Hello!! Could you do 14, 15 and 31 with Fili? Romantic or platonic, up to you. Thank you 💜
13. Sitting together
14. Handholding
15. Sharing a blanket (potentially violent)
31. Stargazing
This combination is classic and oh-so-fluffy, and with my favorite Dwarf to boot! I went ahead and added another prompt as well.
Everyone lives AU, because there is no other ending in my mind.
BTW I'm sick :( but I'm going to try to get at least one other prompt request out this week
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1.8k
Moonrise - Fíli Durin x Reader
The Durin's Day festival was always fun, but it was all the more spectacular in the newly reclaimed Erebor.
"The first autumn equinox since the mountain was reclaimed, can you believe it?" Fíli said with a bright smile, looking with pride at the crisscrossing bridges and vaulted ceilings of the entrance to the mountain. There was still plenty of work to be done, to be sure, but its improvement was impressive regardless.
"And in a couple days, the anniversary of when it was reclaimed," you nodded in agreement. "A few months after that, the anniversary of the first time you walked around by yourself."
"Hush, I'm trying to enjoy this," Fíli gave you a fake scowl, unconsciously probing the scar hidden beneath his tunic.
You changed directions. "Of course, my Prince," you teased. "You look very nice today."
You meant it. His hair was freshly washed, the slightly damp strands frizzing out in the cool morning air. Each bead was carefully placed, a few decorative gold ones added in place of a crown. His tunic was a smooth yet understated silk underneath his leather vest and wool coat. Every detail was precisely placed, the burnt oranges and browns blending seamlessly. He had clearly been seen to with the utmost care. He looked like royalty, even without the royal garb. Most importantly, he was healthy.
His smile softened, his cheeks turning a bit pink under his mustache. "Thank you," he glanced to the ground before looking back up at you. "And you're beautiful as ever."
You blushed deeper than him, unused to compliments. You plucked at the placket of your own wool coat, dyed a deep woad blue. It was your favorite. "Thank you," you said, choosing for once to believe him. "What duties do you have today?"
"None, surprisingly," Fíli breathed. "Thorin's let me have a break, so I can enjoy the first festival in our new home right alongside you."
Something about that little word, our, set your heart ablaze. "You want to stick with me?"
"If you'll have me," he smiled again. That smile was impossible to resist.
"Of course I will."
Erebor had been steadily growing over the past year, but that day, it seemed more alive than ever. The market squares were full, overflowing into the wide side streets. Jewelry, blades, shields, ceramics, sculptures--anything made out of earth or in forges were certainly found somewhere in the expansive space. The Ereborian dwarves' tentative friendship with the Men of Dale caused new, less traditional stands to pop up as well: flower stalls, street food vendors featuring fish dishes, and clothing and homeware shops full of bolts of linen. The mountain had only dwarves—and Bilbo—in its halls, a presently rare occurrence, and so you were all free to speak Khuzdul, the sharp sounds ringing pleasantly in your ears.
The two of you strolled as quickly as possible through all the markets had to offer, determined not to miss the afternoon's performances. You exercised exemplary self-restraint, only stopping at one of every five stalls that caught your eye.
"No," became a very popular word as well, what with resisting Fíli's unceasing offers to purchase anything you liked.
"Well, if you will not spend any of your share of the treasure, I must spend some of mine and relieve what must be the terrible, stifling boredom of your living quarters, my friend," he teased, mustache beads swinging from side to side.
"I will have no prince wasting his money on me."
"Oh, it's never a waste if it's you," Fíli told you surely.
There he went again, saying things that made your palms sweat and your cheeks flush. "You're too kind."
Fíli smirked at the way you diverted your gaze. "Well, if I cannot buy you a rug, at least allow me to buy you lunch," he gestured to a permanent restaurant on the corner that was swarmed with dwarrow.
You couldn't help a smile at that. "Hot stew?" You asked, referring to the almost overpoweringly spicy meat-and-potato stew that was a dwarven classic. Benron's was your favorite.
"As hot as you like, of course," He agreed, guiding you forward with a gentle hand on your back.
The stew made your eyes stream in the best way, and you pulled Fíli out of the restaurant scarcely once he was finished eating. "We have to find good seats!" You reasoned as he raised an eyebrow, still wiping his mouth.
"You do realize that Thorin has the best seats, and by extension, we do as well?"
"Right," you said. You had forgotten. Somehow, none of the Durins were royalty in your mind. They were still your traveling companions, dirt poor and looked at as crazy.
"Still, it is sort of nice to take a seat before everyone starts filtering in and it gets too loud," Fíli reassured you. "After you."
The grand presentation began with a song to the mountain. In the ancient tradition, singing was a way to ask the mountain to reveal its secrets, a careful gathering of tones that would uncover its nature.
This song, however, was made more to please the ears of the listener. It was a song of thanks, of hardly believing that this mountain was once again the shelter for her people. You tried your best to control the tears that rose to your eyes.
Fíli leaned over, bumping your shoulder with his. You gave a small smile that he returned, and you could see in his eyes that he was thinking of all that it took to get there.
"We did it," you whispered.
"Yeah, we did."
The opening songs were followed by traditional dances, a speed-forging competition, and a few spars. You cheered on the brothers as they fought each other, with a healthy dose of brotherly teasing. Fíli let his little brother win, or so he told you. The look on Kíli's face was more than worth it. You congratulated him and let them both clean up as you headed to the gates.
The gates were still open, cool air pouring into the mountain as the sun dropped in the sky.
Dale was dimmer than usual—the city was empty. The men were lining the edge of the water with candles. This equinox now also marked the anniversary of the fall of Laketown and many of their loved ones. The dwarves tried their best to be respectful of their vigil.
You leaned against the wall and watched. You hoped they found peace and remembered to enjoy their new lives. Bard, standing at the back of the group, turned around. He caught your eye and nodded.
"Come with me, I think we should see something," Fíli's low whisper startled you from your reverie, and his hand wrapping around yours even more so.
"Where are we going?" You asked, not that it mattered. With his hand in yours, you'd probably follow him anywhere.
He led you on a trek around the front of the mountain, the setting sun turning everything orange and making his hair appear as flames as you went.
Caught in the daze of bliss, it took you a while to notice what was draped over his other arm. "Wait, is that—I told you not to buy that!"
It was the woven blanket you had noticed earlier, the tapestry depicting sunrays falling through a thick forest of firs. "And what if I bought this for myself? I have uses for it."
"Then it's alright, I suppose."
"You can keep it once I'm done with it, though."
"Sly fox."
"Coin pincher."
"Seriously, though, where are we going?" You asked.
Fíli smiled at you. "A certain very large staircase."
You gasped. "Leading to a secret doorway?"
"The very same. I figured, since we were both trying to help Kili, erm, not die, we missed the excitement, and now we can see it for ourselves."
"That's extraordinarily thoughtful of you."
"Eh, I'd say averagely thoughtful at best," Fíli shrugged.
"Perfectly suitable for me," you told him.
"Good."
The achingly long trip up the staircase was rewarded with a very nice sight: another, less decorative blanket spread across the stone, a couple flat pillows, and three lanterns, already lit and ready to face the darkness.
"When did you find time to do this?" You asked Fíli, grinning from ear to ear.
"I have my ways," he said mysteriously. "And help."
"That's where Bofur, Bilbo, and Dori disappeared to," you observed. "I see. Well, it's very sweet of all of you."
"I'm glad you think so," Fíli said, still holding your hand as he guided you to sit on the blanket with him.
The stairs had taken longer than anticipated, so the sun was already almost gone. You quieted as you realized how close the time was. The two of you watched in quiet admiration as the moon rose, bright and perfect, into the sky, before you turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of the door.
You gasped. "There it is!" The moonrise revealed the shape of a perfectly hidden keyhole. "That is very neat, indeed."
"Mmhm," Fíli agreed. "Beautiful." The keyhole was not what he thought was beautiful. He wasn't actually looking at the door at all, but rather you, and the way the moonlight reflected off every spectacular detail of your face.
He had never known quite when he started to feel this way, only that he didn't in the Blue Mountains, when he barely knew you, and he did now.
You turned your gaze from the keyhole once the wonder had made a comfortable space in your heart, and looked to the stars, all too aware of how close Fíli was.
You read out the constellations to yourself in the comfortable silence, assuming the prince was doing the same. You then heard him shift.
"Lay with me," Fíli offered, and you turned around in record time, cheeks blazing and eyes wide.
"What?"
He was already lying down with his head on one of the pillows. "To watch the stars more comfortably."
"Alright," you said, voice quiet. You scooted down until you could lay your head on the other pillow, before changing your mind. You decided to take a risk and settle your head on his chest instead.
"Is this alright?" You asked immediately. The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable in this situation.
"Of course it is," he said softly, his arm raising to hold your waist. "I enjoy being close to you."
It wasn't quite a grand confession, but it was good enough for your heart to begin hammering in your chest. "I enjoy being close to you, too."
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As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Three: Florida Man Blues
ao3 link
“I’m so glad you could come along.”
It was one o’clock sharp, and Christine had showed up at the cafeteria with bit of clay speckled onto her jeans courtesy of the ceramics class, but Alex didn’t seem to mind at all. She tied her long dark waves into a taut ponytail behind her head, and she fastened up the bottom three buttons on her long green coat even though the breeze around them was only cool and crisp. Fall was in the air, and Alex held the glass door of the cafeteria open for her.
He nudged a lock of dark hair back onto the crown of his head.
“It smells divine in here,” he told her as she stepped inside and adjusted the strap on her bag as if it was about to fall right off her shoulder. Indeed, once the door was closed behind her, she was greeted by the warm smell of something on the grill and another thing in the fryer clear back behind the silver counter up ahead of them.
“It really does,” she decreed as they walked together towards the counter. “I’m going to have a grilled cheese with French fries now.”
“I’ll have a gyro,” he added, and then he patted his little belly. “Trying to watch my weight.”
“Oh, come on—live a little!” she encouraged him.
“A gyro and a piece of pie,” he corrected himself.
“There you go.”
They strode on up to the counter and told the woman there for what they wanted, to which Alex turned to Christine with his eyebrows knitted together. “What kind of pie do you think I should have? Cherry or lemon?”
“Lemon,” she replied. “I see it staying with you better, especially with a gyro and a cup of coffee involved.”
“Yeah, I’ll have a slice of lemon pie, please,” he told the fuzzy-haired woman at the counter, and she scribbled it down on the pad of paper.
“Should be ready for the two of ya’s in about—ten or so minutes,” she told them in a big Brooklyn accent. Alex thanked her, and the two of them made their way over to the little table by the bathrooms on the right side of the room, big enough for just the two of them. As he took his spot there to her right, he ran his fingers through his smooth jet-black hair: the gray streak in the right side of his head popped out to her like the head of a little rabbit from its hole. A few stray strands of hair fell back down over the side of his face, and he fetched up a sigh.
“What’s the matter?” Christine asked him.
“Sometimes I feel like cutting my hair really short,” he confessed to her.
“Mmm…” She cocked her head to the side for a better look at his round face and his deep eyes. “I can see it looking really cute on you but I also can’t imagine you without long hair like this.”
“It’s the glasses, isn’t it.” He nudged them up the prominent bridge of his nose: but even with the lenses obscuring his eyes a bit, she could still make out the little twinkle there.
“It’s the glasses and it’s the fact that you have the right kind of face for long hair, too. Short hair would only clash with the full, round shape of your face.”
“Full and round, you said?”
“Full, round, and very handsome.”
“Handsome?” he echoed her, taken aback.
She peered over her shoulder to the counter behind them, right as the same woman as before brought two cups of coffee to the front there. Christine made her way over to the counter’s edge for the paper cups right as they stood alone there.
She returned and set the one in her right hand down before him.
“Was that too much?” she asked him.
“Oh, no, that was just—I had never been called that before.” She was about to sit down when the woman at the counter returned again.
“Miss?” Christine returned to her and the pair of narrow stirring sticks and packets of sugar in her hands.
“Thank you, thank you,” Christine told her with a little smile, and then she doubled back to the table yet again. She sat down next to him and gaped at him.
“Are you serious?” she asked him in a low voice, as if he disclosed to her the key to life itself.
“Serious about what?”
“You’ve never been called handsome before?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not even when I was a young kid—I was quite the looker back then, too.”
“Oh, come on. You’re adorable!” She handed him a stirring stick and some sugar, and he was eager to mix it all in for himself. A soft pink color crossed his face all the while, and Christine wondered if there was more to his story than she initially expected.
“So, I notice you don’t have much of an accent,” she started as she, too, stirred in some sugar into her light coffee.
“I’m originally from the Bay Area,” Alex replied with a snap of the lid back onto the mouth of the cup. “Born and raised in the Berkeley neighborhood.”
“My aunt teaches theater there,” she told him.
“Wow, really?”
“Been teaching about ten years now. I always joke about going out there and taking a few lessons, especially since I’ve never really been to the Bay Area.”
“Really? You’d love it out there, I’d feel.” He sipped on his coffee, and closed his eyes. “Ooh, that’s good.”
“Let me try—” Christine blew through the little slot in the lid, and then she sipped on it for herself. The coffee was rich and full, and there was just the right amount of cream in there as well: the single packet of sugar made the whole thing make sense to her.
“Oh, yeah, that is good.” She took another sip and shook her head about. “Anyway, how does someone from the Bay Area end up in New York?”
“My parents are both from here. Before my brother was born, they were relocated out to California—they’re teachers, too. My dad’s an Ivy League professor and my mom is an author of a textbook.”
“What’d they teach?”
“Sociology, like the social sciences in particular. My brother is an expat who teaches English in Vietnam and China.”
“So, it all runs in the family,” Christine said with a chuckle.
“Pretty much, yeah,” he replied, also with a chuckle. “I’m also kind of the only one in the family who actually went out of his way to the creative side of life. My brother does play bass guitar, and I actually tried it out for myself when I was learning as a kid because of him, but it’s mostly me with the music side of life.”
“Christine and Alex?”
The two of them stopped right in their tracks, and they glanced about the room. No one at the counter, either.
“Who called our names?” he asked aloud.
“I don’t know,” she answered as she looked back to the counter as well.
“I didn’t see anyone walk out of there, either,” he told her.
“A phantom called us,” she joked.
“A phantom who’s got a bigger appetite than me,” he added.
“It’s like he scarfs up every drop of food when no one’s looking.”
“Or people are looking but they’re absolutely horrified—” Alex turned his head right as a boy with an apron around his waist brought a tray full of food back to the counter’s edge.
“Oh, back here!” He bowed back to the counter to fetch the tray, to which he thanked the boy, and he slid back into the chair next to Christine. Carefully, he handed her the basket of fries with her grilled cheese sandwich on top, cooked to the point of having a crisp golden layer atop the bread. The fries meanwhile, were a perfect golden, straight out of the fryer.
“That smells absolutely incredible,” he told her.
“You should have gotten a basket,” she quipped as she picked up a fry and blew on it before she took a bite: light and fluffy and hot on the inside.
“Maybe next time,” he suggested with a nod. He unraveled the foil around his gyro, complete with the creamy white tzatziki sauce and feta cheese sprinkled on top. She could tell the veggies were fresh and the chicken was grilled to perfection.
“Wow,” she breathed out. “And maybe next time, I’ll try a gyro.”
“I love these damned things,” he said as he picked it out the foil: the pita bread had a golden char to it as well. “As they say in Greece, opah!” He raised it up a bit.
“Opah!” she followed up with a raise of the first half of her sandwich, and they took a bite in unison. Christine closed her eyes as she relished the melted cheese and the kiss of butter on the crispy side.
“Sometimes, all you need is something like a grilled cheese sandwich,” she remarked.
“Grilled cheese sandwich, spaghetti and meatballs, mac and cheese—hell, a big burger,” he added once he swallowed a bite of chicken, lettuce, and tzatziki sauce. “This is just applicable to me but—matzo soup.”
“You’re Jewish?” she asked him with a little flutter to her heart.
“Oh, yeah, very much so. I mean, with a name like ‘Skolnick’, yeah, that’s—that’s pretty Jewish. My family’s non-traditional, though. You know, we do Hanukkah and Rosh Hashanah, but I haven’t worn a yarmulke since I was a kid. I have no idea where my Star of David is, either.”
Christine shook her head at that. “Messy boy,” she teased him. “Such a messy, messy boy.”
“Hey, you’re messy yourself,” he scoffed, and he gestured to her legs. She looked down at the specks of dried clay on her knees as they poked out from beneath her coat.
“That’s ceramics for you!” she retorted as she took another bite of sandwich.
“Do we have any napkins?” he spoke suddenly; Christine watched him set the gyro down so he could show the tzatziki sauce and bits of onion on his spindly fingers and down onto his palm.
“Oh, jeez—” She glanced back to the counter to the napkin dispenser off to the side, and she ducked on over there for a handful. She handed him three, and he dabbed his hand with it all.
“Not the first time that’s happened to me while eating one of these,” he promised her as he picked out a single piece of dark green lettuce and popped it in his mouth like a potato chip.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she vowed.
“Where do you live, by the way?” he asked her.
“I live in a cozy little apartment in the heart of Queens. I’ll have to show you if you’re curious about it at all.”
“I definitely am curious,” he assured her. “I live not too far away from you in Brooklyn.”
“And we’re both due north of Coney Island where my dad lives.”
“Oh, awesome! All else fails, go down to Coney Island.” He took another bite, and then sipped on his coffee again.
“I like you, Christine,” he told her with a pensive look on his face. “You’re a lot smarter than most students I’ve taught. Smarter and braver, too.”
“Being a late bloomer, figure I’m going to be advanced in some areas,” she replied with a shrug. “I don’t even have a cell phone. It’s weird because I’m never like this in Mr. Hansen’s class.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m usually quiet—I mean, the fact Eric and I only just acquainted with each other should tell you something about it. I’m usually the kid at the front of the class who sits up front because the back makes me uncomfortable.”
“Same here,” he said with a nod. “Always taking copious notes of everything, too?”
“I have to. Especially with how soft-spoken Mr. Hansen is, too. Eric always has lots of notes with him as well, like every so often, I’ll look over and see several pages worth of material right there before him. We both really want to pass and we’ll do whatever it takes, too.”
“Same thing happened to me when I was in school,” Alex assured her. “I took a class on Irish literature once—fascinating.” His face lit up at that. “Just absolutely fascinating class. I took it as an elective, but I was also curious about it. But my professor—I’m not even kidding—spoke like this.” He bowed his head and barely moved his lips, and all the while, very little sound came out. Christine gaped at him. “I dared not tell him to speak up,” he continued with a shake of his head. “Because then, no one would learn anything. I still have this thick stack of notes at the bottom of my desk drawer back home just to prove it.”
He paused for a second, and then he returned to her.
“Did we pay for our food?” he asked her, slightly concerned.
“I don’t think we did,” she replied. “She never asked us.”
Alex reached into his jeans pocket for his wallet, but Christine stopped him there.
“Hang on, hang on, I got it,” she assured him as she picked up her bag.
“I’m the older one, though,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but mine was the most expensive of the two of us, though,” she insisted. “Don’t worry about it—I got this, Alex.”
He swallowed and pursed his lips, but he stayed in his spot there at the table while she made her way over to the counter again.
“Forgot to pay,” she told the woman with a slight smile.
“That’s okay! This place is like a diner anyway: get the bill at the end of it all. That’ll be thirteen-fifty.”
Christine handed her the money plus a few extra for a tip, and then she returned once again to Alex and the distraught look on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
He lowered his gaze to the table’s surface and swallowed.
“Alex?” Christine stood next to him with her hand on his upper back.
“I just—feel like I should be the one who pays for it.” She leaned forward for a better glimpse into his face and the glassy look in his eyes, as if he was about to burst into tears right then and there before her.
“Don’t worry about the money,” she assured him with her hand on his left shoulder and her face up close to his own. “Really, don’t sweat it, Alex.”
“Why should I not worry about it?” he asked her, slightly hurt. “I feel like this is something that I should have undertaken, not you.”
“Hey—” She looked on at the side of his face, to which he glanced at her: the rim of his glasses missed her eyebrow by a hair’s breadth.
“Be happy that we had a nice lunch together,” she declared in a low voice. “Really, who cares about money? It’s all meaningless at the end of the day.”
He turned his head away, and then he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Christine gently rubbed his shoulder and leaned in closer to the side of his head.
“You’re a sweet man, Alex—you deserve a break once in a while.”
“I should probably tell you that I’m also an adjunct professor—just like my dad,” he told her in a quiet voice. “I’m not only a substitute, but I’m considering getting a full-time position. I have no idea when that’s going to happen, either.”
Christine stroked his shoulder again. “You’ll get the job,” she vowed to him. “You will—I promise.”
He sighed through his nose and shuddered a bit as if he was cold, even though he had just eaten and finished a nice hot and crispy gyro. Reluctantly, he stood up and picked up a couple more of those napkins from the table, and handed them to her.
“You can never have too many napkins,” he assured her. “Especially with something like ceramics.”
Alex nudged his glasses up his nose once again, and he and Christine took their trash over to the trash bin on the other side of the room by the front doors. He was silent as they stepped back outside to the crisp, slightly chilly afternoon with the clear blue sky overhead.
“Let’s do lunch together again,” she suggested.
“Yeah, let’s,” he replied with a thoughtful look on his face. Christine fixed the strap of her bag over yet again and she stepped towards the edge of the top stair. She stood still for a moment before he approached her once more, that time with a hand upon her shoulder.
“Thank you,” he told her in a low tone. She peered back at him right as he flashed her another wink. He passed her there on the stairs to the very bottom and the walkway there.
“Alex,” she called after him. He turned and gazed up at her.
“Where do you want to go next time? Same as before?”
“Yeah, we can do the cafeteria again. Unless there’s a place in town you want to recommend.”
She shook her head. “Nah, I’m good for here,” she promised him.
“Run along, dear Christine,” he told her, and he raised his eyebrows upon saying that. She showed him a smile, and he padded along the sidewalk, away from the stairs and towards the walkway to the other side of the campus. She watched him walk along the narrow stretch of dark pavement there, and his long, shoulder-length black hair billowed back behind his head like the untamed mane of a lion. He stuffed his hands into his pockets once he reached the other sidewalk.
Even from a distance, Christine could tell that there was something going on with him. The way he bowed his head and hunched his shoulders as he walked.
She glanced down at the napkins folded up in her hand, and she wondered as to what to do next.
The doors behind her opened, and she stepped off to the side when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and there was Eric.
“Oh, hey, you!” she greeted hun.
“Hey! I saw Professor Skolnick over there shedding a few tears right next to you. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, he’s just—you know. The substitute teacher. Subs don’t make much, especially when they’re on an adjunct list as well.”
“Oh, man.” Eric tilted his head back and raised his eyebrows at that.
“Yeah, he felt bad that I was the one having to pay for our food,” she explained, “and I told him not to sweat it because at the end of the day, we had a nice lunch together.”
“That’s all that matters!” he decreed.
“Exactly, yeah!”
They descended the stairs together to the walkway, and they both stood in anticipation for a second before the pavement cleared up for them to cross. Eric ran his fingers through his black hair, such that Christine could see the side of his neck and his collar bones.
“What class do you have next?” he asked her as they reached the other sidewalk and the low canopy of trees there: the leaves were still green, but as they approached them, Christine noticed the yellowish tinge around the stems. They were about to turn colors for the true advent of autumn.
“History,” she replied. “Mr. Crow.”
“I have physics,” he said.
“I’m so sorry,” she chided, and he chuckled at that.
“It’s not that bad, actually,” he assured her. “It’s just math-intensive is all.”
“Imagine writing a song using nothing but math equations you learn in physics,” she suggested.
“Some people have!” he declared as they crossed the grass to the row of oak trees closest to the school building. “There’s this genre of music called ‘math rock’ and they quite literally use things like an abacus or math equations to write their songs.”
“Wow. This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“Guy in a music store showed it to me,” Eric continued. “I reacted to it the same way you pretty much did.”
He adjusted the straps of his backpack before they climbed up the stairs to the front door of the building: he held the door for her, and they walked together across the linoleum hallway to the far end. Christine stood before the door on the right side of the corridor, and she hesitated for a second.
“Eric, where do you live?” she asked him.
“Uh, I live over in Queens,” he told her. “Why?”
“You wanna ride the bus home with me?”
“Uh, sure—well, I do ride it home, anyway. But you might have to wait for me because Mr. Henderson is one of those teachers who dismisses us, not the time limit of the class.”
“Oh, jeez. I’ve had teachers like that. Yeah, I can wait a bit. I didn’t wait for Alex, but I can wait for you, though.”
He showed her a little smile before he padded into the classroom across the hall there. Christine made her way into the one there at the right side for one final hour of class time and Mr. Crow telling jokes in between lines of his lecture before the end of the day.
She hesitated there in the doorway for a glimpse at across the hall to Mr. Henderson’s class: the door remained slightly ajar, such that she couldn’t even see Eric in there. But she knew that they had to be released at some point between then and the moment the bus lumbered up to the curb.
Christine strode down the hallway to the doors, and all the while, she thought about her lunch with Alex. She had faith that he could land a permanent teaching position, especially there at the school: he had nothing to lose and everything to gain from their approval of him. There was something else there with him, however: something that she couldn’t exactly put a finger on, either. But she had to shelve it once she pushed open the doors and faced the mid-afternoon sunlight as it filtered past the buildings across the street. The bus stop stood right up the block from there.
She made her way down the steps again when the sound of footsteps running behind her caught her attention. She turned her head right as Eric skidded up to the doors and sprinted down the stairs to catch up with her.
“The bus won’t be here for ten minutes,” she told him with a hearty laugh, and he slowed down to a steady walk next to her.
“I just saw you walking out the door, and I wanted to play catch up,” he explained, out of breath.
They walked along the sidewalk together to the bus stop near the corner up ahead of them.
Alex had all but disappeared from the school grounds from that point onward.
They reached the bus stop, a long low metallic bench surrounded by clear glass and a cold metal ceiling to protect them against the incoming waves of rain and snow for the heart of autumn in the coming days. Eric shivered and tucked his hands into his jean pockets, even though it was a rather mild afternoon that day.
“Are you cold?” Christine asked him as they stood together under the metal ceiling.
“Nah, I just got one of those deep chills,” he explained. “You know the ones that settle into your spine and they don’t even go away even if you dress warm?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, those are fun. Those are lots of fun, especially when you’re under a bunch of blankets, too.”
He took out his wallet as well as his student ID for the bus driver, and Christine did the same. Unlike most days after school, there weren’t a lot of students waiting there at the stop with them, and thus, they boarded alone. There were only a few other people onboard, and thus, a good variety of seats stood before them.
Christine sat down in the seat against the wall, right behind the driver, while Eric took the one perpendicular to her, right next to the window.
“I feel like we could tell each other a scandal,” he said as he scooted over to the seat next to her.
“I’m not your girlfriend, you know,” she teased him.
“I just wanna save some space, though,” he pointed out with a shrug. The bus lumbered forward along the street, and Christine leaned to the right a bit in reaction to it. Eric snorted at that.
“Nice little demonstration of Newton’s third law, I see,” he remarked.
“What goes up, must come down—ah, but see, what comes down needs to have something to back it up,” she added onto it.
“Ha!” He nudged a lock of hair back from his shoulder and showed her the side of his neck as well as his chin.
“We should demonstrate that to Alex next time we see him,” she suggested.
“He’s a music teacher, he won’t know what it is,” he quipped.
“Sure he will,” Christine assured him. “He’s way smarter than you think, Eric.”
“You reckon he’ll know about Newton’s laws and theories?”
“Yes! Wait, ‘I reckon’? We’re not in the South, you know.”
“I do reckon that I dee-clay-ah,” Eric joked in a fake southern accent.
“You declare?” she teased him.
“I do dee-clay-ah that it’s necessary,” he continued.
“That almost sounds real,” she said, to which he shrugged.
“Not bad for a little Mexican boy, huh?”
“Not bad at all.”
The bus crossed the bridge down onto the outskirts of Brooklyn. Beyond that was Queens and that familiar, cozy little neighborhood that she loved and grew up by.
“Never liked how close we are to the East River,” he confessed, and she nodded at that.
“I mean, they’ve cleaned it up a great deal,” she said, “but it’s still the East River, though. It’s still—what it is.”
She reached behind her and rang the bell for the next stop.
“That was smooth,” Eric said with a quick flash of his eyebrows.
“Smooth as old water,” she quipped, and the bus pulled over to the side of the street for the row of apartment complexes along the right side of the street. Christine climbed off first with a “thank you” to the driver while Eric lingered right behind her all the way to the pavement out there.
“I’m starting to consider your suggestion for a little road trip, too,” she told him as they strode up the sidewalk together towards her building. She took out her keys from her bag and clutched onto them as if they were about to slip away from her.
“Bro, we should totally do that,” he declared.
“We totally should, and don’t call me ‘bro’, either,” she teased him, to which Eric burst out laughing at that.
“Where do we want to go, though?” he asked her as the bus roared past them to the corner up ahead.
“Some place where we can both have fun, without a doubt.”
“How ‘bout Vegas?”
“Las Vegas?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s an awful long way.”
He shrugged. “A suggestion.”
“Mmm, I’ll think about it,” she promised. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You, too—”
She watched him walk onward to the corner up ahead, complete with his long inky black hair billowed behind his head like the tentacles of an octopus. She watched him all the way to the very end, and then when he reached the door to his building. When he took out his keys, he turned to her with one final wave.
She returned the favor and then he headed inside.
Christine unlocked the door before her.
Back to her place at the center of the block.
Though she was a late bloomer and older than most of the students at her school, she still lived within range of her parents: her mother lived across the hallway from her, where her father lived down by Coney Island and within range of Alex’s apartment complex. When she reached the doorway there at the end of the corridor at the second floor, she could hear the vacuum cleaner running in the apartment to the right of her. Her mother was doing wonderfully there in Queens, even after such an acrimonious divorce from her father. Everything seemed hunky-dory from that point forward, even when she sat down at her desk with her homework for Mr. Hansen’s class and she thought about Alex and his predicament.
If only there was a way to help that poor man. If only there was a way to talk to him and ease the heavy feeling on his mind. She knew that what they had was something unlike any other relationship between a student and a teacher, even though he only ever spoke to her as such.
She went to bed that night thinking about him and how he was doing over there in Brooklyn. He wasn’t too far away: she could very readily walk on over to his place and console him. But he never completely told her where he lived, nor did he tell her if he would be home at all.
She nodded off into a deep dreamless sleep, and when she awoke, it was raining.
She had to find a way into him as she took the next bus to school for the day.
Mr. Hansen was back for that class, and as a result, Christine remained quiet, not only because she had nothing to add to the discussion, but because she could not stop thinking about him. About the substitute. About Alex.
During ceramics class, for her first project, she modeled a little coffee mug out of the rich brick red earthen clay, and she thought about giving it to him once she had it glazed and then fired in the kiln. She held it up before her face in her fingertips, complete with the handle on one side.
“Try putting a little foot on that,” Miss Estes advised her from behind her. “Keep it steady.”
“Will do—” Christine nodded and rolled out a small sliver of clay for the base of the mug. It was tricky to put on while the rest of the mug was already done up and ready to sit out to dry, but she did it nevertheless. Carefully, she placed it on the rack with the few others ready to be glazed and fired come the week of the kiln.
She then packed up her things into her drawer and washed her hands, and she left the class early.
She headed to the cafeteria for lunch when she heard someone calling her name. She glanced about the sidewalk when there was no one there. She continued on when she heard it again.
“Christine!”
She turned her head again, right as he skidded to a stop before her with a flushed look on his face as if he had ran a mile.
“Oh, hey, Alex! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“It happens sometimes,” he assured her with a slight shrug of the shoulders; she moved her dark green umbrella over his head to protect him from the rain. “They called me in to sub, and I waited for a bit—here we are at lunchtime and I’ve got bupkiss.” He held something in his hand down by his side.
“What you got there?” she asked him.
“Brand-new phone,” he replied, and he showed her the little bright cherry red flip phone with a narrow screen on the front. “I kind of needed it.”
“Excellent!” she said, and she found it odd that he had bought a new phone but he felt guilty for not being able to buy them lunch. It was as if he had read her mind because his face turned serious behind those glasses.
“I just got paid yesterday,” he explained.
“Ohhh.”
“Yeah. And I had been saving to get a new phone for a while, anyway—I just needed that little extra push.”
“You know, I totally understand that,” she assured him. “I grew up in the Bronx and in Queens: I know how tough it can be.”
“Long way out of the Bronx,” he told her. “I can say that as a guy from the San Francisco Bay Area, too.” He chuckled at that, and then he gestured for her to follow him up to the cafeteria for another round of a warm lunch and twin cups of coffee. That time around, they sat at the big wooden bar on the other side of the room: once she shook her closed umbrella a second time, he offered to help her onto the spindly chair at the end closest to the counter, but she could see him struggle with it as a big man with a little weight problem. He set the new phone down on bar in between them so it was out of the way.
“More of that good coffee,” he said with a sip.
The phone then vibrated, and they both looked on at the screen, now lit up with life.
A woman’s name, and an unfamiliar one at that as well. Christine frowned at the sight of it, as well as the word “important” next to it.
“Who’s she?” she wondered aloud. Alex nibbled on his bottom lip at the sight of it.
“I’ll tell you later,” he vowed to her, and then he fetched up a sigh. “I have to take this, though…” He wrinkled his nose, and padded away from the bar and all the way to the door: once he reached the door, he opened the phone. Christine raised an eyebrow at that. It made sense that he would excuse himself and go somewhere quiet, but he needn’t go that far away from there, however, and more so with it raining outside as well.
Indeed, when she walked over to the counter for their baskets, the woman there took notice of it as well.
“Is everything okay between you two?”
“I hope so,” Christine replied.
“I ask ‘cause he didn’t look too happy about taking that phone call.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he looked kind of—annoyed, I’d say. As if something unbelievable had just happened.”
She frowned at that, and she glanced over at the doorway again, right as he headed back away from there. His face, once again, appeared flushed. Christine thanked the woman for the food and the napkins, and she returned to the bar with either one in hand as if she was a waitress. Alex climbed back onto the chair, and she followed up right behind him.
“You alright?” she asked him at a quick clip.
“Yeah. I guess…” He ran his fingers through his dark hair, and that time, he lifted it off the side of his neck, as if he was hot. Christine leaned in closer to him,
“Do you want to tell me?” she asked him in a low voice. “I can keep it a secret. I won’t tell a soul about it. It’ll be between you and me.”
He gazed on at her with big eyes behind those shiny lenses for a long time. He then shifted his weight in the seat: she could see he was scrounging up the courage to tell her.
“She’s… this woman…”
She held still, and he did as well.
“…I’ve been—dating for the last several years.”
Christine stopped right then and there with her eyes wide open and her hand rested on the bar between them. Her mind fell completely blank, and she had no clue as to what to say to him right then. He looked on at her, bewildered.
“You’re not mad at me?” he asked her in a small voice.
“Mad? Why would I be mad? I mean, just looking at your face when the phone lit up and also after the fact, I can tell that there’s something wrong there. I’m actually more confused than anything.”
She lowered her gaze to his left hand: no ring there on his third finger. Add to this, he carried himself in a way that she swore he was free.
“You didn’t say anything about a wife or a girlfriend,” she recalled in a near whisper. She returned her attention to his face, and right as that downtrodden look returned.
“There’s something wrong here,” she stated. “Something is happening between you and her, and it’s not good.”
“That is an even longer story,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “And, uh—one that I don’t really feel comfortable talking about, either. I don’t know how I’m going to talk about it, to be honest.”
Christine rested a hand on his shoulder and he bowed his head as if he had just done something bad.
“You take your time with it,” she encouraged him. “If it’s really that bad, don’t worry about telling me right away.”
He sighed through his nose again, and his face fell. It really was that serious. Christine swallowed and lingered back away from him to give him space to breathe.
“This is not a date, by any means,” he told her.
“Not at all,” she said. “This is a nice afternoon together. A student with a teacher.”
He sighed through his nose yet again, and he leaned back in the chair, and he rested his hands on the hard top surface of the bar as if he had just witnessed something shocking. He never moved a muscle, but Christine knew there was something that tormented him, that tormented his body and his heart. From behind his glasses, she could see him looking off to the left side, away from her. There was a whole world that awaited her behind those eyes.
She sighed as well, and then she inched closer to him, such that she could smell the cologne on the side of his neck. There had to be a way to ease the tension right then, and she recalled what Eric had told her the few days before after the first round of lunch.
“You know that boy Eric, who sits next to me in Mr. Hansen’s class?” she began. He was silent for a second, and she watched his eyes move behind the lenses as if he was looking for the best answer.
“The kid with the long black hair and is kinda baby-faced?” he recalled, and then he nodded. “Oh yeah.”
“He wants to take me on a road trip,” Christine continued.
“Where to?” He turned his head towards her.
“Vegas.”
He raised his dark eyebrows at that. “That’s awful far,” he pointed out. “Maybe fly there instead? I figure that would be cheaper, too.”
“That’s what I told him,” she said with a drumming of her fingers on the bar’s surface between them. “I also told him that I would rather go to Reno or Portland instead: Reno, I love, and Portland, I’ve never been to.”
“You’d love Portland,” Alex assured her. “I went there—a couple of months ago, actually, before school started. It’s excellent for people like us.” He paused for a second. “Wait, you’re talking about Portland, Maine, right?”
“Oregon,” Christine corrected, and she chuckled at that. Alex then nudged his glasses up the aquiline bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes.
“Says the guy with a college degree,” he muttered, and he flashed her a playful little grin.
“Would you like to join us out there?” she offered him. “You know, I think about what you just told me about—her—and I also think about the stuff you’re dealing with as a sub and as an adjunct professor. You know. Maybe get away and hang out with us for a bit.”
“That’s too kind of you, Christine. But… I don’t know. That sounds like a fun trip for strictly two people and I feel like I’d be imposing on the two of you. You know. Total third wheel.” He shrugged and showed her the solemn look on his face as he said that.
“You wouldn’t be a third wheel,” she assured him. “We’d make it totally worthwhile for you.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” he told her. “It’s a lot to undertake, you know?”
“Of course. Besides, Eric and I aren’t leaving until the summer. You’ve got plenty of time, Alex.”
It was right then when he fell into complete silence, to which he would stay there for the rest of their lunch.
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