumbs up. I take a moment to compose myself before entering.
I close the door behind me. Mark has a very big and fancy house but has managed to fill its vast walls with homely decor. Pictures of family, obviously Chica and Henry, and memorabilia of his youtube career. Mark has been single for some time now. With that, I expected his house to look a bit gloomy and monotonous, but his personality has shone through. I lock the door and notice the mantelpiece is adorned with candles of various scents. A smile creeps from my lips.
I take off my shoes, revealing fluffy black socks with little red hearts. I am really regretting my life choices right now. Screw it. What does smart casual even mean?
I turn into the hallway and am faced with Mark. He wears a light grey buttoned shirt with black trousers, his hair dark and fluffy with little wisps sticking out behind his ears. He stands by the bannister waiting for me to come through, blocking the way to the kitchen.
I think of rugby tackling him at the waist. What better way to greet a friend?! I look past Mark and see the others admiring the bottles Sean pulls out of my bag. None of them notices Mark and me at a standoff. We both think the same thing simultaneously and square up, ready for a pretend fight.
I flex my muscles and step toward Mark, pretending to throw a punch. He slow-motion ducks and makes weird sound effects that make me laugh out loud. We both laugh and hold onto the bannister. Mark copies me and places a hand on the rung below mine. I look at his shirt and the way it fits him perfectly.
"Wow, you look smart!" I exclaim, "If I'd known all four of you were going to dress in fancy shirts, I would've worn my best suit!" I giggle slightly, only half (deadly) serious.
He smiles and readjusts his cufflinks in false ego, pretending to be smug.
The candlelight from the hallway illuminates his dark brown eyes, making them look warmer and honey-like. I've never noticed the depth of his eyes; they look calm and comforting. Can you tell that from someone's eyes? I consciously try not to stare and look at his face instead.
I follow his eyes looking me up and down, and jokingly pose as he stares at my attire. His eyes zone in on my socks. I step on my foot, trying to cover the little hearts in fake embarrassment.
"Well, I think you look lovely, " He says lovely in a mock British accent, and I roll my eyes.
I hug him as I did the others, and he returns it. But instead of an overarm hug, he wraps one arm around my upper back and slides the other around my waist. His hand lightly plays with the material on my side. He pulls back, letting me go from his embrace but lets his hand on my waist slide back slowly. Instead of letting go, he holds me from my waist at arm's length and says in a slight whisper so no one but us can hear.
"It's nice to see you."
He lets go and walks to the kitchen.
Oh .
I stand in the hallway with a slight prickle of heat over my cheeks. I smooth my shirt at the sides, running over the spot Mark's hand was placed. The interaction probably lasted around 15 seconds, but something feels a little… I think the easiest way to explain what I feel is slight nervousness. He has never hugged me like that before. He's probably just being extra kind because he knows I get anxious at social events. Well, there's no lie there.
I look in the hallway mirror before going to the kitchen and stare at myself. I've worn a dark green chiffon blouse. It has long sleeves and a deep v-neck that has a little tie at the top. Its tassels dip into my cleavage, there is no escaping big boobs, but I think they go with the top (if you get me, you get me). The end of the blouse has frills that start from the waist and flow down, just over my butt. I usually feel self-conscious about how my body looks. I tend to show my cleavage (Not that there is a way to hide it) to distract away from my body, but the faint memory of Mark's hands on my body provokes an unknown feeling.
I feel a little hot, and the chiffon sticks to my skin. I air my shirt and join the conversation in the kitchen.