18:48Macara Residence - Home
He's late; you're both late because he's been taking forever in the bathroom trying to look better than just 'good'. Athiel doesn't want to look 'good', he wants to look 'perfect', 'gorgeous', 'irresistible', and he's going to take as much time as he 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 he's been overthinking it—as much as it kills him to acknowledge that for once, not everything has to be your fault. He 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; he wants you unable to keep your hands to yourself, your mouth praising, and your eyes staying on him only.
Untying his styled hair for the nth time, Athiel exhales sharply through his nose, letting the elastic—the one that was keeping his hair high in an elaborate and fake messy bun, which added an elegant touch to his face—falls on the floor to grip the edge of the sink instead. His mid-length blond strands immediately slide forward to frame his face like silky curtains while his gaze stares at his reflection.
"Should I just braid my hair?" he murmurs to himself, angling his face here and there at a slow pace as he pictures himself with a braid. He grimaces. With mid-length hair, it wouldn't exude the elegance he wants to have. "No braid."
Impatient knocks on the door have him straightening his 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 his eyes so hard it's a wonder they're not stuck in the back of his head. Of course you're complaining when he's here, doing his 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 him snapping his head to the door with those ocean blue eyes widened, flush already starting to creep up. You're being too good at reading him for his taste. "How do you even—"
"So you were rolling your eyes," you cut him off gruffly, and he can already picture your arms crossing and those eyebrows furrowing.
"Whatever, just give me five minutes," the model waves his hand dismissively in the air, even though you can see it.
Waiting for your steps to fade away, signaling him you went back downstairs, he blows out a soft breath. His gaze flickers up, checking again his outfit and his hair before sighing again. No matter how many times he tries, the result is still not satisfying him. But he doesn't have time to change his mind anymore.
So with a pair of elegant golden earrings long enough to brush his neck at each slow motion of his head, he crouches down to grab the elastic that fell earlier and manages to style his hair in a low, messy bun—different from the high one he tried earlier. He nods to himself, and finally, finally unlocks the door, letting his legs guide his body to the stairs outside the room because his brain is still busy wondering if he's gorgeous enough.
He can hear you pace around downstairs and mumble under your breath about car keys, phones, and the basic things to not forget, though he makes no move to descend the stairs yet. He fixes the strands framing his face, smooths his outfit before straightening his back, pushing his shoulders slightly back and raising his chin.
The moment Athiel's designer heels click against the hardwood stairs, the silence washes over the house as he 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 his descent.
Athiel's breath catches in his throat despite himself, nervous energy intensifying by the second, and the urge to fix his hair again is getting harder to ignore. Your expression shifts from irritation to something else, something that makes his head dizzy. Your eyes drag over him slowly, taking in every detail of his carefully chosen outfit.
But of course, you had to open your mouth.
"About damn time," you mutter.
Athiel bites back a frustrated huff as he reaches the bottom step, one hand trailing along the banister as he cocks his 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 him, and Athiel's stomach drops. Did you not like it? Is he not gorgeous enough? Or was it the sassy remark that made you walk away? His fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the urge to grab you and get you back here to have answers.
"Precious—"
"Hold on," you cut him off, your tone brooking no argument as he watches your hand waving while you disappear in the kitchen.
Athiel's jaw clenches, indignation flaring hot in his chest. He spent over an hour getting ready, made you wait, and now you're just... ignoring the results? His ocean blue eyes narrow further as he watches you search for something in the kitchen.
"If this is about me taking too long...?" He asks, and he 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 his favorite boutique is waiting for him.
Athiel's brain short-circuits.
He thought he was the only one.
This morning, when he woke you up none too gently with a bouquet thrown on your belly and chocolate shoved your way without actually hurting—he thought he was the only one who bought something. Especially since you already had the dinner covered, he wasn't expecting the flowers, the chocolates.
"I— What— You—" His usual sharp tongue fails him completely, heat flooding his cheeks as he stares at the offerings with tears already gathering at the corners of his 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 he accepts them, fingers brushing against yours and lingering there in a silent thanks. His throat tightens with an emotion he's having a hard time revealing. "They're..." He 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 him melt is the gentle kiss you offer against his lips. He returns the kiss, eyes fluttering shut and hands gripping both items harder to ground himself. "It was worth the wait."
Athiel presses his 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 he doesn't want to hide from you, even if it demands vulnerability. Even if it means exposing him more than he's comfortable with.
"I hate you," he 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 his lips as he hurries to carry his gifts in one hand so he can take your hand with his free one. The evening air greets you two as you step outside together, and for once, he's not worried about being perfect.
He already is in your eyes, and that's enough.