you click your phone on in your lap; the screen reads 8:02 pm, yet not a single notification. you expected a heads up- a βhey iβm running a bit behindβ at the very least, particularly since youβd both agreed to meet at 7 in the cute retro themed diner downtown. the restaurantβs once busy interior has dwindled to a slow bustle in the time youβve been there, twiddling your thumbs in the booth seat and decaying in wait.
you raise your hand to flag down your waitress, eager to get the check for your water and leave before you can feel anymore embarrassment. youβd never imagined being stood up, especially not on a blind date.
as if on cue, a very apologetic face rushes to be seated across from you; it happens so fast that you feel the breeze of his actions sweep your hair.
βsorry iβm late,β he breathes, smoothing the wrinkles from his clothes, βlike really late.β
βno worries,β you assure him. san, you repeat his name in your head. itβs fitting for him: charming, sharp. heβs dressed in black, a thin silver chain slipping underneath the cotton collar of his shirt. thereβs a particular warmth to his face that distracts you, albeit temporarily, from the mess that is his hair, βare you alright? you look kind of... disheveled.β
βoh,β he gasps, attempting to smooth down the stray pieces of hair that are much too displaced to have been styled that way, βi, uh, donβt own a mirror. kind of inconvenient in all honesty. would you mind?β
you suppress the smile threatening to seize your lips, feeling the burn in your cheeks as you reach across the table and brush his flyaways back into place. his hair is softer than it looks, and you may have brushed over a couple areas that didnβt need fixed just to feel it between your fingers.
βthere we go,β you settle back into your seat, βthatβs better.β
he smiles. perfect teeth, even the voice in your head is infatuated with how flawless he is aside from his awful time management.
βoh, i almost forgot,β his voice makes you jump in your skin.
san reaches into the space beside him in the shiny booth seat and pulls out a small bouquet of blushing roses, βi brought you these.β
theyβre tied together with a thin white ribbon, and the ends of the stems are jagged and hacked like he had cut them himself with a pair of kitchen scissors.
βaw,β you coo, gladly accepting the flowers, βthank you. you really didnβt have to.β
βi know,β san reassures you, and as you look up to meet his gaze, you feel the skin on your finger break against the tip of a thorn. blood quickly pools at the surface, and you curse under your breath. san continues, βbut theyβre so lovely, arenβt they?β
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