fandomhigh | The Library; Monday. [ 11/24 ]

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The Library; Monday. [ 11/24 ]

Cal came into the library with a big sigh and a big cup of coffee; he felt like he would much rather be somewhere else today, but, really, if he took a moment or two to think about it, he didn't have anything better to do and should just enjoy the fact that no one was going to bother much with the library on the week before Thanksgiving.

Right?

[[ ocd ~~on the waaay~~ is up! ]]

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That was a little unexpected turn of the conversation and personal questions tended to make Cal exceptionally wary. He eyed Claire for a moment as if he could pick out something on her face that might tell him what it was before she did, but it was so out of left-field for him that he didn't even know where to start guessing.

"Uhhh, you can always ask," he said, since it was true. Nothing was stopping her. He just wasn't going to guarantee an answer.

It was very left-field, and Claire's face looked like she knew that. But t was sort of important information.

Even if asking it was going to make her look entirely too nosy.

"So you and Amber -- is it over, over, or is it the kind of over where you're still sleeping together or you're in love and going to get back together in five minutes?"

Forget left field; that one seemed to have come all the way from China. "No!" was his immediate response, sounding a little like he couldn't believe anyone would ask that, his forehead creased in a frown once the initial surprise faded. And then the heat of embarrassment filled his face, as well as a turn in his stomach that might have been akin to nausea for his knee-jerk response. "I mean..."

He faltered; they hadn't been, but with how Amber talked sometimes...and he could never really tell if she was joking with that sort of thing or not.

"We're just friends," he said, his voice insistent against the little echo of Amber's little with benefits addendum that had surfaced but never stayed into fruition. "Just friends. We play Scrabble."

Thankfully, the next surge of emotion, a momentous pull of his heart in his chest to think of why Claire would even care, was strong enough to prevent him from realizing how stupid that sounded.

It did sound kind of stupid, but the content of what he was saying made Claire giddy and goofy and fluttery-stomached. It meant there was a chance. "Nothing but Scrabble, huh?" she said all but mindlessly as she went just as red. "Good. I mean ... my roommate thinks I should ask you out."

She was an idiot.

"Well, she knows I'd--"

Cal was about to mention on how he'd intentionally mess up her sock reorganization, but then he realized exactly what that last part of Claire's comment was and it stopped him flat. He stared.

"Who the hell's your roommate?"

That was not a question Claire had expected. "Penelope Wilhern?" she said, gesturing helpfully at her nose without thinking about it.

Cal wasn't sure he knew who that was, which made the answer one that made sense. Because if he didn't really know her, then she didn't really know him, which is why she would say something like that, because anyone who knew him would clearly not suggest to anyone...

"Oh," Cal said, mollified slightly. He couldn't think of anything else to say to that, because all the blood that should be helping his brain was going to his face. "Umm..."

"Yeah," Claire said, and then she started just talking because it was clear there was absolutely no way she could make things worse. Maybe if she randomly turned into some kind of small, furry animal. No, that would be better, because animals didn't talk.

Right.

"She said it because she was telling me how this boy was a jerk and ignored her flowers, and I told her how our conversations kept getting weird and awkward and I thought it was because I was kind of into you but you just broke up with someone and she said I should at least try and, ummmm ... should we have dinner or something or am I just being weird and delusional?"

Smooth, Claire.

Edited 2008-11-25 02:42 (UTC)

There were some moments when someone said something that resulted in the other person feeling like they'd just been slugged by a giant mallet.

This moment was much more like lots of much smaller mallets, hammering away instead of making one fell swoop.

All that hammering to several different parts of Cal's brain, slapping him with reminders of how much was wrong with this and how utterly impossible it would be to explain any of that, left him unable to really say anything at all at first.

And, once he could, all he could say was, "Okay."

He'd figured out how to deal with all that other stuff later.

Claire didn't exactly frown, but she took a mental step back. "It won't break my heart or anything if you don't want to."

"Why would it?" Cal asked, distress creasing his eyebrows, because it wasn't like Claire actually liked him or anything. She couldn't! He hadn't even had the chance to set up all the usual precautionary procedures in the attempts (despite how they've failed for him so far) to ensure that she didn't. He cleared his throat, shifting a little in his chair. "I mean..why wouldn't I?"

"Because you don't like me that way?" Claire offered, watching him and getting faintly alarmed. She was going to stick to throwing herself at boys in the future, she swore to God. "I mean, that's why you might not want to. If my heart was riding on this I'd have to be really invested. And a little pathetic."

Which she wasn't. Clearly. Just ... invested enough to be disappointed as she wondered if she'd misread things.

Okay, that didn't work. Inside his head, brain cells flailed in attempts to escape the tiny mallets rendering them useless. He could just say he didn't; it wouldn't be in the least bit true, but he could say it and that would be that, and he'd just suffer with his infatuation like he always did.

Just the thought, though, that he might not have to held him back, shifting through the available responses for the most basic, unreadable, safest one.

"I don't know you well enough to know if I like you that way or not," he said, good and ambiguous and not the slightest bit what he really thought.

That was safe and sane and basic and ambiguous, and Claire had no idea how to take it.

"Okay," she said, a bit formally, nerves showing as she fidgeted with an escaped strand from her bun. "Um, then ... before or after the break? I'm gone Wednesday until Saturday morning."

"Um..."

Before meant that he could get it done and over with and have all weekend to think about how it went and maybe even talk to Tessie for advice.

After meant that he had the chance of using the excuse that he just forgot about it, or he could take a good weekend to think about exactly how to handle the situation, and could still get advice from Tessie.

He shrugged. "I'll be leaving Wednesday, too. What do you think?"

"I asked you first," Claire replied, a distant look on her face as she, too, tried to decide whether she wanted the anticipation or the fact of whatever happened to obsess over during the break. She decided having it over with would be better, just in case it were the disaster she feared.

"Before really means tomorrow," she realized. "But I can do that, if you can. Mexican or Thai?"

Cal considered it carefully, because considering that carefully meant not having to focus on the fact that he was actually planning a date. Half a year ago, he'd sworn off all human contact beyond the basic, less than a month ago he broke up with a girlfriend despite all that, one who was just yesterday talking about benefits, and now he was planning a date.

That, and Claire really had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Yeah, he was trying to focus on the easier details in this situation. "Thai," he decided. "It might have to be a little late, though; I've got play practice."

She was really clueless, and, two months before, had been claiming she'd been burnt and wouldn't even look at a guy.

Things changed?

"Late is fine," she told him. "I'll meet you there." And probably power through some Thai iced coffee and shred a few napkins while she waited.

"O-okay," Cal nodded, scratching the side of his head a little. "It's, uh..." He drew in a bit of a breath, quirking a slight grin at Claire, and wondering how much of his eyes was showing the utter confusion he was feeling. "It's a date, then."

Christ, Stephanides. What the hell are you doing?

"It's a date," Claire agreed, managing a tiny smile of her own.

This would be ... interesting. At least.

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