A FLICKER IN THE DARK.

It’s a bit too early for a fucking bonfire-themed party, they thought. Not when summer had barely left and the fall was only beginning to settle in the air, let alone seep through their bones, but rich people and logic tended to be elusive. In any case, they weren’t going to pass up a party—food, drink, and finite friendships. And what was the harm indulging for one night, really? It was neither logical nor polite to reject the courtesy, not when it was so freely given by—

God, what was the woman’s name again? Valentine had caught her eye waiting in line at the coffee shop, and she’d blurted out an invitation about a party in Oak Gardens that same night, that they could continue their conversation there. They remembered the curl of her lashes, the sunlit hair, and her address—but lost her name and face. How shameful. It started with a B… 

In any case, they’d yet to be kicked out of the party. The platter brimming with all sorts of cheeses and pretzels at the very end of the table had looked particularly tempting and was a perfect complement to the (fucking!) non-alcoholic cider. And so Valentine decided, in the interim, to scour through people’s faces and to munch on pretzels, the latter decision leaving crumbs on their sweater that were admittedly a bit unsightly. 

They did not know much time had passed until a familiar face had finally emerged. Catching his eyes, they began, “Grayson Heller!” they began, last name and all. They hadn’t been particularly close, but, by God, his face was a comfort among a sea of strangers. “If you’re looking for the pretzels, I think some menace had already picked the plate clean. Damn shame.” A shrug, almost playful. 

Mingling, chatting, snacking, wandering thoughts to his work... this was so routine he was walking through it all like some sort of robot. What he used to have a little fun with was the bored, middle aged housewives that would flirt a little too desperately with him was of no interest. Nothing ever happened from those encounters other then hopefully securing himself in their memory when a divorce would surely eventually come. Not that he practiced that kind of law but referrals often meant owed favors.

Not long after walking into a new room of the house he was full named and it put a crooked smile on his face as his blue eyes searched for the person responsible. "Valentine Finch," he returned when he'd noticed their eye contact and made his way to them. They were someone he'd have loved to chat with back when the embezzlement case was on-going, but he wouldn't bring that up now. Instead he listened to them go on about pretzels, distracted by the crumbs on their shirt the entire time. "That is a shame. I suppose I'll just have to eat the crumbs off your chest there..." With a chuckle he somewhat gestured to all the crumbs on Val's shirt.

With a shift in stance Grayson was soon saddling up next to Valentine to that he could still people watch while he chatted with them. "I'm pretty good with faces. Names. I've got a massive catalogue in my head so... yeah, test me."

It was most definitely not unusual for Juno to find comfort amongst the dead. It was entertaining even. Going from grave to grave, familiarizing themself with those below. Reading what their loved ones engraved on their stones, and researching all those with nothing in theirs. Like their own little murder mystery to uncover - as if they truly needed another one. Juno traced their fingers over a new grave today. The lettering was old and they could barely make out the date on the stone. 188- something was all they could read.  They brushed off some more dust and debris, but still the number was far too smooth to read. The effect of the weather and aging. “Think maybe I’ll find your information in the library records?” they asked the stone, before turning towards approaching footsteps. "I'll have to ask sweet Jasper about it, but worry not. They should be able to help." they finished saying. Juno hadn’t noticed anyone there before, but they'd been far too invested in their new friend Reeves. “Grayson?” Juno asked, having had memorized the way that he moved from their previous interactions.

Being here, however, with the slender brunette he often encountered among the gravestones Grayson was questioning his beliefs. He'd come across them at too many varying gravesites to accept that they were visiting loved ones gone, and even more so they'd be talking to the graves. Maybe apparitions were real? Grayson had grown up in Blue Harbor and he'd never seen this person outside of the cemetery and this was a small town. Their voice had carried across the quiet night and he found his way wandering toward them. "Yeah... it's me," he said slowly as he read the gravestone of where they were at tonight. Definitely not someone they could've known, unless... "Find a new friend, or is this an old one?"

The first thing Damian does when Gray opens the door for him is pull him into an embrace. He holds him close, tightly, arms around his neck, breathing him in like some pathetic little kid. He knows it’s stupid, and maybe a little bit too intense, but he can’t help himself — after seeing Phoebe’s state, for the most part, he’s happy he and Grayson have managed to find some common ground. That they’ve managed to talk things out. That they’re working on things, even if it gets a little prickly to do so at times. “Hi,” he mutters, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I missed you.” He pulls back slightly, so that he’s still in Gray’s embrace some. “I forgot to bring a weekend bag,” he admits, grinning. “I was too excited to get here. So I’m gonna need to borrow some clothes.”

THE OFFICE

where: some bar

Oliver walks over to the bar and plops his arms down on the surface. "I'll get a Jack and Coke." He mutters to the bartender, the last thing he wants to do tonight is think about anything happening around him. First Scarlett, then his first fight with Damian. Last thing he wants to think about is either of them. He brushes his tongue along his lower lip as he hears a voice next to him. No. Fucking. Way. He exhales, standing up straight as he turns to face the man himself, the one that apparently wants on fucking water and is so perfect. "Grayson," he mutters. "Fancy seein' you here."

Then they had another relatable moment and this all began to feel... serendipitous? "You're not alone in that," Gray had told her when he'd set his cup down. "Especially these days, more people struggle with their mental health... I keep myself busy. Heavy case load... works like a charm. What helps you, though?" It was interest more than curiosity because his head could often be a wild and dangerous place, so if he could pick up tips from someone else? Might as well. Her laugh made him grin even if he wasn't sure exactly what part had made her laugh so hard. But when she'd found it relatable on a poor relationship with a father he rolled his eyes and grabbed a slice of his pizza. "Too many fathers out there ruining their kids lives. How could you be fucked for that?" He laughed. "You heard my comment and I'm pretty sure I mean it, too." Did he love his old man? Grayson wasn't even entirely sure. He didn't wish death on him but he wouldn't necessarily mourn the loss either.

Hating wasting time thinking about his father more than he was already troubled to he was glad for the introductions and change of topic. Something light and fun. She'd gotten his reference easily and he laughed with a shake of his head. "That's not how the game works, Miss Scarlett... we take our games seriously around here," he joked. "I don't think they have nay games here but we could always go pick up a board. I didn't peg you for a rope gal," his finger tapped on his chin, "candlestick, dagger, even revolver feel more your speed..."

He says something about never having implied Damian’s not good enough for him, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell Grayson that that fact doesn’t really matter. The truth is what Damian’s brain makes it, after all, and if he’s convinced himself enough times that he’s not enough for Grayson, then that’s what it’ll believe. Still, he offers him a small smile of gratitude — it’s kind of him to try and say otherwise. Maybe eventually, Damian’ll find a way to believe him, too. 

I need you to stop giving me outs. Damian almost huffs, because it’s in his nature to give people outs. It’s easier that way — if you expect people to leave you, then it won’t hurt as much when they do, eventually, leave you. But Grayson doesn’t seem to imply that’s what’s happening here — instead, he tells Damian he’d rather be all in, and something in Damian’s heart swells in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. “Okay,” he replies eventually, the small smile on his face widening when Grayson mentions taking him on a date. His stomach swoops down to his feet at the thought — he doesn’t think he’d be functional on a date with Grayson. Mostly because looking at him already feels like staring directly into the sun — he can’t imagine he’d be any good at conversation in a purposely romantic setting. Still, though. 

“Well,” he licks his lips nervously. “My last serious relationship was with a woman, so,” he grins. “I think we’re both going into this a little blind.” He reaches for Grayson’s hand again, this time interlacing their fingers. It feels — stupidly chaste, considering everything they’ve gotten up to before, but also ridiculously intimate. He leans a little closer and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Grayson’s mouth, ignoring the pounding of his heart in his chest. “No sex until after the first date, got it,” he quips, pulling back just enough so that their noses are brushing. “Can we still cuddle tonight, though? Or will I be relegated to my own home this evening?” 

After he'd turned his head into the affection pressed to the corner of his mouth, Grayson made sure their lips connected. Then, in need to move and do something with the pent up energy and calm the tornado of thoughts in his head, he pushed himself up from the couch. His finger glided along the jaw of the man he found himself getting in deeper with, blue eyes fixed on Damian's. For a moment he simply took that in. Had this really been so many years in the making? It was actually a bit stunning to think back to all they'd been through to get to this point. "Oh, no ya don't," Grayson said to the possibility of Damian headed off to his own home for the night. "Get up... and put some damn clothes on, will ya?" At the tease he winked and then moved across the room, breaking contact, to grab his phone.

A few seconds later he was on the phone with La Galleria asking for not his usual table where he sometimes dined clients but for a more romantic location in the dining room. He'd made eye contact with Damian when he'd told the hostess on the phone, who knew him easily by name, that he would be on a date. They'd be there in thirty minutes or so and to have the best bottle of wine on the table, ready for a pour. Once off the phone he smirked at Damian and began straightening up his own clothes. "You didn't think I was gonna go past tonight, did you? I'm sure the cuddling will come at some point." Even if that thought made his skin tingle more than the thought of him now being in a commitment with someone.

She perused the menu, frowning at the amount of carbs on offer, peeking up at Grayson at his next suggestion. “God, what are we? In high school?” Madisyn placed the menu back down again. “I’m not the weird stalker here, I don’t know where she lives, but she's probably got a telescope set up pointing right at my bedroom.” Perhaps she was being a tad dramatic, but Grace was very unpredictable, and Madsiyn was simply considering every possibility. “Could I get like, Beyoncé level security for the farm? The llamas don’t deserve this harassment.”

With a sigh, Gray rolled his eyes a little and reached for his water, claiming before he sipped, "that was very clearly a joke." Maybe she was too tense to lighten the conversation or to toss in a little humor, but he always found it helped to break up tension. "When you spoke to her... what did she actually say? And yeah, you could, if you can pay Beyoncé level security prices. Has anyone even bothered the llamas? Pretty sure they'd just spit and toss their heads at it all."