#avenday

Aventurine was bringing Sunday on a concert date.

Like Sunday had said in a mouthful of murmur: it was an impressive deal that Aventurine had managed to snag. They just met yesterday, and the way Aventurine managed to secure two tickets for the lovebirds was crazy. And what was even crazier was that it was during the love season too, where boyfriends and girlfriends were pulling hair to get their hands on the tickets to the annual music concert. 

At some point, Aventurine had to agree with Sunday's unsaid opinion. This date laid in line between romantically luxurious and mildly creepy.

So here they were, standing in the line to get snacks. Now, that was one thing that Aventurine's luck cannot rescue him from. 

The good thing was Sunday didn't appear that agitated. Instead, he seemed accepting with the fact that they were queuing.

Aventurine had tried many times to bribe the line in front of them with free food so they could just be the first in line. But Sunday didn't react kindly to the suggestion. From Sunday's point of view, excessive spending of money was no good. Although Aventurine could disagree with that - sometimes not all disagreements needed to be said. 

From the corner of his eyes, Aventurine observed Sunday. There was boredom pulling his bottom lip, creating the image of a sulking frown. Aventurine guessed the dissatisfaction could come from the couple behind them who kept cuddling up to each other - with their elbows continually hitting everyone. 

The best way to soothe your date is to distract them from the primary source of anger. So here is something Aventurine would do. 

"About the writing project that you're leading," Aventurine started their conversation. Light and easy. "How many interns we are talking about?"

"Huh?" Based on the way Sunday's widened eyes relaxed back to its natural state, he was likely processing the question that was asked out of nowhere. "I would have preferred around a minimum 120 interns - that number alone would be enough to represent the target population. I would have preferred more, but I also refuse to create such a hassle for you, Aventurine. But if there's anything else that you would like to suggest, I'm willing to consider it."

"300."

Several blinks. "300?" Sunday repeated Aventurine, disbelief was forming a frown in between his eyebrows. "I didn't know the IPC had that many interns under them. Are you also including interns from different countries too? Or does the departments under the current IPC take groups of interns under them?"

"I will find my way to get the 300 interns," but nothing that Aventurine had uttered could convince Sunday. "It shouldn't be hard. I worked in sales before. So I had a more realistic viewpoint on things. On numbers, especially."

Aventurine raised his hand. "You just need to believe this senior manager. You would be impressed, just trust me," said Aventurine, as he rubbed his fingers on the wrinkle forming on the front of Sunday's brows, almost as if to soothe the puckering. 

There was a bare glint of mischief in Sunday's eyes that only a sharp observant like the arrogant senior manager could catch with ease. With a slight tip of his chin, Sunday challenged cockily: "And what if I'm not impressed? How will you compensate for that?"

But Aventurine has met plenty of naughty boys like Sunday. So this experience was not new to Aventurine. But just because it wasn't a new experience, it didn't necessarily mean that Aventurine wouldn't be hooked on instantly. Just like an addiction, no sober man could resist a temptation when placed so closely on the lips. And for Aventurine's case, he bet that nobody would be able to deny an endearing, angelic-faced man with a temper: a killing combo that people came across once in their lifetime. 

"I'm not sure, Mr. Sunday. I can be an obedient man to pretty boys sometimes," The same hand that was gently stroking the soft curves of Sunday's arched brows now was combing through the strands of Sunday's hand - and it slowly travelled to the shell of Sunday's pale ears. "Maybe you need to set the price this time."

Sadly, Sunday didn't appear to be a man who was easily bewitched by flirty gestures. His hand grabbed Aventurine's with a firm grip, before resting it on his shoulders. "Let's quit touching each other. We are in public."

"I should remind you, my friend, that you're still holding my hand."

All Aventurine received in return was an uninterested huff, before his hand fell to his side. Boo, Sunday was a boring man sometimes. 

"But we should still be holding hands," Aventurine suggested with a persistent accent. Watching Sunday's irked glance, Aventurine clarified briefly: "We are still on a date, angel. It's not a bad thing to hold hands."

Sensing a lack of malice in Aventurine's romantic suggestion, Sunday's hand slipped his hand into Aventurine's. The palm of his hands and the pads of his finger were noticeably colder, likely from the air conditioner. They had been standing here for awhile anyways. Moreover, a cold partner can bring miracles to a date - said Aventurine in his head, mischievously. 

"Have you been to concerts like this before?" Aventurine asked, opening a new subject in the conversation. 

There was a tender interest in Sunday's body language that suggested he had been here, and his experiences were always pleasant. "Yes. Many times before. But I stopped going to concerts since then."

"And why is that?"

Aventurine would like to guess because the man was short on money.

"I have nobody to go with," Sunday answered, looking down. "I had nobody to go with. But it might return to the same routine if we are not seeing each other anymore."

Both of them lapsed in silence again.

While outsiders would have said it is rooted in awkwardness: a common occurrence for new couples.

But Aventurine would say it was more to uncertainty. Both weren't sure if their relationship would advance further than flirting and touching, but there was a warmth of curiosity - Aventurine could feel it - that was found by the way their hands remained clasped together comfortably. 

In that beat of a moment, Aventurine forgot that he was only taking Sunday out on a date to prove some idiot on the internet that they were wrong. Actually, Aventurine didn't mind dating Sunday. But maybe he was having all these moronic opinions because he hadn't gotten his first proper meal that day, so he started feeding on other 'food' to fill in the hunger. 

Yes, yes. That would be it. 

"What are you planning to order, anyways?" Sunday asked. "We are almost there."

And right after Sunday said it, a crowd of friends dispersed to the other side of the counter. 

While fishing out his wallet from the pocket of his pants, Aventurine asked curiously: "I know mine. What about yours?"

"I will get just vanilla ice cream," But the way Sunday stopped his sentence, it was almost as if there was something more that was left unsaid. 

Aventurine let go of Sunday's other hand, allowing the man to flip through the menu in front of them. While Aventurine dug out his wallet, ready to pay. 

His nose picked up the smell of hesitance coming from Sunday. So he gently elbowed Sunday, murmuring just loud enough to break though the sound of the crowded line behind them. "Don't be shy. Just order anything. It's on me."

A short glance strayed over Aventurine. Although it didn't go unnoticed, Aventurine strongly believed that there was a layer of naughtiness that he didn't manage to pick up. Sunday breathed in slowly, before spelling out his order in precise measurement: "Can I have my vanilla ice cream drizzled in caramel, and can you sprinkle some of the chocolate bits as well? I would love it if you add a small pinch of chocolate cookie crumbs too. And can I know what is the most expensive add-on?"

"The strawberries," the cashier answered nonchalantly, fingers pressing on the buttons of their screen with not a care to Sunday's absurd requests and Aventurine's bulging eyes. 

With a gesture of his hands, Sunday shared: "Can I have the strawberries - full, not cut - at the bottom of the ice cream, and then get the cut strawberries on top. Thank you very much." 

"Would you like some more chocolate on it too?" Aventurine gave a look at the cashier. It was evident that the cashier was supportive at Sunday's decision of draining Aventurine's wallet.

"Yes, please," Sunday approved happily, there was a small shake of excitement in each of his three nods. Then, he looked back at Aventurine. "What?"

"I didn't know you were such a sweet tooth," Aventurine gasped dramatically in a long huff, before tapping his card. He wasn't the kind who would care about the price of his food, but he was curious on how much did Sunday's food cost. He was surprised it didn't reach three digits. Just almost. 

"An expensive, picky, sweet tooth," Aventurine added. 

"A seasoned, sweet tooth," Sunday refused to back down. Aventurine was clearly a man who enjoyed extravagance - so his 'insults' and 'compliments' needed to parallel that indulgence. "I'm also providing you tips and tricks on ways to surprise me on our next date. Instead of picking on me so tactlessly, I suggest that you take note of what I prefer to have for a small dessert."

A small dessert? So what the hell does a main dessert look like then?

"Alright, your highness," Aventurine was careful not to shrug his shoulders, not wanting to get his head blown off by Sunday. 

When their order arrived on the other end of the counter, the vanilla ice cream serving in a cup - drizzled in all kinds of sweetness - looked back at them. Sunday picked it up and walked a bit further, inspecting each detail quietly. Once he was satisfied, he looked over to Aventurine as he thanked the man for the food.

Aventurine wasn't feeling like eating too many snacks. All he ordered was a crinkled bag of chips, and a tin of soda. A temporary relief from hunger.

The concert was luckily a large and open space, allowing the arena to smell less like food and sweat and more like green grass and fresh air. As long as there was nobody who was insensitive enough to eat a heavy meal with the richest aroma, the smell would be bearable. 

When they entered the arena, Aventurine pressed the bag in between his arm and his waist, while his other hand was holding the tin. Not wanting Sunday to slip downstairs and enter directly into the stage, Aventurine extended out a hand for Sunday to hold on. But instead of taking the proffered hand, Sunday wrapped his own hand around Aventurine's arm, giving a few harmless pinches on his biceps. 

"It's very close to the stage," Sunday pointed out their seat placements in a quiet murmur. "How much did it cost?"

"Yeah," Aventurine agreed, ripping the bag chip. "You could almost join the singer on stage."

"How much did it cost?" No amount of jokes could distract Sunday from his first question.

The chip that was pressed in between Aventurine's fingers was dropped back on the bag. "I'm not sure. Truth to be told, I really don't care. But I would like to know why you are even interested in knowing the ticket price. I thought you were some rich guy who happened to work in the publishing company."

It seemed that Aventurine's statement was deemed unsavory, as it weighed down the edges of Sunday's lips into a frown. "I'm not some rich guy who happened to work in the publishing company. I'm more of a person who dreams of becoming an author."

"Sunday, you're very dear to me. But no offense, you're rephrasing what I said in a fancy, rich guy accent."

The younger man's silhouette resembled a tense shadow. There was an unwillingness to share further - Aventurine could sense it. Especially when Sunday resumed eating his ice cream, instead of refuting Aventurine. 

Aventurine refused to be ghosted after the date. Yes, he was a man who prided on having realistic outlook on life - rather than romanticizing sufferings and shortcomings. But also, Aventurine didn't want to witness Topaz jumping in joy hearing that Aventurine couldn't keep Sunday for a day.

"But I have talked to some people who were born in wealth. In some rarer days, money feels less like money. And instead, it feels like a disease, spreading the family to behave violently in the name of 'prestige' and dominance. Maybe - in the same world to some people, family politics sound like a rewarding game. But maybe to some people living in it too, life is beyond that. But it's difficult, isn't it? To imagine a meaningful life while being surrounded with such toxicity like that. Maybe, the solution is sometimes to step down from the 'paradise' and walk on the same ground as others."

In other words, Aventurine had previously assumed that some wealthy people who were born in powerful families just hated the notion of it. So on a random day, they packed their bags and changed the road of their lives. Instead of walking towards the promised future, they found peace in instability. It sounded like a dream come true to these people, but a nightmare to Aventurine - who grew up in poverty.

Funnily, Aventurine's small speech had Sunday's ears perked up in interest. Instead of continually digging the ice cream into his mouth in this uncomfortable silence, he slowly leaned into Aventurine with a more relaxed expression. 

"I wouldn't say that my family is that malicious, though," Sunday continued, picking up a spoonful of strawberry drenched in chocolate. "But, not many of them are supportive of my decision. Some of them even encouraged me to take a short vacation, thinking that the work I took fried up my brain. I would have agreed if my sister didn't interfere before."

"You have a sister?"

Sunday turned to Aventurine, licking his lips to remove the excess chocolate. "Yes. Did nobody told you?"

Actually, yeah. Aventurine just liked to pretend for the dramatic effect.

Uninterested in hearing Aventurine's unpredictable response, Sunday resumed the conversation: "My sister is a singer. She didn't want to sing at first - preferring to stay within the family to help around. But she slowly discovered that singing had brought her closer to her dreams of helping others. Because of that, her disinterest slowly transformed into passion. She told me that - maybe in order for me to feel better, it's best that I put a distance between my family. And for the first time: figure out what I actually want to do."

"So, writing?"

"I always find great pleasure in writing, but my father thinks that writing can sometimes bring more harm than good. Especially when it centers around oneself."

Aventurine looked at Sunday funny. "I didn't take you as someone who would write celebrity romance."

Annoyance soured in Sunday's system, tainting the sweet taste of vanilla laid on his tongue. "I never said that it's about celebrity romance."

"Then what is it?"

"I like talking about my daily life. About what I think - about how I feel," Sunday shared. "I feel a lot of things. Sometimes, I feel too much too."

Aventurine had an almost herculean grip on controlling himself from cracking a dirty joke. 

"But nobody wants to read about how you feel sometimes," Sunday added. "People have bigger problems to worry about."

"So what do you want to write about now?"

As a man who had a firm voice on every decision, it surprised Aventurine that the high-and-mighty Sunday casually shrugged his shoulders, before taking another spoonful of ice cream, this time with a strong mix of cookie crumbs. 

Sunday suddenly stared into a blank space: an expression Aventurine knew too much when he found himself oversharing. Then, his lips thinned into a line, the tips of his ears turned red. "I do know what I want to write, though," Sunday said. "I would love to write about people. For now."

"But other people can be boring though."

"That's not true," Sunday disagreed with a small shake of his head. "You can find yourself in other people."

"Ohh. So, projection?"

Irritation pinching his face into a distasteful grimace, a signal to show that he was not appreciating Aventurine's contribution to his statement. "No," Sunday argued. "It's like admiring people. And understanding them from the inside. Their needs, their desires. Their expectations, their hopes. There's much to learn about people."

"So - to you. Interns fit that criteria."

"That's the part you're wrong about," Sunday lifted the pink spoon in his hand. "Anyone can fit into the criteria."

"But not everyone is admirable."

Again, Sunday shook his head in disagreement. But it was delightfully evident that it didn't come from agitation. "Everyone is admirable. It's about perspective. In relevance to that, I admire you too, Mr. Aventurine."

Guh?

And here Aventurine thought that he had the upper hand in the flirting game. It was so dangerous of this dude to blurt out such aphrodisiacal sentences during a first date. If Aventurine didn't have to hold such a reputation, he would have jumped on Sunday's bones right now and devour the younger man in front of everyone else.

Luckily for Sunday, Aventurine also had a resilient and strong willpower. So he feigned ignorance at the random confession - choosing to focus on their conversation. "And why that?"

Before Aventurine could uncover gold, they were silenced by the piercing sound of music being blasted from the speakers. The lights from the stage dimmed down to darkness, as all fans began shouting in unison. 

Through light darkness, Aventurine tried to make out Sunday's expression. But he seemed focused on patting the tissue on his lips. The empty cup of his ice cream now rested on his other hand. 

"Do you like this artist?" Aventurine asked, but was met by a loud shush from the back. The person then murmured something like concert etiquette. Boring stuff. 

Sunday slowly leaned to Aventurine, his back was pressed on Aventurine's shoulder. At this proximity, he could smell Sunday's shampoo from the strands of his gray hair. It had this cozy and rich fragrance: much different than his. When Aventurine had another small sniff, he was hit with a pleasing indication of warm leather, amber woods and aged brandy. 

And Aventurine guessed he would had a small peck on the lips. But instead, Sunday whispered slowly: "Maybe we should keep quiet."

"Yes, of course," Aventurine replied. Disappointment!