˚ʚ♡ɞ˚: love seems to be found everywhere but with you. in order to survive your best friends' wedding, you somehow get tied up with dating your insufferable coworker. the plan is simple: look convincing enough to ward off your ex, finally make your mom proud, all while working together on a high-stakes project at the office. but can everything really go so smoothly when real feelings get thrown into the mix?
contents: veritas ratio x fem!reader, our favorite wedded couple goes to the mall, and its an awkward double date (at least for mc), veritas embodies mr darcy in this chapter word count: 21.7k (take breaks while reading pls !!) a/n: this is what i get from taking a small break from writing because now i cant remember how i used to format things LOL - longer note towards the bottom of the fic and thank you guys again for being so patient with me <3
[MASTERLIST]
[005] // [006]: CHECK YES JULIET
Your number one priority right now is secluding yourself to the confines of your bedroom until the day of the wedding, but you have two major commitments today—a brunch and mall date with the brides-to-be, which includes you picking out a dress for yourself, and the inevitable visit from Veritas Ratio. The first one is manageable, less stress and anxiety inducing given that it’s a welcomed distraction from the chaos from the night prior. The latter task makes you want to swallow a handful of glass followed by a shot of hard liquor to wash it all down.
Most of the adrenaline died the moment you stepped out of the shower this morning, then paired with a singular toast and Himeko’s special coffee, though your mind is still riding out the aftermath. It’s not like it can be helped. Although it’d be nice to blame everything on the alcohol—the outbursts, the tears, and the weird confession (if you could even call it that)—you’re way past the age where that’s considered socially acceptable.
But, then again, you don’t have to meet up with Veritas today because you’ve actually decided against responding to his messages and had left the house earlier than usual to avoid a certain sedan pulling up on the driveway.
Was it a dumb decision to prolong the return of your wallet because you might lose some face if Veritas happens to bring up anything that transpired last night? Yes, of course. But it’s fine. Your wallet can wait until the following weekday and everything’s been digitized—does anyone really need a wallet nowadays?
Better yet, maybe it’s a good thing if he kept it or tossed it out entirely. You don’t have that much physical currency in there, and you can always cancel and rely on digital cards rather than physical ones. It’s less items to check for while in a rush to leave a place, and less of a means to meet up and have an awkward conversation.
Ah, but then the real issue lies with how do you avoid him at work without jeopardizing your own career?
“Hello? You got something on your mind?”
“What?” Your knee slams against the table and it requires all of your remaining willpower (which isn’t a whole lot) to not audibly scream. Steadily, you blow out the numbing ache it leaves behind. “No. No, I don’t.”
Seele looks unimpressed. Without warning, she leans forward with her hands splayed on the table. The plates of food rattle from the sudden distribution. “Really now? Then what was I just saying?”
“Something… something about the registry?”
To Seele’s side, Bronya exhales through her nostrils, eyes closed. A subtle shake from her head.
Seele’s face scrunches up further, but eventually settles back into the booth with a flop. “You couldn’t pretend to come up with a better lie?”
You flinch as heaviness pools in your stomach. But you suppose you deserved that.
Considering that the wedding is merely a week away, both of them can’t afford to waste any time. To add onto today’s growing list of bridal chores, you’re also in a desperate need of a suitable gown. So, for today’s sake, you really need to get your shit together.
“I’m sorry—it’s just—” you groan, hand weaving through your hair in frustration. You swallow, straightening yourself in the booth, poking at the layered cake with a fork. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t turn this day into an unwarranted vent session.”
“Wait, no, you’re not doing this.” Seele pulls the plate to her side before you get a chance to topple it over. “Stop trying to throw your feelings down the gutter all the time. You know you can tell us how you’re feeling, right? I’m not going to comfortably sit here talking about wedding plans and how everything is going to be perfect while my best friend is looking like she hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in like… well forever, actually.”
You wince, shoulders slouching and shrink back, back flushed against the velvet booth. Your hand darts across your cheeks in a hastily attempt to feel for any new spots of blemishes or unusual patches across your face. Sure enough, you feel a pimple or two forming from either work related stress or Veritas related issues.
“I mean, sure, yeah I haven’t been all myself but it’s really nothing that I can’t handle,” you say quietly, fighting the urge to cringe at your own answer. “We should absolutely be focusing on the wedding, by the way. Enough about me.”
Seele obviously doesn’t appear convinced. She huffs through her nostrils. “Okay, so am I going to have to force the information out of you or should I resort to Plan B?”
Plan B, in Seele speak, usually includes an outburst, namely shouting out that it’s the person’s birthday or announcing a fake pregnancy, until the other party member feels pressured to give in. A common go-to method for whenever she feels doubtful in an answer—which isn’t frequent but has a success rate of 90%. Sampo is the anomaly, since he was the one who originally taught Seele that tactic. She’s never done it to you, yet, and you’re not especially enthusiastic about the thought of a public scene in a cafe that’s only located a few blocks away from your home.
The cakes here are good, it would be a shame if the three of you get kicked out and receive a lifetime ban. Or, an even worse food for thought, be blasted on their social media platform in case a stranger decides to record the whole situation and it somehow ends up trending for the next eternity. If that’s the case, then you’d have to private all of your social media accounts and have to permanently carry a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap at all times to avoid potential public backlash.
And, well, so much for the Genius Society application because who would even want to hire a cancelled figure? So the clear answer is no, you don’t want Seele to resort to Plan B. But the more you think about coming clean about your actual thoughts, the urge to throw up comes creeping closer and closer.
You cross your legs to fight the anxious tremors as you try and collectively gather your thoughts. When that doesn’t work, you uncross them. This cycle repeats for the next ten seconds before you settle fidgeting with a stray thread in between the cushions.
“I…” The half-assed response falls flat on your tongue the more skeptical Seele grows.
It’s evident that she’s not willing to let this conversation go until it’s been reprimanded. But how do you exactly word that you might be developing a crush on your fake boyfriend and it’s causing you to spiral? That interacting with him almost everyday, getting a glimpse into his personal life that he rarely shows to anyone, is starting to give you a little rush of satisfaction.
But then there’s a little voice that lingers behind a shroud of fog.
A voice that waits to seep through the cracks whenever you happen to think everything is going smoothly. Sampo’s earlier concerns echo through its crevices, amplifying the vivid memory of what had happened prior that caused you to nearly crumble during your last academic year. You’re not even sure if Veritas remembers it himself—perhaps it’s a forgettable memory, like a pebble amidst boulders of achievements and milestones in his lifetime. You weren’t the only student that he’d almost failed, and currently your life appears to be going well despite it all.
So what exactly are you trying to grasp here? A promise of a good career? The opportunity to impress your colleagues and friends, and whoever ends up stumbling across your future work? The selfish want of Veritas in your life, even as a friend, after all of this?
That in itself brings a wave of shame and humiliation; a reminder and insecurity that no matter what happens, you won’t be chosen. Whether if that’s for the Genius Society or… the laughable thought of Veritas actually liking you back.
“Oh, you’re doing it again,” Bronya points out with a frown.
You groan, squeezing your eyes shut before taking a long sip of the mocktail in front of you. The cold, sweet rush of fizz seems to soothe against your own jitters, only momentarily. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop with the brooding expressions and negative energy. Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”
“Don’t.” Seele practically growls at you, her expression twists in a form of offense. “You can start with using actual words to express yourself.”
“I’ve been using words to express myself,” you retort, defensively.
“Hardly.” Seele sulks, pushing the cake platter back over to your side with a little more added force than needed. “We’ve been here for the last ten minutes explaining next week’s schedule and all you’ve said was ‘yeah, that works’ or ‘nice’. Not exactly engaging, if you ask me.”
Heat rises to your ears and suddenly you feel like you’re back in that bedroom suite from the prior night; mind buzzed and emotions sprawled out thin on a tightrope while you’re desperately trying to grasp to say the right words. But none of that matters if everything just comes out wrong.
You chew the insides of your cheeks, trying hard not to wince. “I’m sorry.”
Bronya shifts against Seele, her hand brushing low near Seele’s thigh beneath the table, possibly giving her a pinch in retaliation. Seele’s posture straightens just slightly, her tensed expression uncoils around itself.
“You shouldn’t have to force it out of her if she’s not comfortable with it.” Bronya casts you an apologetic gaze. “I’m sure you’ll tell us whenever you’re ready.”
While you appreciate the sentiment, you’re not entirely sure if you can ever come clean about your situation.
Nevermind if you did, you don’t think you’ll ever recover from the embarrassment that’ll come along with it. Even now it’s a miracle that no one, other than Sampo, has voiced their doubt. Though in this case, your friends have been far too preoccupied in their own endeavors to fret over another person’s relationship.
With the days counting down to the wedding and the eventual project summit, your emotions are at an all time high. There’s only so much pity to go around before you eventually snap. You had expected that last night’s girl talk should’ve suffice the lingering weariness, but it turns out that only solidified the unwanted thoughts.
One, your friends are going to move away—physically and socially to focus on their goals. Two, you’re probably never going to comfortably afford a house on your own, the housing crisis is a mess in itself. Three, you possibly want Veritas Ratio in more ways than just a research partner. And four, there’s a high probability that you’re going to die alone and it’s time to be content with that reality. Though, bursting all of that in a span of a single breath might just be too much for both of them to take in—so you’re going to have to stick with the obvious thought at hand.
“Take as much time as you need,” Bronya continues, “we’re planning a whole day trip out of this so don't feel like you have to hold yourself back.”
Except, you also can’t take as much time as you need. Bronya is well intended as always, but even anyone else can tell that they’re both in a time crunch to get things as organized as possible. You, being their calm, collective, maid of honor should try and get this off your chest before it gnaws away at your sanity. No more forcing your friends to become your impromptu therapists after this.
“I had a dream and Veritas was there,” you begin slowly, gauging their reactions as you add on, “it was set in my old university lecture hall and we were about to… kiss?” Your hands awkwardly conjoin together at the fingertips, childishly mimicking a kiss.
Confusion resurfaces on Seele’s face as she tilts her head, “And this is bothering you because…?”
“Because…” your fight to maintain control over your tone and breath goes out the window. “Because we didn’t talk about what happened after all this time and if I were to bring it up then we might ruin what we have.”
Bronya takes in a measured breath the same time you feel like your heart might burst from that spoken revelation. “And you guys have been dating for how long exactly?”
Fake dating for about two months, though according to your longwinded backstory, right now would be eight. You can’t even imagine if this was eight months real time—you’d probably explode from the pent up tension. Though, if you’re being completely honest, you’re surprised that Veritas even agreed to play along for this long. Two months of pretending to be in a relationship and he’s already gotten an exposure of your personal life so fast.
“Eight months,” you answer.
Bronya places a finger to her chin, grey eyes narrowing. “Why do you think that topic hasn’t been touched yet? Do you think he might be waiting for you to bring it up?”
“I don’t know… Either it’s too late to bring it up, or maybe he’s forgotten about it? Maybe he’ll think I’m being too dramatic over something that’s already happened in the past? And maybe we’ll both stop liking each other? That things will go back to being unpleasant and tense?” Your voice embarrassingly cracks towards the end.
Seele and Bronya exchange a silent glance before sighing.
“Let’s try and look in another light,” Bronya reaches across the table, clasping your sweat-ridden palms against her cold ones. “Instead of focusing on the worst possible outcome, what do you want to happen out of having this conversation?”
You slowly blink, struggling to even imagine such a scene. “To… to have some sort of clarity?”
“Right, that’s good,” Bronya nods, squeezing your hands in encouragement. Then, her voice goes soft, “How does it start? Who initiates and how would you like it to end?”
“I… I want it so that he apologizes,” you’re squeezing her hands back. “To take accountability and… I don’t want him to look at me any differently? I mean, it really, really sucks that it happened and, trust me, I want him to be groveling at my feet if that could even be humanely possible but…”
Bronya tightly grips your hands. “Sidetracking.”
“Sorry, sorry,” you shakily exhale and reset. “Veritas would apologize and, best case scenario, we’ll still continue to see each other?”
“Alright,” Seele says. “Personally I don’t see anything impossible with that. From what sources tell me, Veritas seems pretty well-rounded compared to what he was prior. Less agitated and more, I dunno, mellowed out or whatever people say. Would he even think of you or the relationship any differently?”
“It’s hard to say,” you chew the insides of your cheeks, recollecting Veritas’ most recent list of complaints. “Sometimes he’s vocal about the other researchers on his floor and nitpicks at how messy they leave their work areas. Or the fact that he packs his own food because the meals that they serve at work have too much salt content. And then there’s—”
“Pause, pause,” Seele cuts in. “We didn’t ask for his whole pet peeve list but, on the bright side, at least we know that he hates other people and can cook. Isn’t that what people want in a partner? Loyal devotion and a personal chef?”
“Has he ever complained about you?” Bronya asks.
“He… He made fun of how I like my coffee?” Your hands flail around nervously to make a point—if it’s even a good one. “Which totally implies that he looks down on me and thinks he can do better…?”
A lone cough quietly comes from a neighboring table. Seele gives you a flat expression while Bronya can only sigh—you’ve lost count at how many disappointing stares you’ve received since arrival. At this point, maybe you should’ve wallowed in pity under the sheets.
“Listen.” Seele presses a finger against her temple, seemingly out of frustration. Her violet eyes lock with yours. It’s the most serious you’ve ever seen her. “Clearly you have some sort of weird perception of whatever is going on between you two. This—” Seele motions to you, “self-deprication thing—has gotten a bit out of hand. You’re reading way too inbetween the lines and it’s eating you up from the inside. The next time you see each other, I would just sit down and have a conversation with him.”
“But—”
“One on one,” Seele continues, voice firm and full of vice, as if she’s lecturing a child. “It’s not like we’re all in high school, or even college. Have a talk, and if he happens to treat you any differently, then it just wasn’t meant to be.”
You fall silent. Without protest, you weakly nod.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Y’know, I was trying to be a good friend and all but I have to come clean about something I’ve overheard,” Seele pinches her brows together and your stomach begins twisting over itself.
They couldn’t possibly figure out about your plan, right?
You force out a laugh, hand playing in your hair out of sheer anxiety while the other pokes at the pastry in front of you. “Pfft, w-what did you hear this time?”
“Credibility is at an all time low, considering that I’ve heard it from Luka of all people, but why am I hearing that you and Sampo are now on good terms?” Seele genuinely asks. “Did I miss an important chapter in your life? How much has happened since the last time we’ve spoken?”
A lot, you want to say.
For all things considered, there was plenty of development within the past month since your last meet up; going over to Veritas’s place for the first time while taking care of him, meeting his friends, and reconciling with your ex over a dozen orders of lavish cocktails. Strange events aside, you’re surprised that Sampo had the coherency to regurgitate whatever messy conversation that transpired last night, never mind the fact of wanting the need to also clear the air—starting with Luka, of course.
Choking on a piece of cake, you wheeze out, “Did he actually go around and say that?”
“Ah, so you two did talk,” confirms Bronya.
Seele’s eyes go wide, brows shooting up, and color suddenly drains from her face. Surging forward, her body practically sprawled across the table, she cups her hands around her mouth, whispering, “You’re not getting back together with him, are you? Is that another reason why you’re feeling iffy about Veritas?”
Your expression mirrors hers, the sweetest from the cake suddenly turns bitter. “I—What?! No, no, that’s not happening,” you furiously deny, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t hug him even if he was the last person on the planet!”
A slight exaggeration, but your friends need to know where you stand. Getting back with an ex never ends well, even if all those romance novels phrase it differently. You’ve already established while he is well-intended, that doesn’t automatically mean you’ll work things out again.
“Okay,” Seele eyes you skeptically, now easing back down to her seat. “So… what’s it about then? You guys are just magically best friends now? No more weird animosity from you?”
“From me?” You echo in disbelief. “Shouldn’t it be the other way—”
“I will reiterate that I love you from the bottom of my heart,” Seele cuts in, her pointer finger slicing through the air, “but you have to admit that the beef was more or less one-sided. I mean, really, I had to organize separate birthday outings because you two couldn’t be in the same room for the past… how many years?”
“Four,” Bronya chimes in as she sips her tea.
“Four,” Seele emphasizes, now representing the number with her hand. “And, for the record, Luka did mention that you apologized to Sampo.”
Technically, yes, you did apologize to him—if you count the apology to be filled with every word aside from ‘I’m sorry’, but you have a feeling that Sampo probably understood. Though that was after a few glasses of whatever strong substance Aventurine had recommended that clouded every motor function in your body for that night. Which then led to other things and… well that just brings everything back to a whole circle.
Sampo’s cheeky grin somehow manifests onto the remaining pieces of the cake as you jab the fork into it. You puff out your cheeks, “I hope Luka also mentioned that it was a mutual apologetic conversation.”
“That’s what he led with,” Seele says, though the look of doubt still sits on her face. “Where’s your headspace now? Cordial with your ex and figuring out your past with your current partner?”
“Yeah, something like that,” your head starts spinning from all the emotional unpacking, it’s simply way too early in the morning to be dissecting something like this that would normally come up three therapy sessions in. Or another factor indicates that you’re still very much hungover from last night’s adventures.
Regardless of the situation, your friends are right about one thing, that you really, really need to have a talk with Veritas; get all of your messy, shitty feelings sorted out before you accidentally blurt out your impulsive thoughts and feelings with zero consideration.
“Alright,” you gently push Sampo’s defaced cake plate away. Straightening your back, you give Seele and Bronya a look of affirmation, practically feeling determination flaring out your nostrils and chest. “Next time I see him, I’ll have a talk with Veritas.”
Bronya clasps her hands together, eyes sparkling. “Whatever the outcome is, we’ll be there to support you.”
“Unless he makes you cry,” Seele adds, a fierce gaze casts over her face. “Then I would initiate a backup plan and get with one of his friends as payback.”
Afterimages of Alhaitham and Kaveh float towards the forefront of your mind, bringing another wave of… shame? Embarrassment? Mortification? You don’t know the exact word you’re searching for, but whatever the case may be, you’re not sure if you’d ever do that to Veritas—even if he does reject you.
Realistically speaking, Alhaitham would be out of the question given that they’re nearly the same person, though just a tad more cryptic and you have a feeling he likes to tease, which you don’t know if you have the patience for. Kaveh, on the other hand, might be more easy-going and emotionally present—a better choice for yourself, maybe. But this is just hypothetical, you’ve only had one meeting and this scenario that Seele proposed is simply ridiculous and out of pocket, even if it is a joke.
If you’re honestly comparing all the options, none of them would even come close to Veritas. You wouldn’t know if Alhaitham, Kaveh, or Aventurine would’ve agreed to save your dignity and pride by agreeing to a stupid fake dating assignment. Driving and picking you up at the early hours of dawn to grab coffee and debrief in the car about your plans. Showing up and staying behind to help you clean up a whirlwind of a mess from the bridal party. Taking care of you so intimately after getting wasted at a work function.
And, now, offering to drop off your wallet on a non-work day—can you believe it?
It’s not like you have low standards for his friends, it’s moreso that you can’t even imagine the possibility of those events happening with anyone else. And that’s the scariest part of it all.
You sharply inhale, desperately changing the subject. “How did that conversation even come up?”
“With Luka?” Seele grins. “First, it was a buttdial from him, probably just getting off the phone with Sampo, then he slipped up and mentioned it off handedly the moment I had asked about his day.”
“Of course he did,” you say, flatly.
No surprise there, he’s always had a tendency to spill out details whether it was on purpose or not. You remembered briefly a time back in undergrad where Luka had accidentally spoiled an important plot point for a film that you bought tickets for later that week. Now mulling over it, you wonder if Sampo chose to confide in Luka on purpose.
“Doesn’t take a lot to get him to spill,” Seele reaffirms and spins her wrists around. “Then the topic dipped back to university and we started going down memory lane from there on out. Which brings me to my next question,” Swinging back her drink, which barely contains any alcohol, she casts you a wryly squint. “Have you guys done it yet?”
Your blood simmers.
“What the hell,” you cough, furiously ignoring the blood rushing to your cheeks. “How does that even correlate to the conversation?”
“Because,” Seele frowns at you as if you had just asked when her birthday was. “Luka brought up the fact that you’d always complained about being sexiled out of the dorms—”
“I was!”
“—and I thought maybe getting some action might help with figuring out your feelings.”
During the last leg of your senior year, you were unfortunate enough to suffer through a long series of sexiled nights. Having to be broken up, both in an academic and romantic sense, you couldn’t bring yourself to see other people to ebb the pain away, despite all of your friends suggesting so. Thus you spent the majority of your nights slaving away holed in your shared dorm with Seele, but given that she was—and still very much is—in a loving relationship, you were kicked out during their longwinded date nights.
Ever since Sampo, your romantic life has been on its breaks. Well, until now. But the very idea of sleeping and having sex with Veritas forces all the air out of your lungs. If your brain can barely function when he’s touching your waist, who knows what your body will do if he kisses you.
“Explode, probably,” you unexpectedly say outloud.
“What was that?”
“Ignore that. Um, we haven’t actually done anything,” you tell them up front, painfully disregarding the churn in your stomach.
“So what I’m hearing is,” Seele takes a big bite out of her cake before jabbing the fork in your direction. “Your feelings, that dream—it’s all sexual tension just waiting to burst out. Like pop!”
“We’re in public,” you whisper-shout.
“Yeah, but you can’t deny that it doesn't make total sense of what’s happening, right?”
“Total sense of what exactly?”
“That you want to sleep with him,” Bronya answers curtly and politely as possible.
You falter. “Did you forget that I have to talk to the man first?”
“Right, yes, ‘talking’,” quotations float around the word as Seele wiggles her brows. “As in extra steps to the eventual action of ‘advanced cuddling’.” Insert another set of unnecessary quotations.
Your hands fly to your face. “Shut up! Why are you saying it like that?”
“Forgive me,” Seele says, without sounding remotely apologetic. “I’ve never really been with a man, but I’m sure Serval could give you some tips here and there if you really need them.”
The idea of crawling to your aunt-like figure for last-minute sex advice sounds rather univiniting, no matter how it’s phrased. You force your voice to sound calmer than whatever you’re currently feeling. “Again, I appreciate the enthusiasm that you guys have over my apparent lack of sex life, but I think we’re missing the bigger picture here and—”
“Just a second,” Bronya cuts in. Her eyes sharpen.
You pause, bracing yourself for another onslaught of teasing. “What?”
She points at the space behind you, brows knitting so close that they’re a nanometer away from colliding into each other. “Isn’t that your boyfriend?”
Your expression remains unchanged, but the shift is there. Your mouth goes dry. Your heart skips several beats. Internally, you tell yourself to not snap your head around but ultimately your body betrays you—like how it has been doing as of recent.
At first you think you’re imagining it.
The sound of rich, baritone vocals. The familiar scent of warm pine and leather. The soft, dark curls that drape his face so perfectly. The concern creased in his brows illuminated by the bright ceiling lights.
At the front entrance of the cafe stands the man in your dreams. Layered in a wool coat, button-up, and pleated slacks, Veritas makes his way directly to the hostess, his mouth moving in a way that you’re unfamiliar with. Warm, sweet, with a hint of a smile—similar to a fresh tub of honey. His hands are stuffed deep into his coat pockets, his cheeks dusted in a hint of red from the bitter breeze. The scene terribly reminds you of something straight out of a high-budget romance film.
The hostess murmurs something back to him. Veritas takes a moment to scan the room and it only takes a second before he manages to lock eyes with you. From last night to today, he seems to have a knack of finding you when you want to crawl so desperately into a ditch.
Veritas saunters across the cafe, his face carrying an uncanny smile that only seems to be reserved for mothers and the elderly. You can feel the air physically thicken as he inches closer, the anxiety ridden sweat already rising to your palms. Seele and Bronya’s voices disconnect from your ears and fade into the background, along with the rest of your appetite for the entire weekend.
“V-Veritas?!” You nearly shriek. When you realize that you’re in the presence of not only your friends, but other customers, you shift your tone. “Did you come to surprise me or something? I thought I told you before that I didn’t like surprises!”
It doesn’t take long for him to play along. Though, you’d prefer Veritas to walk out entirely, if given the option. And yes, he certainly does have that option and is clearly not taking it.
Veritas, almost uncharacteristically, waves to the women across the booth as he stands at the end of the table and pulls out, unsurprisingly, your wallet.
“Last time I checked, yes, I’m aware that you’re not the biggest fan when it comes to surprises. But, if you must know,” Veritas leans down to your eye level and slides the wallet over. “My dear, it occurred to me that you had accidentally left some personal belongings at my place last night.”
Bronya cups her mouth, face tinted pink. “At his place?”
Seele nearly spits out her drink. “Last night?!”
You nearly combust out of sheer embarrassment, struggling to grasp for words. “Y-You…”
“I believe what you’re trying to say is ‘thank you’,” Veritas incorrectly corrects.
Biting your tongue, you snatch the wallet back, tucking it close to your chest as if he would magically seize it once more and reappear at another personal function. The hastiness of your actions earns you a questionable look, though Veritas masks his confusion with that eerie, charming smile. He takes in the platters and drinks on the table, seemingly trying to ignore your friends’ awed expressions and Seele’s gaping mouth. You’re grateful that your friends are distracted by his appearance, otherwise you wouldn’t know how to explain the face of pure panic that’s overtaking your body right now.
“Enjoying yourselves to some brunch, I see,” Veritas gently smiles to the flustered women across the booth. Your eyes must be playing some trick on you, because you could’ve sworn that a light of halo came shining through behind him. “Shall I leave you three to it?”
You haven’t even had the chance to release the words ‘yes, please’ before Seele’s sudden interruption.
“Wait, you should stick around a while longer!”
Your pleading eyes snap to Seele who now ignores your entire existence.
“Remember us from the bridal shower? Thanks again for the gifts, really! I don’t even think we properly introduced ourselves after everything.” Filled with a mysterious force of excitement, Seele pointedly directs at the space next to you and slides over a glossy cafe menu, her finger estatically tapping against the daily special. “You should join us if you’re not doing anything today! It’ll be like a double date!”
Coughing sporadicaly, you raise your voice. “H-He’s a very busy man.”
But Seele goes on like you haven’t spoken. Her fresh set of trimmed nails continue to dance across the laminated page. “The pancakes here are my absolute favorite! I’d recommend the blueberry flavor if that’s your thing.”
“Seele,” you say, louder, trying to keep your cool but failing ultimately because—
“It’s my preferred flavor of choice,” and Veritas starts fucking sliding into the booth next to you, also somehow disregarding your existence. While your body is currently flaring off its fight or flight mode, your only option is to scoot all the way against the window panel. The space between Veritas and you somehow feels both infinite and microscopic than ever. “My only concern for today was dropping off her belongings, but I’d love to join for a quick meal, if that’s being offered.”
“We don’t mind one bit,” Bronya smiles like a damn traitor.
Is this their sick way of forcing you two to talk it out? By playing this out like a forced double date?
It’d be unfair to start mentally searing your friends’ names into a future burn book over this. For all things considered, they’re just doing their jobs as wing women for a relationship that appears to have the sex drive of the last widowed pairing in a senior care center. In fact, maybe after today’s event, you should probably check yourself into one as the rest of your body begins to flare up.
When Seele takes initiative to go over the rest of the menu with him, you can’t help but to notice that the room starts to spin. The sweater collar is now starting to irritate your neck. The overhead lighting and glare from the sun is blinding. And the volume from the neighboring tables is exponentially louder than before.
“...that be alright? If he’s here?”
When you glance up, everyone is staring at you, their expressions vary from confusion, concern, and expectant. Well, mostly confusion. It’s Veritas who appears the most concerned—though you’re uncertain if that’s genuine or from the acting he’s currently putting out.
A half-formed protest bubbles against your throat, but you swallow it down, unsure how to phrase it without inviting suspicion. If Veritas doesn’t have an issue with staying, since he practically invited himself over (minus the personal item drop-off), then that must mean it’s not a big deal, right?
Your hands flex underneath the table, shaking out the reminding bits of your wired-up tension, before bringing them to the menu, stopping only a few millimeters away from his own. “The breakfast sandwiches here are one of my favorites.”
Once Seele placed an additional order of the cafe’s lunch special, with a side of seared salmon, and another round of seasonal macaroons, it becomes apparent that Veritas isn’t leaving anytime soon. By the time the meal was dropped off, not even a spoonful in, words began flying out.
It’s as if the couple has waited for this exact moment to come, with both women rapidly firing an arsenal of loaded questions without waiting for the respondent’s full answer. And to be fair, you haven’t had the chance to actually sit down and talk about your make-believe relationship to them, so you understand where this pent up excitement is coming from—despite you’re enduring the pain on the other end of it.
“Where do you live?”
“Right off of 13th street sta—”
“Are you close with your family? Have any relatives in the city?”
“We would occasionally have an annual meet-up by—”
“What kind of dates do you guys like to go on?”
“Anything private and close to our residences would be preferable—”
“Do you think cereal is considered to be a soup?”
“It isn’t.”
You half expected Veritas to be at least a little annoyed, but when you glance over, you’d argue that he looks strangely amused.
Seele’s eyes twinkle. “And how would you rate the bedroom setting?”
Bronya disapprovingly pinches her arm, pink dusting her cheeks once more. “Maybe you can save that question for another time.”
“It’s fine.” Something behind Veritas’ gaze shifts that makes you want to gnaw at your tongue. “We haven’t explored each other in that manner, as of now, but it’s a common ground we’d like to reach. I’m sure it’d be satisfactory for the both of us when the time comes.”
“A respectful response,” Bronya somehow fucking approves.
“Ah.” Seele appears to be way too invested to be grinning over an answer that that. “I’m sure she’d be looking forward to it.”
If this place wasn’t packed with families and your loved ones, you’d pray to whatever Aeon that’s in charge of causing a giant sinkhole to form under you. Is it Nanook? You should’ve paid a little bit more attention in your philosophy classes when you had the chance.
“Okay, okay, last question.” Seele pinches her lips together, and you have to fight back the urge to leap across the table to muffle whatever abomination that’ll leave her mouth. “How much do you like her?”
“Now you’re beginning to sound a lot like my parents.” Your cheeks burn.
“Starting today, we basically are,” Seele playfully retorts.
You feel like you’re getting heartburn from this conversation. If there was any slim chance of Veritas even wanting to test the waters with you, it’s out the window at this point.
“I like her a considerable amount,” Veritas answers, almost quietly, and this time you can’t stop yourself from sneaking a glance at his face. Though he’s still keeping his mask of subtle warmth and charm, it’s the way that he says the next part that makes it sound like a hidden confession. “I’ve always thought of her as a brilliant person.”
Bronya and Seele both emit a very loud ‘aww’ for the rest of the world to hear. Bronya then adds something disgustingly sweet about her own relationship into the conversation, but you barely register her words from all the blood pumping straight to your face.
Luckily, after the tenth round of interrogation, Seele excuses herself to the restroom while Bronya heads over to the counter to handle the payments. Then it’s just you and Veritas left in the embarassing aftermath, surrounded by untouched mimosas and half-eaten breakfast sandwiches and pancakes. You’re still digging around for the answer of why he’s still here—but the only reasonable explanation is to relish in your obvious suffering.
And, yes, you are absolutely suffering.
Slowly, you turn to him, straining the words out, “What. Are. You. Doing.”
Veritas doesn’t grace you with a response right away. Instead, he takes out his phone and begins typing mechanically against his keyboard. His charming facade from a moment ago disappears as quickly as it had come. After sending a message, or important email, or whatever—he turns his attention back to you.
“Returning your wallet,” Veritas answers, as if you had just asked him what color the sky was. “You weren’t home when I dropped by and had stopped returning my messages.”
“You could’ve just handed it off to my roommates,” you say and, despite yourself, an unwanted rush of warmth fills your chest. You quickly shake the feeling off before it develops into something more regrettable. “And really? Your place? Was that necessary?”
“Your roommates said you were going to be here and insisted that I dropped it off myself. It would also seem rather crude for me to say it was left behind at an unbooked hotel room during a company holiday function, no?” Veritas explains calmly as he takes a bite out of his meal before tilting his head. “Should I add on the fact you were on the verge of throwing up as well?”
“Ugh.” You sharply turn from him, the memories of resting against his shoulders sear against your skull as you glare out the window. “Don’t be so logical now. You know what you’re doing.”
“And just what are you referring to? Last time I checked, we’re in a romantic partnership; visiting each other and sleeping over is considered the norm. Unless the details have changed, I’ll continue to frame that narrative.”
“Well, you’re not obligated to stay for the rest of…” You turn to face him, motioning your hands awkwardly at the expanse of the booth and towards your friends at the register. “This.”
Veritas huffs at your side, though it’s more out of mirth. “You’re saying this after a paid meal and entertainment? It’d be against my manners if I take my leave now.”
“If listening to my friends expose the most embarrassing moments of my life is, by your definition, entertainment, then I might have to second guess everything.” You groan into your palms, trying to regain a shred of composure. “Honestly, did you have to go into detail with… with…” Your face flames at the imagery from earlier and press your lips shut.
“Oh? Is the thought of being intimate with me that repulsive?” Veritas meets your eyes and leans back into the booth, raising his brows.
It takes only a split second for you to register what he meant and you can feel the heat rushing down your neck. Air wraps tightly around your throat. “W-What?”
Embarrassingly enough, you can see the scenes being played out straight out of a movie.
Veritas would be the first one to wake up and he’ll quietly crawl out of bed, pressing a light kiss against your temple right before heading into the kitchen. He’ll allow you to sleep in just as he finishes making breakfast and eventually you’ll wake up to the sounds of running water and dishes clanking together in the sink. Dazed, you’ll stumble your way towards the dining table, preferably wearing one of his old t-shirts and boxer briefs, sliding into the seat where your scents are heavenly greeted by a souffle that you’ve mentioned in passing.
Or, you’ll both be taking a scenic stroll down a river front night market. Hand in hand, leaning against another while you feed each other a medley of hot finger foods and quenching your thirsts from the same cup. You’d complain about the bitter cold. Veritas would shoot back a half-tease about not dressing appropriately enough, and before you’re given the chance to pout, an oversized wool coat engulfs your figure. Veritas will stand in front of you, hand out stretched as he’s struggling not to shiver against the winds, ushering you to continue the night.
But similar to a movie, you’re both just actors.
Sounds of metal scraping a plate jars you from your imagination. Veritas lifts a piece of pancake into his mouth, the amusement in his face gone. He swallows and blows out a sigh. “You don’t have to think so loudly,” he comments. “I'll make my departure after this.”
You blink rapidly, your brain struggling to catch up. “What was that?”
“I don’t need an answer to that,” Veritas reiterates. “It was a light tease.”
Even if Veritas did state that it was a joke, why did he appear displeased when you took too long to respond? Did you accidentally offend him?
“It seems you’re thinking out loud again,” Veritas says.
“Everyone’s been saying that.” You bite your lip, groaning, wanting to mentally kick yourself off a cliff.
You didn’t mean to turn things as difficult as they already are, you made sure of that when you left the house this morning. But from the way events had panned out since you’ve had your first sip of the cafe’s seasonal mocktail, you’ve been spiraling. You sink further into your seat, wishing to be melted into the faux leather material.
“I’m sorry. You’re not repulsive to be around—intimately, I mean. And physically, too! I didn’t mean to make you, um, uncomfortable or anything.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” he says, though the tension in his face relaxes for just a moment. “But that’s good to know.”
Uneasy silence fills in the gaps and you’re both mindlessly picking at your plates.
It’s not until one of the neighboring tables spills their drink and a server rushes over to clean the mess up that Veritas continues.
“You also don’t have to be embarrassed about last night,” Veritas starts and slowly drags his eyes around the cafe, still with that faraway look in them. “I’m assuming that’s why you’ve been acting avoidant this morning.”
Your face instantly burns. “Can you please—I’m not embarrassed!” In a futile attempt to calm down, you begin to sip furiously on your mocktail. “You shouldn’t just assume other people’s actions, by the way. It’s… It’s ill-mannered!”
Veritas slowly blinks, his face rather impassive. “My assumptions are backed by, from what I gathered to be, evidence. You’ve left my message on read and, instead of staying home, you’ve decided to leave knowing that you’ve left a personal belonging elsewhere. Your initial reaction to my presence in the cafe is immediate aversion and rejection. Furthermore—”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” Swallowing thickly, you cover your ears almost childishly and chew on your bottom lip. “You should just be a private investigator at this point.”
“I’m just observant,” Veritas says matter-of-factly. “We can circle back to our emotionally charged conversation at a more suitable time, of course.”
Emotionally charged. Emotionally charged.
That’s what he’s decided to call it? You can’t even tell if that’s a great or terrible way to phrase the events that happened. Veritas is choosing his words carefully, maybe even trying to spare you some pride, despite having such a positive reaction to your friends’ banter earlier. But, in the end, he’s right. You can barely look him in the eyes without needing to break away every three seconds. It feels nearly impossible to act normal in public without wanting to burst into flames.
You stop stirring, feeling the gust of air getting pushed out from your lungs. “You’re unbelievable. It’s been a rough morning all around, okay?”
“I take it that you’ve had quite the hangover episode?”
You want to answer ‘yes’ just to get it out of the way, but figured that might open just another topic of conversation that you refuse to have with him. From the short time that you’ve known each other, Veritas appears to be well-equipped to identify your anxieties—although, to his credit, his true passion has always been within research and knowing his subjects. Which means that you need to do better.
“Best sleep I’ve had all month,” you answer in a clipped tone. “Just need to get my things together before the wedding next week—which so happens to include dress shopping for yours truly.”
“So I’ve heard,” he says with a hint of amusement. “Had anything in mind?”
“Why do you ask? You have fashion recommendations up your sleeve?”
Veritas merely shrugs. “In case you wanted to match accordingly, I’m willing to make adjustments to my own wardrobe, of course.”
“Ah, well…” you didn’t expect him to be so accommodating, especially for an event he doesn’t particularly care about, but wasn’t that also the conclusion that you came to realize earlier? That Veritas Ratio is giving out way more than he lets on? It clearly doesn’t help with the series of heart palpitations that he’s giving you either.
He raises a curious brow. “Still deciding on a style, I assume?”
“Can’t help it—there’s way too many to choose from,” you lower your voice to a hush whisper as Bronya and Seele shuffle through the cafe’s postcards at the opposing end of the store. “Plus, I haven’t been focused on this as I should be. I’m hardly finding time to decompress while balancing the shitshow that’s been at work… and it totally makes me a shitty friend.”
That seems to catch Veritas’ attention. He stares at you for an extra beat, choosing his words carefully before continuing. “I’m sure your friends would understand your current workload not perfectly aligning with their schedules. You’ve been diligent.”
His voice is professional and neutral as he says this, but then again—that’s how Veritas always sounds like. So painfully to-the-point that it’s difficult to tell what he’s clearly thinking. And, well, not that you’re disregarding his words, but it just adds one more layer of confusion to your feelings if what he said is out of worry or pity.
Another pregnant silence. Instead of sitting here in tender stillness, your anxiety-riddened mouth feels the need to break it.
“You also don’t have to mention last night, at all,” you say, almost inaudibly. “I was being dumb and impulsive for not controling myself. I’ve had too much to drink and said a lot of regrettable things.”
You watch as his jaw seems to tighten up. “Regrettable things,” Veritas repeats slowly, as if he’s trying to find a hidden meaning between the words—except he won’t. Because there’s no extra layer, no hidden emotions or motives that you’re not willing to share. That’d be utterly ridiculous.
Veritas’ expression suddenly shifts into something more guarded. “How much do you remember?”
A flush rises through you. This is starting to go terribly wrong. “I don’t—”
“Say,” Seele suddenly calls from the counter. There’s a stack of to-go containers and a paper bag in hand as she motions over to the booth. “Veritas, do you already have a suit picked out?”
Something inside of you wilts when Veritas morphs his expression back to his fake demeanor.
“I have plenty in my possession,” he says before carefully peering at you. “We were just discussing about coordinating our outfits.”
“Yeah,” your heart thrums uneasily as you nod. “Still no conclusion.”
“Oh, well,” Bronya’s eyes do a little back and forth between you two, totally not trying to be obvious. “Maybe you can assist our lovely maid of honor with picking out a dress? She can be quite indecisive at times.”
“And, I dunno…” The mischievous glint appears once more across Seele’s gaze. “If you accompany us, maybe it’ll provide some ideas for the near future.” Seele finishes her not so subtle statement with a sad excuse of a wink.
Veritas sucks in a breath, hesitation written all over his face when you turn to him with pleading eyes. “I shouldn’t overstay my welcome.”
Because, yes, he shouldn’t—all he needed to do was hand off your wallet and call it a day. And all you need is to finish helping out with last minute shopping for the brides and buy the first flattering dress you can find. If you have to spend the entire evening being by Veritas’ side while in front of your friends, the night might end with someone (you) or something (your feelings) in a ditch.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” Seele huffs. “You’re our maid of honor’s plus one, I’d considered that a borderline family member. Isn’t that right, Bronya?”
“A distant uncle figure, maybe,” she shrugs, giving Seele a small smile. “I think coming along will also help you decide what suit to bring. You’ve mentioned that your schedule earlier is rather clear, so why not just extend this as a double date?”
Veritas’ eyes flick towards you. His brows just slightly furrowed. He’s thinking, debating, on whether or not to make your life more miserable than it already is. And you’re thinking, too. Thinking about how many people that you’re going to invite to your funeral.
“If you insist,” Veritas says eventually. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No offense taken,” Seele beams.
“Okay then,” you force a tight smile. “Great. Wonderful. I guess you’re tagging along.”
From the numerous magazines and videos that Bronya sent you the moment she got engaged, you already knew there was going to be an absurd amount of complementary packages that go into wedding planning.
Matching shoes. Corresponding perfumes. Statement jewelry pieces aside from the wedding rings. Aeons, you just found out that pajamas are the next upcoming couples item on the market.
Seele had spent at least half an hour with an associate over the color of the threading, not to mention another half hour on the material alone.
“If we’re spending a good chunk of our budget on couple favors, I’d want them to last a good while,” Seele had reasoned at the cash register. She hardly did a double take at the total, and you couldn’t tell if that was because they had the money saved up for it or if the reality of the damage over a few minor butterfly decals would’ve shed some tears.
Regardless, you’re just glad that it’s not your wedding.
While you don’t have an issue on what other people do with their funds, a fairytale wedding such as this one might not be exactly budget friendly for the average couple. The handful of coming-of-age and romance films that you’ve rapidly consumed at the ripe age of thirteen has done a number of reality checks on you as you’ve gotten older.
Dreaming about an all-you-can-eat sushi station? Better have half a million credits set aside. Want a vintage-styled wedding cake with flowers sprouting from the top? The pastry chefs will find a way to use the most expensive butter and an appalling amount of edible glitter that they can find. Don’t even think about wanting a videographer—politely ask one of your aunts or uncles to film on their phones. Just hope that their storage space is enough.
It’s been approximately two and a half hours since the shopping spree had started and so far you’ve been dragged through a total of six stores watching in both awe and distress over what’s a wedding necessity and how much the industry feels comfortable charging some of these items.
Turns out this multistory mall has a whole section dedicated to just wedding outlets. Every corner you turn, a giant banner ad for the next upcoming bridal trend hangs from the ceiling and sightings of couples walk together with their arms intertwined, swinging their new purchases around while riding the sleek glass elevators up to the next floor.
And, because you put yourself in this situation, you’ve been glued to Veritas side non-stop since. One moment Veritas is sitting next to you, taunting you with your own wallet, and the next he has one of his hands wrapped around your waist as you’re both walking ahead of your friends. Suddenly you have even more trouble thinking compared to your hangover. With every step, you have to set a reminder to stop your knees from buckling too much.
“S-Shouldn’t you guys be leading the way?” You crane your neck to see the women giggling from behind.
“You got this,” Seele replies with a nefarious thumbs-up, seemingly adding a weird layer of double meaning to the words.
Got what exactly? Your feelings and reasoning all thrown into a blender? Combined and mixed on its highest setting so that everything that you’ve ever thought of is simply unimaginable?
All this time with Veritas is biting you in the ass. It’s one of the main reasons why sometimes you’d catch yourself staring at him when he’s experimenting in the lab. Insane thoughts of: what would hugging him from behind feel like? Does he share the same morals and family values as you do? What if you trip in front of him to see if he catches you?
But let’s say he does all that you want him to do. He allows you to freely touch him without questioning, he shares similar life goals and your future plans line up, and Veritas fucking Ratio catches you, quite gracefully, with one arm as he finishes up his experiments with the other, because he just can. You’d then imagine looking up at him, batting your eyelashes and mumbling an apology at the speed of light due to sheer embarrassment, but then he’d tug you closer and closer—
“Watch your step.”
A strong hand straightens at your side, pulling you upright into his sturdy frame. It causes you to stumble nearly to a halt.
“Are you feeling under the weather?”
“I-I’m as healthy as a baby dromas,” you hoarse out.
Veritas appears to notice your nervousness, though probably for an entirely different reason, and rolls his eyes. He gives your waist a tiny squeeze, maybe out of reassurance or pretending to keep up with the loving boyfriend act—doesn’t matter, it’s not helping your brain in the slightest.
He then leans down, lips hovering over the tip of your ears. “We’ve already made it this far into the day,” he whispers, which makes your stomach turn into scalding liquid. “Is there something that’s making you concerned?”
Yes, you, but you can’t say that.
“I just…” you avoid meeting his gaze, craning your head away from his mouth. Instead, you focus on the large signs above until one of the listed stores from Bronya’s itinerary comes through. “I just had trouble locating the next place but guess that’s not a problem anymore—hahaha…”
While you try to come off as whimsical and nonchalant, the tension and ridgidness in your shoulders give it away. Of course, he’s not taking your half-assed answer seriously. You fight off a grimace as he stares at you for a second longer. Eventually Veritas doesn’t question and proceeds to lead the group into the next grandiose boutique.
The store specializes in footwear. You’ve seen plenty of other famous influencers and A-List celebrities advertise them prior. From silk ballet flats, to boots crafted from recycled glass, and expensive sneakers that somehow appear as if they were run over multiple times at one point, the place is prepared for any occasion paired with a golden price tag.
Bronya ordered from them years back and had requested a custom design about a year ago, right when the engagement was announced. She’s currently perched down on one of their many marble benches, because upperclass retail stores have a talent for creating cold and harsh environments, waiting as the store associate emerges from the backroom with a neatly wrapped box in hand.
At this point your feet are almost aching and normally the pain is dull enough for you to ignore it, but the longer you walk around, the more you feel your ankles giving out. Miraculously, Veritas stays cooperative the whole entire time. Whenever the women asked for a second set of eyes or advice, he’d chime in—providing rather sound guidance.
“You seem rather well versed with how things are run,” Bronya comments as she takes the heels out of the box, pausing only to admire their astute craftsmanship.
Contrast to her upbringing, Bronya’s tastes have always been considered ‘refined’ as opposed to ‘new money’; preferences for splashes of soft and mute royal colors over than the flashy, neon gold and silvers that other aristocrats would flaunt around; silk blouses and vintage jewelry handed down from previous generations display neatly in her closet as if they’re part of a museum. The heels she holds in her hands are exactly fitting to what you had expected—off-white, dainty, with a pearl gemstone attached at the tip.
Veritas slowly paces around the store, eyeing meticiously at several loafers with a finger tucked under his chin. “I’ve attended a few weddings in the past and have relatives that work in the industry. This is nothing new to me.”
You hide a quiet scoff under your breath. Ah, well, that explains how he gets his fancy tailored suits and elaborate home decor from. For once it’s not entirely all from Aventurine’s expressive tastes.
“What?!” Suddenly Seele shoots you a wildly offended look, as if you were withholding that information to yourself. “Relatives in the industry? You’re not joking?”
Veritas blinks. “Is that something people normally joke about?”
To which Seele responds by flashing you yet another pointed appalling ogle. You send a flat expression back. “I guess we all learned something new. I didn’t know. Plus, why would that even matter? Don’t you guys already have all your vendors sorted out?”
Catching Bronya’s stare from the floor to ceiling mirrors, she reasons, “I suppose it would’ve been nice to get to know Veritas a bit earlier, along with supporting a local business or two. Perhaps it would’ve saved us a few headaches along the way.”
“It’s not like we don’t like everything that we currently have,” Seele begins to stammer, a strained sound escaping her throat. “The people have been—”
Bronya clears her throat. “Seele.”
Seele fumbles around with her wallet, her eyes growing shifty. She pauses momentarily. Appearing rather conflicted with the next set of words, Seele ducks her head down, blowing out an exasperated sigh. She stays silent.
You observe quietly as Bronya reclines back onto the marble bench with a thin line etched across her lips, but adds nothing more to the conversation. Instead, she discards the glossiness in her eyes and snaps her attention to you, “Why don’t you survey for some options? We’re already here afterall.”
“Well, that’s…” you falter, wondering if you should point out the obvious or not.
Outside of the bridal shower, neither of them had mentioned major hiccups regarding the wedding planning. Seele had always tried to plan ahead when it came down to the accessories and minor details, while Bronya had all the major events and venues sorted out months in advance. Knowing their powerful connections during this whole process, it’d be shocking if there are any regretful choices along the way.
But it’s also ignorant to assume that it’d be a smooth journey throughout. Having been their main eye witness, it’s not foreign to say that Bronya’s family haven’t been the most welcoming to other’s outside of their class status. So maybe, despite all the resources and connections, there’s something nefarious that you’ve missed.
“Take a look around,” Bronya urges, now smiling in a way where it’s clear deflection. “Promise it won’t take too long for me to get ready. I just need to try on a few more pieces and then we can make our leave to the last place.”
“Sure, take your time,” you draw back, tossing Seele one last glance before gravitating towards one corner in the store. Preferably the furthest corner away, which also displays quite the selection of a mixed of bridal and cocktail themed shoes. Veritas follows one step behind, sensing the sudden tension.
“You picked up on that, right?” To your advantage, the corner you’re occupying happens to also be where the store speakers are. The beats are loud enough to bury your voice, but not entirely loud enough to silence your thoughts.
Veritas pretends to be interested in an item, grabbing the nearest pair and starts inspecting the material of it. You mirror his actions.
“It’s understandable,” Veritas watches the bridal pair from the corner of his eyes. “Pre-marriage conflicts happen more often than you’d think. The majority of the discourse arises from a lack of funding, but given the circumstances of your friends, it’s likely not the case. It seems to me that family members might be the catalyst of said issues.”
“It annoys me that you’re probably right,” an unsettling but notable talent of Veritas Ratio, no doubt. You honestly can’t be too peeved. The pair of heels in your hands sparkle as you inspect them underneath the store lighting. “Bronya’s inner circle hasn’t always been a huge fan of Seele, and I guess after several years together, they’re still giving her trouble. I never understood any of that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” you breathe out deeply, eyes downcast. The base of your neck warms as you struggle with the words but no matter how you try to construct them, it all sounds almost childish. “If you love someone then shouldn’t people just leave them at that? I get why her relatives are the way they are but it’s not their relationship to dictate at the end of the day. The fact that they’re still concerned over class status and wealth when Seele has shown nothing but selflessness and respect since day one…” You squeeze the heels hard against your palms, the rhinestones prick against your skin like tiny needles. “Sorry, I’m rambling my mouth off at this point.”
Perhaps it’s all the novels you’ve been digesting that’s causing you to feel this way. Seele and Bronya’s relationship has been going on far longer than any other adult relationship that you’ve seen. Growing up, you’ve always mentioned off handedly that their partnership is practically so sweet that anyone within a six feet vicinity would be victims of tooth decay. They both adore each other to death—anyone can see that. And it visibly angers you to know that Bronya’s own family members are still lingering around in hopes to ruin their important day. How they’ve managed to keep so composed in front of you and your friends has been a miracle.
“Don’t disregard yourself so easily.” Veritas gently nudges your side while placing back a loafer on the display rack. “You’re not wrong for feeling frustrated at the situation but, to be frank, the two seem to be well off. Whatever festering thoughts that you might have—dismiss them. I’m positive that everything will be worked out.”
Surprised, yet again, by his actions, your eyes flicker across the room at the women, noting their silent apologetic glances towards another. Something in your chest warms at the sight, leaving you feeling less anxious. “Alright, I trust your words, Veritas.”
He slowly nods, following your gaze. “If you also share the same sentiment, then have some faith in yourself as well.”
“I do! I just needed an outsider’s perspective to know that I’m not going insane over this,” nose scrunching, your eyes fix on his face. “Also, speaking about outsiders, I’m honestly surprised that you’re still here. You really didn’t have anything else going on today?”
He shrugs. “Is there something else that you would’ve preferred me to do? Occasionally, I’d like to take breaks from my usual weekend habits.”
“That being?”
Veritas hums, tucking his hand under his chin. “Meal prepping for the week. Assessing the monthly utilities. Organizing my personal archive. Grading students’ papers.”
“Oh,” you raise a brow, clearly taken back. “You’re still teaching?”
“I stopped after your year, but there was an opening not too long ago,” Veritas says. He takes a moment to pause, giving you a tentative gaze before continuing, “It’s a monthly seminar that I co-host at a local university. The class size is nothing but a handful, but still manageable to say the least.”
Under any other circumstance, you’d probably shoot him a snide comment, letting the ugly jealousy take over your expressions and beating over yourself for not doing the same; by not juggling and taking on additional tasks, you will be consistently ten steps behind him. Not only does Veritas Ratio have several PhDs, but on top of the current responsibilities, he somehow manages to balance a part-time job as a teacher. A year ago, that fact would’ve eaten away at you more than you would like to admit.
But after a moment the envy doesn’t come, nor the festering thoughts of self-hatred.
“Now I almost feel bad for dragging you out here today.” You offer him a weak smile.
“Again, don’t be,” Veritas says, this time with a soft laugh. “It’s a welcomed distraction from my mundane routine.”
You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes, hating how much the sound of his laugh churns your insides. “What made you get back into it? Teaching and all. I’ve always thought that most researchers would stay far from academia after graduation.”
Veritas’ eyes seem to brighten, though his expression remains thoughtful. “I’ve never minded teaching, but my schedule didn’t allow anything more. At least, it was like that when I had first initially started my career. You’re probably familiar with what I’m referring to.”
How can you not?
You painfully recall spending your first first couple of years juggling between frequent mandated overtimes and one-on-one meetings with your lab manager. If the results from the experiment didn’t yield a perfect one hundred percent outcome, then it was a clear demand that you had to start from scratch. And, no matter how many hours they’ve got out of you, nor how many assignments you took on, somehow it wasn’t enough to satisfy your boss at the time.
Most researchers endured this type of ‘work-life balance’ up until their third year. By then, many were given the option to specalize in a lab field that suited their interests more. Which brings up a reminder, you should probably thank Ruan Mei in person later for not treating you like an overworked lab rat.
“So something recent must’ve occurred for you to seek out and apply?”
Veritas doesn’t answer immediately with a verbal response, but there’s the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. Your brows shoot up violently at the startling realization.
“Aeons, did Serval actually contact you after the party? About tutoring Pela?”
“She didn’t,” Veritas replies fast and with an odd sense of relief trailing right after. “But the conversation did ignite my interest again.”
Which is probably for the better, because once Serval has her eyes set on something, she’s quite persistent in making sure the expectations are met.
“I’m glad, but with everything going on, it sounds like a lot to handle—even if it’s just once a month,” you frown.
“I’ll admit it’s not an ideal situation,” Veritas breathes out a particularly heavy sigh before softening. “Though, I carry high hopes that once this assignment and summit settles, I’ll be able to offer more feedback to the curriculum.”
“Yeah?” You crane your head. “One class in and you’re already thinking about fixing it up? Not surprising coming from you.”
This time he lets out a rather loud scoff. Mild irritation crosses his face just briefly. “It’s comparable to most of the mindless conferences we’ve attended; I’d say some of the professors’ at the institutions solely care about the metrics rather than the students’ progression.”
A handful of your professors followed this so-called ‘method of teaching’ back in the day. As an incoming freshman, getting courses like these was like striking a goldmine since it was practically an easy ‘A’. Though at some point it caused more harm than good to accept and pass as many students as possible; occasionally, you were stuck being paired with someone who didn’t know the basics of organic chemistry in a senior-leveled course. And that ultimately meant all the extensive research fell into your lap.
“Higher stats typically mean more funding and a fatter salary for them,” you grumble in agreement, shivering at the dreaded memory before offering a shy smile, lowering your voice. “Let me know if things might get too busy. I don’t mind taking on a little extra work for the project if your students decide to take up all your time.”
“Doubtful,” but another curt laugh rumbles in his throat. “I’ll still be present to do my part. The added responsibility isn’t a distraction. If anything, it keeps my mind alert—any mistakes and rash decisions will less likely occur when it comes to work and grading.”
Hearing that, your grip on the heels dig further into your flesh. You chew the insides of your cheeks. A very brief silence hovers in between the space that leaves you uncomfortably aware of how dry your throat feels, but you don’t dare to swallow or cough—not with Veritas peering you down.
If Veritas is telling the truth, that he really does value every one of his students’ works and learning experience, then why did he have to emphasize that now, and not back during your shared university days?
Instead of lashing out with his sharp tongue and shunning everyone else, he could’ve approached your work with constructive criticism, offer insight and clear redirection—like how a mentor should’ve been.
If you’re his student today, would Veritas still have treated you the same as he did before? Would he still snap at you in front of your peers? Make you feel so small and abandoned by the time the lecture is finished? What goes through his mind when he talks about his teachings? Does he still have any recollections from that day?
You force the heavy thought aside, ignoring the ache lodged against your chest like a searing knife. You can’t allow these painful memories to distort and dictate your current standing with him, especially not when so much is at stake. Slowly, Bronya’s earlier advice then resurfaces to your mind.
But you can’t just start off having that loaded conversation now—right in the middle of a high-end mall with your friends right behind you. Still, it needs to happen or else you’ll continue to go insane, which will eventually lead to your mind rotting before the age of thirty. And, despite everything stacked against you, you don’t want that to happen.
Maybe if you could just find the right time to sneak off and…
“Excuse me,” a new voice chimes from behind. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been eyeing that pair for a while. Would you like to try them on?”
Whirling your head around, the store associate comes into your vision with a practiced smile sitting on their lips.
“Uh, do you mean these?” Awkwardly, you lift the heels and immediately feel silly afterwards. Just how long have you been accidentally manhandling them?
The store associate gives you a dry look that makes you regret even breathing in their direction. “Am I speaking to anyone else here?”
“Sorry,” you find yourself apologizing quickly, and there’s another wave of embarrassment, one that has you shaking your head and purposely avoiding eye contact with the employee.
Veritas clears his throat, and you nearly jump when he places a hand on your shoulder.
“It suits you,” Veritas notes casually by your side, slipping back into his performance once more. Somehow, his fingertips are so warm that their heat spreads all the way through your sweater, eventually nesting inside your ribcage. You almost want to lean into his touch, pleasantly taken back from the sensation, but stop yourself.
Amazingly, the store associate also happens to slip back into their own bravado, possibly sensing a potential sale. “Yes, yes! Lovely, isn’t it?”
Frantically, you try to place the heels back on the display rack, eyes widening after noting their six-figure credit tag. “Oh, well I couldn’t possibly afford them in the first place…”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” the store associate presses on and, through some sort of hidden sorcery—or the fact that you’ve been, in fact, holding onto these shoes for the past fifteen minutes, a shoe box is magically pulled from their backside. The associate sets it neatly into your hands while placing the heels back onto the display rack.
Your eyes go wide at the sudden admission. “Listen, I—”
“Nonsense, nonsense. This style is very hard to come by, first of all. Those stones? All ethically sourced from a local jewerler. The material? Handcrafted by artisans from a remote mountain village. Very few of its kind!” They passionately explain with their chest puffed out.
While you’re about to argue that there’s no such thing as an ethically sourced stone, other than lab grown, the employee continues with, “Plus, your fiancé has a good eye; the style and shade does complement your figure well.”
It feels like your body’s whole entire system is malfunctioning, your brain working overtime and analyzing a single word while Veritas just stares blankly ahead—unaffected per usual.
“He’s not my—”
“Ah, pardon me,” the pager attached to their hip begins to go off at the same time the monitor from the counter flashes. The sales associate makes a haste departure, not before commenting yes, you absolutely must try it on, and disappear into the inventory room again.
Veritas gently nudges your side with an elbow once more. You notice that he’s been a lot more casual with his touches as of recent, even when in semi-private settings away from the usual crowd. It’s something worth mentioning, something that makes you feel disgustingly ill inside. But your mind is still buffering over one stupid word to even comment over it.
He peers at the heels sitting in your hands with a certain gleam in his eyes. “Do you want to take their suggestion and have a seat?”
“I’m not going out of my way to actually buy these,” you say dryly but make no attempt to return the box. In retrospect, the shoes are nice, ethereal, and might just be your dream shoes if you ever decide to dramatically run down a spiral staircase while wearing an equally dramatic ballgown before midnight—in simpler terms, they’re breathtaking.
“I’ve never stated that you had to buy them, that’s up to your discretion. Though, there’s nothing inherently wrong by simply trying them on.”
There’s no point of arguing with him, not when Veritas is already guiding you to the nearest bench. You plop down onto the hard surface and bend down to take off your shoes, but you’re quickly met with his hand reaching out in protest.
You let out a huff, rolling your eyes. “You want me to try them on or not?”
“Let me,” he says, though it sounds more like a direct order.
“You don’t have to be so gentleman-like, you know. I can put it on myself,” you insist.
“You’ve been limping,” Veritas bends down before you and reaches for your right heel, his hands hovering just a few centimeters from your flats. “Allow me,” and his hands work diligently at the straps of your shoe, nimble fingers carefully working around the rawness of your ankles.
You can only stare in disbelief as Veritas Ratio gingerly slides on the heels like it’s a glass slipper. And, as if it’s muscle memory at this point, he graciously assists you to your feet, hand finding purchase onto the small curve of your back for stability.
Although the heels do add a few inches to your height, Veritas still looks down at you with a slow blink. His dark lashes are so long that you feel like you could get lost in them if you start counting the individual strands. “How do they feel?”
Your heart thunders against your ribcage. You’re at a complete loss of words when he’s like this. Forcibly biting down the inside of your cheeks, the fragments from last night begin to sear onto your face.
After a beat, you make a sound that’s caught halfway between a cough and a wheeze. “They’re, um, fine?”
You try to downplay it, desperately ignoring the urge to run, cry, or just whatever the hell this surge of anxiety is screaming at you. Your fingers are twitching, knees wobbling, and you still have no idea why he’s giving you that warm glance of attentiveness even after the sales associate has already moved on to their next victim.
Veritas stares at you for a moment. You feel yourself shrinking under his gaze and redirect it to your new heels. The tiny embroidered gems and glossy finish reflects the bright lighting in the store.
His breath fans against your face. “Do you want to take a few steps in them?”
“Sure,” a tiny zap of adrenaline shoots down your spine. You swallow, trying to regain control. “But don’t blame me if I happen to wobble all over the place. My feet aren’t the most cooperative right now.”
“I won’t,” Veritas says this a little too easily. Then he extends out his arm, staring at you expectantly.
You pause, fingertips curling deep crescents into your palms. “Um—I guess if you’re offering…”
His attention to detail and touch is shockingly tender and, just for a few seconds, you’ve nearly forgotten all the troubles and torment he’s caused you years ago. You’d done your best to work through those memories, to bury any sort of evidence that might’ve suggested you’re still affected by them, but being with him has made it too confusing.
Your emotional turmoil only heightens when you interlock arms slowly as you find proper footing with the newly added height. It’s chivalrous and performative, acting as if he’s somehow a prince out of a fairytale. And with you taking his hand, standing only a hair’s breath away from colliding into his chest, you find your own actions to be ridiculous. Almost borderline disturbing.
Veritas had made sure to not adjust the bottom straps too tightly because, as you’re taking a pre-measured step forward, you find that the heel doesn’t dig into your sore ankle. It’s incredibly unfair that he can read you so easily, from the micro expressions that you make to your body language, all while you’re still struggling to dissect his.
It’s this that makes it so hard to bring up that dreaded conversation; even if it feels like you can maybe claw the words out of your throat, any minor missteps and misreadings will have you tumbling straight back down.
You’re probably making a weird face right now, because Veritas looks like he’s going to say something out of concern again. And you’re not sure if your heart can physically handle that. You need to shelve away these thoughts—at least for now, and focus on what's currently in front of you.
Mustering whatever scraps of confidence you have left, the next few steps are more purposeful and loud enough for the heels to clack against the tiled flooring. Keeping true to his words, Veritas matches your pace from one end of the store to the other until you’re back seated on the bench.
“Do they feel adequate?” He’s already kneeling down without complaint, fingers carefully loosening the straps around your ankles with one hand while holding your flats out with the other.
Burying half of your flushed face into your shoulder, you manage to nod. “Y-Yeah, totally not a huge fan of the price point but I guess that can’t be helped.”
A few moments later a familiar shadow casts from behind. Bronya's smile and soft wave catches your attention from the mirror as she makes her way over, the sharp clicks from her custom heels accompanying her.
“They’re lovely,” Bronya joins by your side. “Are you sure you don’t want them?”
“They’re a bit out of my budget,” you shove the heels back into their box, shutting the lid tight as if catching a glimpse might change your mind at the last second. “If they’re still here after I get my yearly bonus then I might just cave in.”
“Actually, those heels are the last ones we have in stock,” the sales associate emerges from the backroom with a chirp, as if they were waiting for that comment to be made.
Your mood dampens immediately.
“Ugh, don’t fall for their tricks,” Seele appears right behind, mood brightened from before, and pats your shoulder. “That’s how they get people to panic buy half the time.”
“Maybe I can probably find an online dupe elsewhere,” you resign, slouching your frame. “And, well, I don’t have time to travel anywhere to warrant that type of style so maybe it just wasn’t meant to be?”
“Or,” Seele coughs rapidly into her fists—a clear indicator that she’s about to say something unwarranted and is definitely not dying from a chronic illness. She wiggles her brows eagerly at Veritas. “You guys can plan a nice week-long vacation after the big ol’ project! Somewhere tropical? Beautiful beach front access? A hotel balcony overlooking the ocean? Perhaps the resort will have some sort of classy ballroom or a dimly lit restaurant for a romantic date night?”
“Aren’t you just describing your honeymoon?” You say with a flat expression.
Seele ignores you for the… honestly you’ve lost count at this point. “What do you say to that, big guy?”
You watch as Veritas’ brows furrow wildly and he pauses, staring at you for what might be a full minute. “That… could be possibly arranged, yes. Only if the project ends successfully.”
Your jaw ticks at the obvious reminder, mind reeling you back to reality regarding the absurdity of it all. Still, you couldn’t help the muscles pulling down at the side of your face, nor the bitterness bubbling inside your chest. Veritas then throws you an unreadable expression that leaves you feeling more unnerved. Despite the growing frustrations at yourself, your mind somehow feels sharp—a bit clearer right as he mentioned that.
Bronya’s eyes sparkle with interest. “If everything goes well then I can provide numbers and names to a handful of resorts around Lushaka!”
You nearly slip out of the bench while trying to stand. “No need—Like, really, there’s no need.” You shoot Veritas a strained look, trying to telepathically communicate ‘please stop entertaining them before I blow up’ but you’re not sure if he can sense all of that while dodging Seele’s new set of questions. “Can we just continue shopping? What’s next on our to-do list anyway? A boutique, right?”
“Side tracking as always. But you’re right, one and done for the day,” Seele gathers the recently purchased retail bags on her shoulders, followed by a loud oof. You count a total of twelve bags in total, six accompany each shoulder—you don’t even want to imagine how irritated her skin is underneath.
Wordlessly, Veritas offers his hand to Seele. As if they’re all playing some weird game that involves you admitting your feelings point blank and clear, Seele maintains a thoroughly pleased and enthusiastic expression as she gracefully passes over a few of the bags. And, somehow reminding you of your own mother, she continues to peer at him with unabashed curiosity.
“Wow, wow, wow,” Seele says to Veritas while poking your arm. “Has anyone told you that you’re like most people’s dream partner? Well, obviously not mine, but most?”
There’s an awkward bob in his throat as he tries to clear it. “I’m unaware of those types of comments.”
“Can we please,” you raise your voice, straining the very last vowels, “go already?”
Luckily, the last store is a simple dress boutique that caught Bronya’s eye online when she was browsing the mall’s catalogue. It’s a small store front, hidden in the corner away from the loud and grandiose luxury shops, settled on the lower level. From the vintage-styled sign plastered up front in cursive font, they seem to take clients by appointment only.
“I already have a reception dress back at home but, for you,” Bronya ushers you to follow her inside. “I’ve placed the reservation under your name and requested none but the best service for your curated shopping experience.”
Your eyes go wide and you immediately start glossing over the price tags hanging off the mannequin displays behind the glass front. Even for a place that claims that every dress is handmade and supposedly uses ‘all naturally’ sourced fabric, who would even spend a couple thousand credits on a simple beaded dress? You can’t help but to feel slightly flattered that Bronya thinks you belong in the same tax bracket as she is, but even this is a bit over the top for just one gown.
Before you could even protest in suggesting another store, Seele and Bronya exchange a loaded glance.
“Well, we won’t keep you,” Seele suddenly grabs a hold of Veritas’ arms, crisscrossing them awkwardly together. “You girls find something cute and we’ll…” She starts darting her eyes around, in obvious panic of searching the fastest excuse she could find before dragging him in the direction of the depths of purgatory—a furniture store. “We’ll be testing out couches and tables in the meantime!”
Bronya’s eyes light up. She emits a quaint gasp in agreement. “Correct, we are in desperate need of a bedside table. I’m sure Veritas would love to give his insight with that.”
You watch with new found panic as Veritas raises a brow, surprisingly unsure of what to say. On any other day, you’d consider this a win if it weren’t for the fact you can’t shake off a strange, little itch.
“Come, come! We’ve got loads of things to sit on,” Seele tugs him straight into the neighboring store while Bronya locks her fingers around your bicep, beckoning you inside the boutique.
Veritas does one final double-take with you, and safe to say that it does emit a giggle. He looks strangely boyish being dragged away, knowing he can’t really decline—he placed himself in this position willingly, after all. And Seele, she doesn’t miss the skeptical look you shoot at her, but she’s not the type to be soft when it comes to the guys in the friendgroup either.
Strangely enough, you can’t help but to smile at him. Veritas looks absolutely bewildered with Seele’s arm resting eagerly over his shoulders and his hair is currently sticking up in different directions when she, very boldly, ruffles his locks.
You’re positive that Veritas will formally seek an apology from you whenever this is over.
“Missing him already?” Bronya’s voice chimes you out of your thoughts with a particularly strong tug of the arm.
You clear your throat. “You don’t actually need a new furniture set, do you?”
Bronya tilts her head, blinks twice with a finger placed pointedly under her chin, feigning innocence. “We might, we might not. Does it matter?”
“I don’t like the feeling of this,” you mutter, stumbling over yourself.
“It’s less distractions while picking out your dress,” Bronya explains, but somehow it feels half-empty when she gives you a smile. “Plus, I’d like to spend some one-on-one time with my second favorite person, is that too much to ask for?”
When you enter through the backrooms after checking in, rows of colorful prints flash your vision. Each corner had its own standing mirror, as well as another wall dedicated to dressing rooms where the doors are replaced with towering velvet curtains. An armchair and two vintage sofas are placed at the center of the room with a circular coffee table set in front of them. On top of the table are a tray of cookies and bottles of sparkling water, all left untouched.
Other customers are present, most of them being couples who are in the middle of either browsing through the wide selection or going through different payment plans with a worker, aside from that, it’s fairly private.
“You can start looking around and, please, take your time with this,” Bronya reels in a nearby dress rack, the colors swaying hyponotically from the pull, and you can already feel the indecision spiking through.
A loose panicked laugh slips past your lips. “Well how about I just pick the first dress I see and—”
“Aeons, I won’t allow that,” Bronya widens her eyes in offense, acting as if you had just told her off. “You shouldn’t rush your decisions when making a huge purchase. Only invest in something if you gravitate towards it.”
You swallow, hesitant hands carding through the first few gowns slowly, feeling wildly inconfident by the second. “We might be here all evening.”
She quirks a brow. “And what if that’s what I want?”
“You wouldn’t want that,” you offer her a quiet laugh and rub the back of your neck, smile faltering. “I bet you’re probably exhausted by now from everything.”
Bronya doesn’t answer right away, but she visibly eases. The faint scrunch on her nose fades as she blows out a sigh. “Dress first, then perhaps a group dinner after? I’ve heard wonderful reviews on the boardwalk stalls outside.”
“Sure,” you say, softly.
The conversation dead-ends for a moment.
You both take the time to examine each gown with careful precision—at least, Bronya is. To be honest, you’re unsure of what constitutes a ‘good quality’ dress versus a ‘low quality’ one. You’ve always avoided these types of places like the plague; in your eyes, if there happens to be a stain or tear, you end up paying the same price, if not more, to have it repaired. If anything, the dress you’re getting today might only ever be worn for the wedding ceremony.
If you get initiated into the Genius Society, you’ll most likely be subjected to rigorous projects right away and, let’s say if you fail to get in, then you’ll probably bury yourself in whatever extra work that Ruan Mei has to offer to keep your mind occupied. It’s safe to say that no matter what scenario your mind has to offer, you’re most likely never seeing another opportunity to dress up to this extent. Well, unless it’s for another wedding but, judging from your social circle, they’re somehow more of a workaholic compared to yourself.
Potentially shoving the dress towards the back of your closet, preventing it from ever seeing the light of day, is a bit of a shame, you think. Perhaps looking into a local donation center is more community friendly, at least someone might have more free time on their hands to wear something as extravagant as a high end cocktail dress.
The thought then leaves you wondering about your friends’ odd hiccup earlier. How Bronya was quick to shut down Seele’s comment, and how the tension shifted so suddenly after the fact. Are they facing problems within Bronya’s family?
After sliding a fifth dress onto the ‘absolutely not’ side of the rack, you finally break the silence, “Can I ask about something?”
Bronya makes a noncommittal hum, eyes focused on the fabrics in front of her. “Of course.”
“Feel free to not answer if it’s too, I guess, personal?” You shoot her a complicated expression, hands stilling. “But is everything alright? With the family and planning? I couldn’t help but to notice something was off back at the other store…”
This time Bronya pauses her search completely. She regards you with a troubled glance accompanied by a wistful smile.
You’re not expectant of her owing you a proper explanation—you can already imagine the load of stress and frequent headaches accompanied with the journey.
Admittedly, you’ve personally never imagined that the couple would still run into family-related issues after their engagement. From what you’ve remembered, Seele had always tried to keep a prim and proper composure while around Bronya’s extended relatives—even if they didn’t treat her the same. Seele would sit at their dinner tables with impeccable posture, hands folded on her lap, waiting to be either called on or acknowledged to comment on anything. You would vividly recall stories the day after, freely allowing Seele’s foul mouth run loose after those practiced events.
After their engaged announcement, those calls have virtually been close to none. Still, that shouldn’t have meant that those prejudiced comments stopped entirely. Bronya’s been struggling with her family’s complicated string of politics and outlook on life while trying to balance a healthy relationship for seemingly a decade now.
“If I’m being frank, it’s been difficult for me.” Bronya presses her lips in a tight line, arms now folded. There’s a distant look in her eyes as she continues in a steady breath, “My mother keeps hovering over the wedding details daily, as if the vendors we’ve booked months in advance are going to change within an instant. I have distant relatives and their partners emailing me about where their invite is, and if I don’t happen to respond within a day, they send their long, guilt-tripping messages to Seele.” Bronya slowly blows out a sigh, patting against her chest as if to calm down. “If I'd known that it was going to be this invasive and arduous of a process, I would’ve opted for an elopement instead.”
You feel like a fool for not realizing earlier. “Bronya…”
The first time you were invited to an actual function that wasn’t school affiliated, you were met by at least a few dozen variations of your mother. The constant stares. Hushed whispers behind their expensive imported fans and half-filled wine glasses. The blatant disregard to treat you and Seele like a respectable human being unless you were included into a conversation led by Bronya herself.
Her family, in short, has an unyielding talent to make any outsider feel like a pesky insect.
“I’m sorry for not being there for you guys sooner,” you say, frowning.
Bronya shakes her head. “We weren’t expecting anything of that sort—we want everyone to have an enjoyable time for the other events without the stress and worry over my family’s troubles. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I have,” you retort, louder than intended. It shocks both of you. “I should’ve offered more support and paid closer attention to your plans, but instead I have you two playing a round of couple therapy today. I know I haven’t been the best at keeping in contact, but I will literally drop everything if it means to make your special day happen.”
“We’ll still have the rest of our lives to make up for the mishaps that’ll come next weekend,” Bronya explains, but the look she casts you is filled with warmth. “I’m sure you’re already anticipating Seele's verbal onslaught right after.”
“Either way, I’ll be there!”
“I better pray that you do, given that you are part of our bridal party,” she laughs quiety.
A blanket of silence coats over once more.
“We’ll be fine,” Bronya says after a while. Her eyes seem to lighten up as she states this. “Seele knows that I’ve been feeling this way for a while now, ever since we’ve been together—I’m sure you’ve seen it for yourself.” Bronya says quietly as she circles the rack across from you, eyes locking onto yours momentarily before turning her attention back to the dresses.
Your chest throbs.
When you opt to stay silent, Bronya continues, “It’s fine. What’s done is done. The only way forward is to hope that everything will go smoothly as planned. People do say that the real fun begins after the reception,” and she smiles at that. “I’m sure the extended family will be in their own little cliques by then. Seele and I just want to spend the evening and rest of our weekend with our friends.”
“And you guys will,” you reaffirm, matching her beam. “I mean it, no more brooding over the worst possible outcomes. The more you do, the more you ask for it.”
“Thank you for that, it means a lot,” Bronya hums in contentment, turning her attention back to the dresses. She shifts through a few of them, occasionally chiming in for your opinion. After a few hard skips, she asks, “And how about yourself? Is everything alright?”
“Yeah—why do you ask?” Your hands settle on another gown. This time the design is leaning towards a more modern take with its form fitting style and off shoulder draping. Mindlessly, you laugh while playing with the chiffon fabric as if to avoid Bronya’s expectant stare. “Do I still look disgustingly mopey from earlier?”
“I wouldn’t say mopey, to be exact.” Bronya squints just a bit, and twists her lips. “You’ve just been a bit, I believe Seele would say, ‘jittery’ ever since Veritas came along.”
She noticed. Of course, she did. Bronya, who spends her time attending state-sponsered events while also dissecting people’s behaviors underneath a microscope, has probably seen your loose ends since you’ve stepped into the cafe this morning.
“Your relationship complications…” You hold your breath as she treads through the conversation carefully. “Did they end up developing into something more due to the events of last night?”
Goodness, why did Veritas have to clarify that you were at his place? Although it would’ve been more of a pain to explain the actual truth—the possible fact of embarrassing yourself in front of multiple company executives and crying your eyes out in a hotel room. But at least it would’ve been less mortifying than the implications of having a failed lay while in a so-called committed relationship.
You frantically wave a hand in the air, as if trying to dispel the subject. “Oh, yeah, everything is fine! Just, y'know, I think we both had too much to drink and said some weird things. Stupid me for leaving my wallet behind and causing him to tag along all day,” you end with a weak laugh.
“Not stupid,” Bronya gently corrects. “And he hasn’t been a bother to us one bit. Though, I am rather curious, of how far you’ve gone intimately with him.”
The bluntness of it all smacks you in the face. How ignorant of you to assume that Bronya wouldn’t be capable of divulging an inappropriate topic. This is Seele’s future wife you’re speaking to here.
Heat rises to your neck. “O-Okay… whatever you’re thinking, nothing happened. It’s… we just talked and—” Flushing, you scan the same dress again, hands toying its sides with vigor.
“Not once?” Bronya doesn’t skip a beat. “Eight months and not a single attempt? That’s somehow unlike you.”
Inside, you’re a singular comment away from rushing out the store.
You’d like to think of yourself as matured and rounded compared to your younger-self. The over-caffeinated, sleep deprived, undergraduate researcher who was constantly buried under the weight of articles and textbooks, resorting to romance novels and occasional alcoholism as a way of coping the stress away, has finally grown into her very own role model. Turns out, there hasn’t been much drastic change since then.
You’re still repeating these behaviors to a degree, still at an awkward point in life where you’re escaping from your emotions and the truth.
A shudder. “I thought we weren’t going to revisit sex related topics?”
“With the addition of Veritas.” Bronya somehow looks satisfied with the inclusion of this seemingly new rule. “Since he’s not here, I believe I can probe you for some of the details—if you don’t mind.” She ends the sentence with an innocent head-tilt, one that you’ve always had a problem saying no to. Whether it's part of her charm as a royal figure, or the fact that she’s always been one of your best friends, you find yourself giving in quite easily.
“Since you’ve poured everything out in the open, I guess it’s only fair for me to do the same,” you say, the nerves crackling in your veins like static. “Going back to our earlier conversation, I meant what I said. That we’ll both sit down and ease our way into having that talk. And until we do… I’m just not sure if I can be comfortable with being physically intimate with him.” It’s half the truth, but why is your heart trying to burst its way open through your ribs?
Slowly, you continue, voice a bit unsteady, “I’m not sure if it’ll happen soon, but my guess is that you guys wanted it done and over with, right? That’s why you were adamant on bringing him along.”
“Mind forgiving us for that? The opportunity was right there.” Bronya studies you, a smile forms on her lips. “And even if you two don’t have that conversation, I can tell that he cares a lot from his actions alone.”
It’s all an act, you want to say. A convincing one at the very least.
“He really is a gentleman when he chooses to be,” you attempt to reply, but Bronya dismisses you quickly, giggling under her breath.
“People put up a bravado all the time when there's new company.” Bronya’s gaze remains fixed on you, relaxed but stern. “I understand that sometimes it’s all practiced and for show, but from what we’ve seen, Seele and I believe with our whole hearts that what he projects towards you isn’t for us.”
You can hardly hide the displeased furrow of your brow, but deep down your stomach churns with desire. You want to believe her, you want to think that maybe this is a clear sign for something to happen. But you can’t put all of your faith in her words. At least, not yet.
Slipping through another dress, you play with the fabric ends. “Do you really mean that?”
A knowing spark lights up in her eyes. “I’ve been putting up a front for nearly my entire life, if I can’t tell which actions are genuine or a sham, then I guess I’ve been extremely awful at navigating through the past royal galas.”
The words land with heavy weight. You try not to flinch from exhilaration, but you have a feeling that it’s breaking through on your face. Bronya’s soothing giggles reaffirm your thoughts.
“I haven’t seen you this worked up over a person since Sampo,” Bronya adds. “Though, that might be a lackluster comparison. Perhaps, in other words, I’d say that you’re allowing yourself to be consumed by the utter emotional and physical presence of Veritas Ratio.”
Ah, is that what it boils down to? That you're so madly infatuated by him? With the man who notoriously puts his career on the line before anything else. Who has, backed by facts, never been in a relationship since he’s been alive. This is a lot. Everything suddenly feels like it’s a lot.
Or maybe this is all stupid, and you’re thinking twenty steps ahead of yourself. The thought of this is disgustingly infectious.
A rough, pathetic cough leaves your lips. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels as of late, haven’t you?”
Bronya nods with zero hesitation. “And what if I am? My wedding is nearing, after all. Give me a little bit of grace for feeling indulgent.”
“I’m still trying to go at my own pace.” You flush, dipping your head down. “There’s just… it’s honestly a lot to think about. Too much to do and just—I dunno—it’s a huge mess.”
“I know, I know,” Bronya sings in a low, soothing whisper. “Relationships are fragile, but that doesn’t mean you have to willingly place yourself in that struggle. We’re all here for you at the end of the day.” She shoots you with a gentle beam. “Choose yourself if things happen to go south. It’s best to end a faulty relationship before it leads to a lifelong commitment. Though, I have nothing but high hopes for you two.”
“And… you’re positive about that?” Your voice wavers with unmistaken uncertainty and you’re starting to wonder if Bronya is able to sense something else. That you truly want to find any shred of evidence that he might see you as anything else other than a potential nuisance.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I… When we first reconnected again, I honestly didn’t think much of it. We didn’t interact as much before, outside of a handful of classroom interactions and occasional work outings, so it just surprises me that we’ve lasted this long. It’s scary, almost.” The words start to tumble from your lips, feeling as if a puzzle piece had slotted itself back in place after a long absence. A spider finally connecting its web. Last night’s debrief between your roommates resurfaces, but this time you’re approaching this topic with clarity—whether it's against your will or not.
“He’s been extremely patient with me and sometimes even going to places that are outside of his comfort zone—I’m not sure if I’ve been putting the same energy back,” You press your lips together, swallowing hard. Your voice gets thinner, an octave lower than what you expect. “I just didn’t expect to fall so hard,” your hands and face warm instantaneously at the spoken confession. A rush of air pours into your lungs and causes you to sway.
There, it’s out in the open.
You’re painfully aware that those thoughts have been haunting the depths of your mind for days now. The wanting ache of physical contact. Excitement from seeing or catching glimpses of him at work. All those shared quiet lunches and the coffee breaks in between. The way your heart leaps to your throat and your skin buzzes with anticipation when you lock eyes for more than a second.
All of these are symptoms of someone who’s gotten themselves in too deep. You highly doubt that it’s just a silly crush at this point.
“Oh.” Bronya’s expression grows even softer. Her hands reach over the rack, clasping and weaving through your clammy fingers, and squeezes. “While I’m unsure of all the details between you two, I want to reiterate that you are deserving of being loved. Veritas is willing to put himself in these situations because of you. If that is still up for debate, why not just test the waters yourself?”
You shudder, trying to calm your pulse. “What do you mean by that?”
“An abundant trait in many of the novels I’ve consumed,” a specific sparkle shines brightly in Bronya’s eyes once more. “Courting. Flirting. Putting yourself in precarious situations that allows the other partner to get themselves involved. If you’re having doubts about his actions and words, genuine or not, then you see how far you can press his buttons.”
“We have to talk first,” you say, letting out a reluctant noise. “It might be all too soon.”
“How long are you willing to wait around? Surely not forever, right?” Bronya challenges. “You’ve already stated that he’s gone out of his way to be with you. There’s no harm in testing out the reversal.”
Then there’s a heavy pause, one where Bronya is fixing you with a look that is clearing saying, don’t fuck this up, and you can’t help but to agree. She and Seele are your best friends for a reason. They wouldn’t be this desperate in playing cupid if they didn’t see the good in Veritas.
“Okay.” Your voice is meek, still astonished by your own words and declaration, but you manage to let out a genuine carefree laugh—feeling as if everything can get easier. “It’s silly but my mind turns all mushy whenever I stare at him for too long.”
“I suppose you two should clear the air soon,” Bronya emphasizes with a small, understanding smile. “So that you can make up for the forgotten and neglected moments afterwards.”
You feel as if a weighted blanket has lifted off your shoulders. “I’ll let you guys know how it’ll go.”
“Good.” Bronya slowly nods, satisfied. “With that settled, let’s refocus our attention, shall we?” Bronya finally picks out a suitable dress from the rack. Suitable, by her definition, is any garment that has both aesthetic and functional properties. “Here, how about you try this one on? It has a built-in bra and hidden pockets.”
You grab the hanger from her, giggling. “I’ll admit, that does sound ridiculously enticing.”
Once shuffled into the fitting room, you let out one final sigh of relief. These past few months have been an absolute struggle all together, never in a million years did you ever expect romantic feelings to get this deeply involved in it. Half of you wants to beat yourself for potentially over-explaining the bits and pieces to Bronya, mourning over the fact that she already has a ton on her plate, but your other half wants to bounce off the walls for finally stating what needs to be said.
The constant daydreams and actual dreams are starting to blend all together so intensely that you’re not entirely sure if it’s a good idea to fully indulge yourself in. But, on the bright side, you’ve promised to show up frequently for your friends, and it feels just a tiny bit easier to align your focus to them right after that announcement.
Slowly, you shed out of your clothes and slip on the gown, careful not to make any sudden moves that might warp the seams out of their placements. The color is soft, yet bold—a dark mauve dress paired a basque waist drop—a subtle blend of the fairytale themes and colors.
Due to the corset-styled top, the dress requires an extra pair of hands with the strings in the back; as of now, it fits loosely against your chest while the rest hugs your hips and flares slightly out at the bottom. The gaps are nothing too worrisome to handle, which is exactly why you feel confident that Bronya volunteered to tag along. Years of wearing stiff and lavish outfits will have her quickly correct whatever that needs to be adjusted.
After meticulously checking over yourself in the mirror and confirming that there’s nothing embarrassing on your face, other than your face, you release a nervous breath and swing the door open.
Gingerly, you shuffle and pause in front of the communal mirror, doing a few twists and turns, hands lifting the ends of the dress to avoid any potential accidents. “Good eye, Bronya. It’s nice but still needs a bit of adjusting. Think you can come over on this side and—”
When your eyes jump to the figure on the couch, your organs shoot straight to your throat.
Veritas peers up from the seat, and the whole room now happens to be Bronya-less for some ‘mysterious’ reason. His eyes widen slightly when he makes contact with yours, as if surprised. He opens his mouth to say something—an interjection, a protest, an insult—whatever it is, you’re not impossibly sure if you can even act normal in front of him right now.
A high-pitched shriek fills the air. “W-What are you doing here?”
Veritas ignores the outburst, the initial shock fading from his face, and instead looks at you with veiled curiosity. It takes Veritas a moment to fully collect himself. “Bronya had to step out for a moment.”
You throw a begrudging glance towards the front entrance.
Out of all the possible times to play wing-woman, today might just be the worst of it.
Though you can’t necessarily blame her, not when she’s witnessing first hand at how this is all affecting you, but still. Is she actively trying to give you a heart attack? Actually—scratch that—all three of them are. Seele’s probably the one who suggested it and both of them are most likely giggling like crazed hyenas right now while lounging in the sectional section of that damn furniture store. And Veritas, he’s…
“That gown appears to lack proper support.”
Seems straight laced as ever.
The stupid, lovesick anxiety drains from your limbs, the feeling quickly being replaced with annoyance.
Cheeks hot, your hands fumble over themselves to find purchase on your chest, furiously tugging the dress upwards, suddenly mortified at how much bare skin you’re showing. “And that's exactly why I need her back.”
“I’d like to believe I offer valid criticism and advice for something simple as formal attire, regardless of its intended audience,” Veritas defends, his eyes briefly shifting towards the floor.
“And what happened with testing bedside tables with Seele?”
A small scoff, his gaze travels to the assorted snacks on the coffee table. “One lack of interest led to another. She didn’t have a clear sense of direction to what she had in mind and spent half an hour misleading the sales representative. It was rather uneventful for all parties involved.”
You make a grumbling noise under your breath, knowing damn well the game that they’re both playing. Frankly, it’s amazing that both of them came up with such an elaborate plan so fast, but judging by the way you were whining in the cafe earlier… you suppose the reality of it all is slapping you straight in the face. If you had known that their ideal plan was letting Veritas see you struggling putting on a dress then you would’ve opted to call in sick today.
“I’m going to kill—” you cut yourself off, clearing your throat. Your hands grip tightly around the skeleton of the corset as you’re praying that he doesn’t see the sweat pooling on the sides of your face. “It’s been a long day.”
Veritas lets out an audible sigh and there’s a faint crease between his brows. “Agreed.” There’s a slight pause, and then he’s looking—or rather examining—you intensely. A hand rests under his chin, his eyes narrowing as he tilts his head. It’s a look you’re all too familiar with, one where he’s rummaging through the depths of his mind to conjure up an answer to a complex problem set. Eventually, he asks, “Are you still deciding on what to get?”
“This one is decent,” you say, hating how awkward your voice sounds. “The back just needs to be tightened but other than that it’s nice…”
“If you choose to take it, my offer still stands,” Veritas says, a bit too casually. “Unless you’d rather prefer someone else to do the adjustments for you.”
Your heart lurches. “You’re serious about that?”
“This is not something that I would consider to be inconvenient. I’m willing to provide aid if it means to alleviate any load off your plate. As said, today has been long and you still haven’t properly recovered from your hangover last night,” Veritas explains, voice surprisingly soft and his expression appears earnest, almost.
This is new. You’re not used to him being so… open with his intentions. You snap your head towards a wall, conceding. You take a deep breath, as if you’re about to dive head first into the ocean.
“Well, I only accept constructive feedback, so watch yourself,” you hold on to the corset and slowly twirl, feeling a bubbling sensation itching against your throat. Suddenly, you remember Bronya’s advice before she disappeared. “Does it look good, at least?”
Veritas merely gives you a faint nod in return, quiet. The silence bleeds into the air like a pungent, stubborn scent. For some reason, this reaction causes you to stress out even worse than if he had started to nitpick about the details of the dress, or complained about his day being wasted.
Normally, you’d break the tension with some sort of quip, but there are too many thoughts occupying your headspace, mainly on why Veritas have been so cooperative today—and even that’s too much to handle. Because it’s impossible to come to a logical conclusion without your own feelings barging into the conversation, and it’s also entirely impossible to think straight with Veritas’ eyes exploring the expanse of your exposed shoulders and back.
It’s only the two of you here, but he’s being too kind, too thoughtful. Too endearing. If you allow him to help you with this, then there’s absolutely no turning back—you’re afraid that your feelings towards him might wander into dangerous territory. And no amount of detest you have against him will ever get rid of it.
“Y-You know what? You don’t have to. I can wait until Bronya returns and…” But the rest of your sentence screeches to a halt as he walks over.
“Again, let me,” he murmurs, strangely sweet and pliant.
Your chest is pounding rapidly for you to stop and register what he just said, but you try anyway. Scanning Veritas’ half-lidded eyes, noting the tiniest twitches in his digits that rest at his sides, the little stiff shuffling in his legs, hoping that maybe it’s a twisted joke to get you riled up. But you find nothing.
Which only means that he’s serious. If you weren’t so in over your head, you would find the strength to tell him off, that it’s too much of a personal boundary being crossed if you allow him to fix your dress. The scenario flits through your mind, though the rejection never comes out.
At what point did the lines of your arrangement start to blur? Did it begin yesterday where you were on the verge of confessing your feelings? Or did it start when you had invited yourself over to his loft when he was sick? Has it been a noticeable shift that neither of you feel comfortable speaking up on?
The rules that you’ve initially agreed upon seem to be more optional than required.
“Fine,” you say slowly, staggering back into the room with him tailing.
The second Veritas locks the door, something inside of you snaps into place, as if you’ve signed a life-binding contract.
There’s no going back now, is there? But, then again, there hasn’t been any going back for a while, not when the reality of it all hits you square in the face.
Two people can barely fit into the allotted space, and you can’t shuffle anywhere without bumping against the mirror or Veritas. Your skin flares up in goosebumps the moment his fingers graze your exposed backside.
“I’ll be quick with it,” Veritas is quiet, voice almost breathy.
With his heavy gaze on you, your brain begins to rattle around once more. Then you commit the mistake of glancing up, locking eyes with him in the mirror, and momentarily forget every language known to mankind.
The more you mull over it, the more of the guilt and confusion eats away at you. The way that Veritas phrases his words, the way that he looks at you, it always feels sincere and borderline confessional. Along with your friends, even you’re starting to believe that he means them. And you want to, so desperately.
You want to believe his words of traveling together, whether it's to Sumeru or a lavish resort after the grand summit. At the same time, you still haven’t gathered the courage to bring up the very topic that’s making you hesitant. Because what if, without exception, that he’s doing all of this just to gain an upper hand? Or what if he views you differently if you choose to be vulnerable?
Veritas Ratio is a man who functions off of logic and boundaries. And yet…
You shakily exhale through your nose as his hands do their work. With each passing thread, his hands’ feather-like touches graze across your back, leaving behind a scorching trail. Peering into the mirror, you study Veritas silently. Watching how his eyes furrow with concentration, tucking a stray stand of hair behind his ear as he tightens the next loop. The tension in his jaw, his shoulders slightly hunched but drawn tight, his breathing miraculously steady—almost invisible, as he’s focusing, entirely absorbed into the work.
It’s this, you realize, the intimacy that was shared not even twenty-four hours ago, that you miss. The rawness of it all, the feeling of each other’s warmth, the gravitational pull that constantly hovers between everything and nothing.
If you weren’t such a coward, you’d be willing to see how far you could go. If Veritas allows it.
But as stated, Veritas is quick with the adjustments, much to your disappointment.
Warm fingers flutter across the expanse of your back as he slowly tugs on strings a final time, whispering clear instructions of keeping your posture steady and upright as he does so. Veritas smooths over the creases before stepping a few paces back, just barely enough space to provide a bit of breathing room.
Before you get a chance to embarrassingly mourn over the loss of touch, your eyes dart across the mirror and you catch your breath.
Your hands glide carefully over the craftsmanship of the corset, fully admiring the subtle embroidery and rich colors of the fabric in full. While you had already mentally prepared to purchase this beforehand, seeing it properly fitted only solidified your reasoning further. Slowly, you twirl around, eyes following and hypnotized by the way the ends fall against your formed figure.
“It’s beautiful,” you mumble, voice barely audible.
Veritas nods once, and his expression is softer than usual. “Agreed. Will this be it?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, smiling, momentarily forgetting he’s standing inches away. A final spin and you’re already eager to rush to the register. “Yeah, I think so.”
“I suppose my assistance wasn’t wasted after all,” he says.
To save your remaining mental energy for the day, Veritas opts himself out when it’s time to undress. He simply loosens the top strings just enough for wiggle room and exits before even commenting on your apparent nervousness. And as much as you want to hyperventilate over what just happened, the overall fatigue is reeling in at an alarming rate. The day is now stretching close to a full eight-hour shift and you’re more than ready to plunge yourself deep into a hot bath.
As the seamstress packages up the dress behind the register, you slowly turn to Veritas, realizing that you should probably say something—anything—you’ve stayed quiet for too long.
“Thanks again, you didn’t have to.”
“We’ve both expended plenty of energy for today, haven’t we agreed?” He’s preoccupied with his phone again, which comes as no surprise. What he does on his weekends is beyond your comprehension.
Veritas is only here because of your mistakes, he could’ve spent today at home or anywhere else. It’s been long enough for him to be somewhat familiar with your immediate circle and yet you’re still fighting to figure him out. Driving all the way here, entertaining your friends like it’s his job, the small casual touches. You’re not sure when there’ll be another opening like this, and you’re sure as hell not going to wait around a minute longer for another opportunity.
You chew on your lips, eyes glimmering. “Hey, can we talk later?”
Veritas perks up from his phone, though his thumbs don’t stop gliding. “Is it in relation to the wedding plans?”
“No, not exactly.” You forcibly swallow around the hard lump in your throat. And perhaps it’s the uneven pitch in your voice or the fidgeting that gives it away, but Veritas gives you his undivided attention. There it is again, that concerning flicker in his eyes. Goosebumps blister across your skin like an avalanche. “It’s more academic related, to say the least.”
And you have no clue if that struck a nerve or not, but you briefly watch as his pupils dilate for a second. It quickly dissipates before you can comment on it.
“Very well.” He shoves his phone deep in his coat pocket, nodding. “My schedule should be clear.”
“Cool,” you say, before adding, “thanks—for being flexible. It means a lot.”
Veritas stays silent at that, but motions towards the register. The elongated dress is now neatly packaged in an elegant black box with a red ribbon on top. Placing it in a bag, the seamstress passes it over to Veritas, who easily accepts it without hesitation despite his earlier complaints. Your hand reaches out, grabbing the bag’s handles.
“Can it be my turn to be chivalrous for once?” You weakly laugh.
“Allowing yourself to carry your own bag is leaning towards being self-sufficient rather than chivalrous,” Veritas points out, almost cheekily. Though he doesn’t put up much of a fight and lets go. As you readjust the bag on your shoulder, Veritas offers his hand, palm faced up. “Shall we get going before their assumptions start rolling in?”
You try not to let his words go deep to your head, though a rush of heat spreads through you.
“Oh, please don’t give me that. You’ve opened a can of worms when you mentioned about me staying over at your place.” But you take his hand anyway, ignoring the little jump in your throat when he squeezes. “I bet you’re so ecstatic thinking about my friends fawning over our midnight activities.”
“Does this look like the face of someone who enjoys that idea?” And, somehow in just a second, Veritas’ face mimics an emotionless bust.
Your lips slowly twist into a grin. “Definitely, for sure. Now let’s get going before I die of exhaustion and embarrassment.”
He rolls his eyes, but it’s subtle and carefree enough that neither of you care. Veritas begins leading the way out while you’re clutching at his side, a small part of you playing into your role while the majority is internally sighing in relief from the bit of support your body is finally receiving. The feeling is nice; the warm scent from his cologne, the thick wool from his coat, the slow and steady pace he’s setting. Everything is nice.
In a trance, you can’t help but let your mind wander a bit. You sneak a glance, peering at his profile, noting his familiar composed expression.
You want Veritas to burn the way that you do. See the blush traveling from his neck to his ears and the tension in his limbs. To hear him stutter over simple words and struggle over composing basic sentences. What would it take for him to reach that point?
Upon exiting, a pair of giggles erupt in the air. You reel back to reality so fast that you nearly drop the bag. Quickly yanking it back onto your shoulder, you rush out only to see Seele and Bronya resting on a bench. For a so-called emergency, Bronya looks rather content when she sees how flustered you’ve gotten.
“I take it that it was a good purchase?” Bronya doesn't coat the eagerness in her tone.
“Fits like a glove.” You hear yourself squeak, head still calming down from the heated exchange. You throw Seele a questionable brow. “So, about that furniture…”
Seele twitches in her seat, seemingly fighting to recollect her memories. A wide smirk practically occupies her lips as she wafts her hands around in exasperation. “Couldn’t find anything I liked! Everything was either too tall, too short, and too beige. The holiday deals were also kinda underwhelming. Ain’t that right, Veritas?”
“Your attention span in the store was…” he pauses, mildly conflicted before continuing, “lacking, to say the least.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, buddy,” Seele snorts. “That just affirms I know what I like and turns out—boom! They didn’t have anything suited for my tastes! Life can be so difficult out here in the dining table market, y'know?"
“I thought you guys needed a bedside table,” you say.
Seele bristles. “Same thing! Why put anything into labels nowadays, am I right? What’s important is that I found out what I like and dislike. Getting together and talking about things really helps out, y'know?"
And, wow, that statement was right on the nose.
Unbelievable. Truly.
Bronya claps her hands together, following a strained laugh. “Since we’ve completed our itinerary for today, shall we head towards the boardwalk for dinner? I’ve been wanting to check out their winter market.”
“If that means it’s finally time to eat something other than samples of nuts and sparkling water, I say yes.” Seele hops to her feet with glee.
Just as you’re all about to leave for the nearest mall exit, Veritas pulls away from you. He reaches into his coat pocket, phone buzzing.
“Everything alright?” You ask.
“I’ll rejoin in a moment.” Veritas twists back on his heels, looking over his shoulders. “I have something to take care of first.”
a/n: if you've read my latest tumblr posts of my series of life updates, then yeah ... you can kinda imagined what might've happened that delayed me from posting for so long haha. as mentioned, this is originally one chapter but split up into two, so i'm sorry again for leaving it on a cliffhanger ;; i pinky swear the next one will be out in a short bit - possibly under a week - since i have everything more or less written and just need to fluff it out and make it look good !! won't abandon you guys just yet :)
thank you again for reading - im honestly so surprised that a handful of you still remembered this fic HAHA it really means the world to me and i hope that i have the time and energy to respond back to every single one of you guys <3
taglist (just send in an ask or write in the comments below hehe): @pookiebearcave @argentits @sunnymain @popponn @callilysto @greenfurret @judasgot-it @nellqzz @ieathairs @helloyuki @crnnbrry-moe @axolotsofluv @fleurdebels @dewsstickynotes @hminnj @hertadore
