#ft. izzy

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I like Izzy. Whilst in a lot of ways she and Chris are a natural extension of each other... Izzy is her own person and I like being around her. Tolerate is a mean turn of phrase. Izzy's my friend.

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Cry? Throw up? Blow a hole through the fabric of the Universe? I dunno! It's never been a question. I love them both and they love each other and I wouldn't be able to live without either of them!!! They ROCK.

Leo, if you see this, you rock too and I promise I'm on my way with your coffee. Tell Gem to stop sending me hate male.

Prospero’s eyes flitted upwards in surprise, a deep blush colouring his cheeks. He’d been seated for all of 45 minutes and, judging by his wristwatch, 38 seconds. Those 45 odd minutes were spent seated alone, while his gaze drifted towards the front door of the restaurant, desperate and pleading as he waited to see if a pretty brunette might wander in. He wasn’t holding his breath, even if he had been frequently opening, closing, and reopening whatsapp to see if he’d missed an obligatory sorry, I'm just running late! Text. He hadn’t, of course. 

Simply put, he was being stood up. 

Even more simply put, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. 

Prospero Parker was more than accustomed to beautiful people deciding he wasn’t worth their time. He was goofy and a bit peculiar, usually deemed the “odd one” of the Parker family. He didn’t tend to mind, considering that he knew it to be true, but in this case he just felt a little silly. Izzy had been so hellbent on setting him up on various dates – much to his own embarrassment, given there was only one person he wanted to take out on a date, and she seemed quite content on playing his matchmaker instead. Now, he had to live with the flagrant humiliation of both being ghosted, and with having to relay that information to her when she inevitably asked how his date went. 

“Oh. Maybe a Kopparberg, if you wouldn’t mind terribly?” Prospero smiled weakly at the waitress, absolutely positive she could practically taste the shame radiating off of him. Maybe she’d feel sorry for him and finally put him out of his misery and tell him to bugger off home. No, of course she wouldn’t. Because people were kind and they didn’t take pleasure in the suffering of perfect strangers, he quietly reprimanded himself. “The passionfruit one, please.” 

She gave him a quick nod and wandered off towards the bar and Perry sighed. He wasn’t a huge drinker, but he thought he might need a little liquid courage before he cut his losses and finally admitted to himself, and his waitress, that he had been stood up. He glanced down at his silly little date outfit, remembering the once-over Apollo had given him, and the disappointed “Bro, ARMS.” he’d uttered when Perry had pulled on his favourite cardigan. He wasn’t as confident as his best friends, not nearly as comfortable with exposing his skin, even if it was just his stringy little arms. 

A shadow loomed over the table, and Prospero lifted his head, ready to greet his waitress and thank her for his cider. Instead, his gaze locked with an older gentleman, who seemed a little put out. 

“Alright, buddy. Don’t you think it’s time to admit she’s not showing?” 

Prospero blinked, a lump forming in his throat. Now would be a really dreadful moment to cry, he reminded himself. He glanced over the shoulder of Justin – according to his nametag! – and spotted his waitress smiling apologetically behind him, shrinking her body and making herself small in ways that were all too familiar with the young Brit. 

“Yes, okay. Right you are,” Prospero mumbled, hands fumbling with his phone as he pulled it from the table and clumsily shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. No doubt he was taking up precious space at a table that could go to an actual patron. As he pushed his chair out, a sharp scraping noise made the three of them cringe as the wood scraped along the linoleum, and he winced as his knees cracked against the underside of the table. 

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