18:48Macara Residence - Home
She's late; you're both late because she's been taking forever in the bathroom trying to look better than just 'good'. Athiel doesn't want to look 'good', she wants to look 'perfect', 'gorgeous', 'irresistible', and she's going to take as much time as she needs to have that exact result.
Never mind if you two should've been at that restaurant forty-eight minutes ago.
It's not your fault she's been overthinking it—as much as it kills her to acknowledge that for once, not everything has to be your fault. She just wants this dinner to be perfect, romantic, something that'll blow your mind. Athiel wants to leave this bathroom and see your jaw on the floor; she wants you unable to keep your hands to yourself, your mouth praising, and your eyes staying on her only.
Untying her styled hair for the nth time, Athiel exhales sharply through her nose, letting the elastic—the one that was keeping her hair high in an elaborate and fake messy bun, which added an elegant touch to her face—falls on the floor to grip the edge of the sink instead. Her mid-length blond strands immediately slide forward to frame her face like silky curtains while her gaze stares at her reflection.
"Should I just braid my hair?" she murmurs to herself, angling her face here and there at a slow pace as she pictures herself with a braid. She grimaces. With mid-length hair, it wouldn't exude the elegance she wants to have. "No braid."
Impatient knocks on the door have her straightening her spine abruptly.
"Hurry the fuck up, we don't have all night," comes your grumbling muffled by the closed door. "We're already late."
Athiel rolls her eyes so hard it's a wonder they're not stuck in the back of her head. Of course you're complaining when she's here, doing her best to look gorgeous. You're too dumb to get it, though. Not that it's any news.
"Less eye rolling, more moving."
That has her snapping her head to the door with those ocean blue eyes widened, flush already starting to creep up. You're being too good at reading her for her taste. "How do you even—"
"So you were rolling your eyes," you cut her off gruffly, and she can already picture your arms crossing and those eyebrows furrowing.
"Whatever, just give me five minutes," the model waves her hand dismissively in the air, even though you can see it.
Waiting for your steps to fade away, signaling her you went back downstairs, she blows out a soft breath. Her gaze flickers up, checking again her outfit and her hair before sighing again. No matter how many times she tries, the result is still not satisfying her. But she doesn't have time to change her mind anymore.
So with a pair of elegant golden earrings long enough to brush her neck at each slow motion of her head, she crouches down to grab the elastic that fell earlier and manages to style her hair in a low, messy bun—different from the high one she tried earlier. She nods to herself, and finally, finally unlocks the door, letting her legs guide her body to the stairs outside the room because her brain is still busy wondering if she's gorgeous enough.
She can hear you pace around downstairs and mumble under your breath about car keys, phones, and the basic things to not forget, though she makes no move to descend the stairs yet. She fixes the strands framing her face, smooths her outfit before straightening her back, pushing her shoulders slightly back and raising her chin.
The moment Athiel's designer heels click against the hardwood stairs, the silence washes over the house as she watches you stop on your way to the kitchen. The sound echoes through the entrance hall, each step deliberate and measured—calculated to draw attention. And it works, because your head turns, gaze lifting to track her descent.
Athiel's breath catches in her throat despite herself, nervous energy intensifying by the second, and the urge to fix her hair again is getting harder to ignore. Your expression shifts from irritation to something else, something that makes her head dizzy. Your eyes drag over her slowly, taking in every detail of her carefully chosen outfit.
But of course, you had to open your mouth.
"About damn time," you mutter.
Athiel bites back a frustrated huff as she reaches the bottom step, one hand trailing along the banister as she cocks her hip on one side with narrowed eyes. "That's all you have to say?"
You don't answer immediately. Instead, you turn your back to her, and Athiel's stomach drops. Did you not like it? Is she not gorgeous enough? Or was it the sassy remark that made you walk away? Her fingers twitch at her sides, fighting the urge to grab you and get you back here to have answers.
"Precious—"
"Hold on," you cut her off, your tone brooking no argument as she watches your hand waving while you disappear in the kitchen.
Athiel's jaw clenches, indignation flaring hot in her chest. She spent over an hour getting ready, made you wait, and now you're just... ignoring the results? Her ocean blue eyes narrow further as she watches you search for something in the kitchen.
"If this is about me taking too long...?" She asks, and she hates how vulnerable the words come out.
You turn back around. Athiel's breath hitches at the sight.
In your hands sits an elegant bouquet—white roses mixed with delicate pink flowers, wrapped in expensive-looking cream paper with a silk ribbon. In your other hand, a box of artisan chocolates from her favorite boutique is waiting for her.
Athiel's brain short-circuits.
She thought she was the only one.
This morning, when she woke you up none too gently with a bouquet thrown on your belly and chocolate shoved your way without actually hurting—she thought she was the only one who bought something. Especially since you already had the dinner covered, she wasn't expecting the flowers, the chocolates.
"I— What— You—" Her usual sharp tongue fails her completely, heat flooding her cheeks as she stares at the offerings with tears already gathering at the corners of her eyes. "You didn't have to..."
"I wanted to." You step closer, holding them out with an almost awkward stiffness that's always been somehow endearing for Athiel.
Athiel's hands tremble slightly as she accepts them, fingers brushing against yours and lingering there in a silent thanks. Her throat tightens with an emotion she's having a hard time revealing. "They're..." She struggles for words. "They're beautiful."
"So are you." The words come out like a warm blanket enveloping Athiel's whole body. But what truly makes her melt is the gentle kiss you offer against her lips. She returns the kiss, eyes fluttering shut and hands gripping both items harder to ground herself. "It was worth the wait."
Athiel presses her forehead against yours, needing one more peck, then another, before pulling away just enough to look at you with love. And love is the only thing she doesn't want to hide from you, even if it demands vulnerability. Even if it means exposing her more than she's comfortable with.
"I hate you," she whispers, meaning the opposite so deeply and in such a raw way but unable to voice it just yet.
"Yeah, yeah." You smirk, grabbing the car keys from the side table. "Come on, gorgeous. We've got reservations to still make it to, even if we're fashionably late."
Athiel follows you to the door, unable to stop the genuine smile that curves her lips as she hurries to carry her gifts in one hand so she can take your hand with her free one. The evening air greets you two as you step outside together, and for once, she's not worried about being perfect.
She already is in your eyes, and that's enough.