A First and Last Date (M)

[gay-for-the-snz]

Cross posted from my Tumblr! I was desperately craving sundress snz and allergies, and have set my beautiful boy to the task 💖 (modern!AU)

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If there's anything he expected to be doing on a Thursday morning, it's not going on a blind date. He's never done this before--gosh, he feels like he's barely even dated in general--but especially based on someone else's confidence in matchmaking. Matt and Colleen thought that the best way to thank him for helping out at the wedding was to help him find a romantic partner himself, and while he appreciates the sentiment, he isn't sure if this was a good idea now that he's sitting in this cafe.

Perhaps it's just nerves, that fear that things are going to go wrong, but he feels kind of silly, being the guy alone at a table and hoping that his date shows up. Maybe he shouldn't have worn this--was a dress on the first date too much? He'd figured while he was getting dressed that the best way to weed out anybody who wouldn't be able to handle him being flamboyant would be a dress right out the gate, but maybe he should have been more subtle. A nice blouse, or a fun necklace and painted nails--something a little more understated, so as not to potentially scare him off before he had a chance to decide he liked him first, or--God, maybe he should have leaned more masc at first? Was this too much? Is he overthinking this?

He's startled out of his thoughts by a voice behind him. "...Elliott?"

He jumps and nearly tips the chair over in his haste to stand. "Yes! Devontae, hi!" He reaches out, takes one of his hands eagerly to shake it, and oh, he's absolutely gorgeous. A dazzling smile and butterfly locs and a pair of round wire-frames that make his eyes sparkle. "Oh, you're beautiful..."

He flushes immediately, floundering to try and sound less creepily overzealous, but Devontae's gracious enough not to mention it. "I could say the same about you. Here." He offers a slightly flattened bouquet, mums and daisies and baby's breath and who-knows-what-else packed colorfully into the brown paper. "I tried to keep them from getting too flat in the car, but you'll have to excuse that gravity had other ideas."

He has to fight the urge to immediately make a fool out of himself and cry. "...oh!" He gingerly accepts them, looking down at the flowers in his arms like they're wholly foreign.

"If you don't like them--"

"No! No, no, I do, I promise. I just--" he laughs, wipes quickly at his eyes with a little sniff, "I'm just surprised. I don't think anyone's really ever gotten me flowers before, except maybe once for my birthday a few years ago." He's suddenly sheepish, looking back up to meet his eyes. "Gosh, now I feel foolish. Here I came empty-handed when you were so thoughtful."

"You actually showed up, and that's a good start. Sit back down." He grins, taking a seat across the little table from him, and accepts the offered menu. "Have you already ordered?"

"I haven't! I didn't get here too terribly long before you did." That's a lie. He's been here for almost forty-five minutes, so afraid of being late and giving the impression that he doesn't care that he's been sipping on an ice water long enough to make the waiter come nervously check in on him three times. Devontae isn't even late; it's only twelve twenty-one, they weren't scheduled to start their date until twelve thirty-ish, his suggested "ish" granting wiggle room on either side to give flexibility to being late without being late.

"Excellent! I always appreciate punctuality." He looks over the menu, brow furrowing slightly as he takes in the options. "Have you been here before?"

"I haven't! But they had good reviews, and I, uh--well, I'd kind of thought you had suggested it, actually. Matt just told me on Monday that I had Thursday plans, and only told me yesterday what, where, and when." He can't help the nervous, awkward little laugh that bubbles up from his throat when Devontae looks up from his menu in bewilderment.

"Oh! They didn't even--" He smiles ruefully, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You know, that does sound like something they'd do." His smile is sympathetic when he replaces his glasses and looks back to him. "I'm sorry that they did that. They're known to be a little...overenthusiastic, sometimes."

"I'm sure they meant well, I was just surprised to hear that I had a, uhm, date all planned out for me." He sniffs, reaches up to rub at his nose as subtly as he can manage. The antihistamines he took this morning were doing a decent enough job at dealing with the ambient pollen from the mere fact that it's springtime, a tad itchy but more than manageable, but they're already pretty well wearing off, he thinks, and the addition of the bouquet, beautiful as it is, is proving to be over the capacity of a single dose of Costco's off-brand Benadryl.

"I take it you don't do this sort of thing often?"

"A blind date? No." He laughs, takes a sip of his water to ease the scratchy feeling in his throat. "I'll be honest, I don't even go on planned dates very often, let alone something so spontaneous done for me."

"Colleen mentioned that she didn't think you were much one for the dating scene."

"Did she tell you why?"

Devontae takes a sip of his own water, eyes on the menu to ease the pressure of being watched as he speaks, voice low and thoughtful like coaxing a spooked animal. "She mentioned you're divorced, and that it was nasty business."

"I guess you could call it that." He drops his eyes to his hands, fidgeting with his rolled silverware for something to occupy them. "Did she, uh, mention that I'm a parent? That the ex-husband is still in the picture at least a little bit?"

"They didn't mention that, no." Devontae doesn't seem entirely comfortable, the weird tension broken by the waiter's realization that there's finally someone else at the table.

"Can I get anything started for either of you?"

The man rattles off the specials at a rate that makes his head spin, and he takes the opportunity to rub more roughly at his nose, hopeful that the conversation drowns out the worst of the liquidy sniffle. He's already decided he just wants a salad, something quick and cheap (but not here, good Lord), and easy to pack up in case things turn weird again and he is suddenly very urgently needed at Warren's school, so sorry, gotta go!

The waiter moves the bouquet a bit closer to reach across the table and take the menus. He can't help it--he sneezes. "Hh--TSHH'ue! Hih'TSHieww!" He manages to get an arm up in time to hastily duck into his elbow, but it's close.

"Bless you!"

He blushes and sniffles again, making a conscious effort not to unroll his silverware to steal the napkin just yet. "Thank you! Sorry--snf!--you were saying something, right?"

"I was just going to say that I hoped it wasn't too presumptuous to get some bruschetta to share. You seemed a little distracted." His expression is so warm that he can't help but relax a little from it.

"I don't mind at all, you've got great taste." He pinches at his nose, somewhat distracted still by the way the prickling irritation is lingering in the back of it. "Other than that, I still don't--snff!--think I really know anything about you. Tell me a little about you--what do you do?"

He grins, adjusts his glasses a bit, and brushes his hair back from where it's falling boyishly forward towards the space he's disrupted with the action. "Would you believe that I'm a teacher?"

"Oh! That's so lovely, I--snff!--excuse me--I have a lot of respect for teachers. What grade do you teach?"

"I teach art at the high school across town. It's not the most glamorous thing, I'm definitely not making life changing money, but I love what I do. Working with kids and seeing them absolutely light up when they've found something that they love doing is just phenomenal."

"That's so--hh-! So--hH'IISSHH'yue! yiISSHHiew! Hh...hiH-! hiITSSHH'ue! ...oh my gosh, please excuse me--snF!--I think that's amazing. I can only imagine how gratifying it must be to--snff!--get to do something that's so meaningful to you."

"Man, bless you! I guess I've got a taste of what that wedding was like for you."

He flushes crimson, face half hidden behind his napkin. "They told you about that but not that I'm a father?"

"They did, but that's not what's important here. Are you getting sick? Do you want to raincheck this so you can go home and rest?"

"Oh." He blows his nose as softly as he can possibly manage. "Uhm, no, it's allergies."

It registers on his face as he glances towards the bouquet on the table. "Oh. Here, I'm sorry, let me take those--"

"No!"

"No?"

"I want them."

"I guess I can't stop you, then."

"I know this sounds ridiculous, but they just--I don't get flowers much. You were so thoughtful to get them for me, and they're so pretty, and I want to keep them." He picks them up and holds them protectively against his chest. A foolish move, he knows, but the idea of losing them just breaks his heart.

Devontae shows his palms in a gesture of mock surrender with a shrug. "Far be it from me to try and take them if you want them. They were a gift, you can do whatever you want with them. I will, however," he reaches into his pocket, and slides a travel packet of tissues across the tabletop, "give you these."

"You just carry tissues with you?"

"Never know when they might be handy in springtime."

"A man after my own heart." He accepts them gratefully, setting the bouquet back into an empty chair to give it a little space, and scrubs at a reddened nose that's running like a river. "I would've taken a second pill if I'd been expecting anything."

"That unfortunately ruins the 'surprise' portion until you develop that clairvoyance." He rests his chin on his hand, leaning forward a bit. "But you still haven't told me what you do. Oh--thank you." Their appetizer is set between them, and neither of them waits long to try one.

"Oh! You're right, I'm sorry. I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached to the rest of me. It's, uh, not really much to brag about. I work in a warehouse a little ways out of town. The Captain--uh, I mean, he's not a captain anymore, but I swear on my momma's grave if you think the word 'sea captain' he looks like he just stepped out of an oil painting after making love to the Gorton's fisherman--he owns and operates the warehouse, but he leases space to local business that need it, and then we take care of the storage and getting things moved to where they've gotta go for orders and stuff. I'm hardly gonna have anybody from the paper interviewing because it's so cool and mysterious and interesting of a job, but it's union, and it pays the bills, and I'm really lucky to work for someone that cares so well about everybody working for him."

"Everything is interesting if you look at it the right way." He reaches across the table, takes the hand that isn't busy fussing with his nose, and brushes a thumb over his knuckles. "I'm sorry about your mom."

"Oh, it's fine--I mean--I don't know, it's been awhile since they've passed, I've kind of made my peace with it by this point. I didn't mean to, uhm--I mean, it's kind of a bummer for a first date, I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. Why don't we talk about something else?"

"That might be n--hh-? sorryI'mgonna--hIH--! hyEISSHHue! 'TSHieww! hiISSHHyue! yiISSHH'uhh! hH--!? ...guh! SNF! Oh my gosh, excuse me." Devontae hasn't released his hand this whole time, just holding it through the fit even when he'd gotten distracted enough to not really be holding back, and he blushes at the idea that he may be so accommodating as to do this always. "I hope it doesn't--ohholdon--heITSSHHyue! ISSHHuue! Oh my gosh, sorry. It's uhm--snff!--I hope this isn't too offputting, if this is a deal-breaker for you then you should know right now that it's, uh--what I mean to say is that this is sort of a constant, so if it's too terribly--" he winces, "--icky, I guess, that's fine and it won't hurt my feelings if you'd rather not deal with it."

"Elliott."

"Yeah?"

"It's allergies. I don't think that that, or a cold, or whatever else is gonna be a deal-breaker for most people. But I'm gonna be honest. You seem like a very nice guy, but I don't know if this is really what I'm looking for."

"Oh."

"I don't want you to think it's anything against you--"

"No, I understand--"

"You don't, because you haven't let me explain it to you." He...has a point. He nods in assent, gesturing vaguely to give him the floor. "Thank you. Like I was saying: I don't want you to think that it's anything against you, because I can already tell that you've got a lot going on inside that heart of yours, and it's not because you're 'icky' or 'gross' or whatever else."

"...okay?"

"But I don't think, as well-intentioned as they were, that they really gave us much of a chance for this romantically. Because, no, Colleen didn't mention that you're a parent. And I'm sure your kid is fantastic! But even if they were the most angelic creature on the planet, I'm just not looking for that kind of responsibility right now. I don't wanna be a dad, and I also don't wanna be the dad's boyfriend that doesn't let the kid be around, or only comes around when they aren't, because that isn't fair to either of you either."

"I get it. I'll, uhm--I can just cover the bill, if we're done here."

"I don't see any reason why we can't still enjoy our lunch. We've already put in for an appetizer, and even if we aren't going to date, that doesn't mean we couldn't still get to know eachother. We've already got mutual friends--or acquaintances, at the very least--and who knows? Maybe somewhere down the line we might decide we wanna give this another shot when things are different."

"I uhm...I guess that makes sense, yeah. I'd be silly to deny a friend just because you may not be a boyfriend." It feels odd to admit, but aside from the initial gut punch of rejection, there's something...kind of relieving about this no longer being a date. No fear that he may be ruining his chances or romantic prospects. "If you do find someone, they're going to be lucky to have you."

"Aw, nah, but you're a sweetheart for saying it. So, I actually am kind of interested in what you do. What's your boss just doing owning a warehouse to be able to lease the storage to people?"

"So, the thing is, he used to be a sea captain, had his own ship and everything. but he decided after awhile that that kind of thing was better left to..." The tickle is toying with him, now, making him falter enough to actually bring up a curled hand to rub a knuckle beneath flushed nostrils. "Hold on...I'm going to sneeze."

He laughs and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest while he waits. "I can tell."

He can't help but mirror the grin, though it melts quickly into a look of anticipation, jaw slack and brows pinched in irritation as he wills this thing to hurry up and do something. He rarely finds himself with an issue of not sneezing, so it's frustrating in the rare instances that he gets much warning, but especially a lot of it that leaves him just sitting in limbo as he waits for it. He rubs at his eyes--he shouldn't, he knows it, but he can't help it, trying to both wipe away the tears that have already spilled down over his cheeks and to soothe the itchy, gritty feeling. "Sorry."

"For what? Like I said, I don't mind. Allergies seem like a killer, you're braver than me for dealing with them. Especially willingly." He inclines his head towards the flowers in the chair between them. "Does this happen often?"

"No, actually." He laughs, a light, mirthless little thing. "That's kind of the problem."

"Do you--"

"eiISSHHuh! hH'TSSHHieww! hyYIITSSH'uhh! hHTSSHH'hue!" His lashes flutter, wavering on the edge of relief as the tickle hovers right on the brink of letting him sneeze. Damp nostrils scrunch and flare, before a little sniff seems to do the trick. "hiiSSHH'ue! 'TSSHHhyue! Hh-! Hih--!? ...guh!"

"You poor thing." Devontae brushes the hair back from his face, eyes crinkled in concern as he looks him over. He's sure he must look horrible, all mascara streaked, itchy misery, nose the same shade as the tomatoes on their food. "You said you already took something?"

He blows his nose, embarrassed both from the attention and from how dreadfully wet it sounds. "I did, yeah. It's, uhm--it's kind of a whole thing. It's already mostly out of my system, though--I was probably going to be pretty sniffly soon here anyway. You don't have to worry about it, it's just allergies, they're not gonna kill me."

"Are you gonna be able to drive like this?"

"That is a great question! I think so. And--snff!--worst comes to worse, I live close enough to walk back home and can come back for my car after a shower or something." He can feel how raw his nose is getting from the extra attention on top of the springtime irritation that he hasn't gone away for weeks, now. "I don't want to make this a huge thing, but I might--hh-? ...snf! I might just pay for the food and--andthenhH--! hHYIISSHHuhh! ISSHHue!"

"You will absolutely not be paying, nor am I letting you walk back like this." He gently takes Elliott's elbow and helps him to stand, still occupied by the fit that's taking its sweet time to resolve. "Come on, up we get. Let's get a move on."

He guides him out, pausing by the door just long enough to stop by the front and hand over a few bills to cover the food they've packed up, and then shepherd him out the door. Despite his best efforts, he doesn't respond except to sneeze again, an absolutely sodden triple that doesn't even make a dent in the itch that's invaded every inch of his sinuses and anything else it can get itself wormed into.

"Bless you. You'll have to tell me where I'm going. Just point if you can't get the words."

It is probably not helping, he thinks, that every time he snaps down he is just getting his face that much closer to the bouquet bundled in one arm, practically burying his nose into the soft, fragrant petal each time, but his other arm has been taken, and he doesn't have any other choice unless he wants to turn towards Devontae to sneeze rather than away from him. He can't help the situation much, unless he's willing to give them up, and he'd rather spend the next week sneezing like this than to lose such a kind-hearted and profoundly thoughtful gesture, not to mention how much he's sure they must have caught, given the price of flowers nowadays! No, he'll be fine once he's showered and taken something, and then he'll be able to enjoy how pretty they are until they fade on their own.

He manages to point in the direction of his building, to choke out "few blocks" and "that way" between the desperate sneezes that have him suddenly regretting the choice of a dress, afraid he's at risk of folding in on himself too far and flashing his drawers to anyone behind them. The thought is mortifying. He's never had fantastic posture, always awkwardly slouched or curled in on himself to be a little smaller, take up a little less space, but right now it is as ramrod as he can make it.

He only barely bothers to buckle, the flowers gingerly taken from his arms to grant him the ability to not be practically snorting a line of pollen the entire way there, but also to give him hands to shudder into. It's far from the ideal solution, but he's already reduced the remaining few travel tissues to sodden pulp, and it's better to make a mess of himself than someone else's car--especially when he's going way out of his way to be so kind to him and take him home like this.

"Oh, Ell, are you still going? You poor fucking thing." He rubs his shoulder affectionately, and earns a somewhat breathless groan of defeat in response.

"You should've seen--h-huH'HEISSHhue! hyISSHHieww! Ohh...should've seen the only time my husband ever--ESSHHyue!--took me to the--heIISSHHieww!--the botanical gardens. Snff! Famous last words but I--snff!--think I'm done for now."

He laughs, looking over at him. "I cannot imagine that went well if a bouquet has you this bad."

"To my credit, I d-didn't--snfff!--anticipate this. That I had the forewarning and forethought to be able to take something before we--SNF!--before we went. But we were there way longer than we expected, and as nice as it was to have a date go unexpectedly long, I was a fright by the time we got me out of there." It's a fond memory, horrible allergies aside. One of few he can remember going on at all, but especially that was so genuinely pleasant to have been on.

"Maybe someday you'll give it a shot again?"

"I hope so. It'd be nice to go back and see what they've done with it lately." He points hastily, realizing he's gotten too caught up in the reverie. "Oh! Turn right here. It's the, uh, building back on the corner back there. You can--snF!--get into the lot from this side, the other side's a nightmare since they still haven't fixed that pothole that I think I could get lost inside of."

"You're what, six foot at least?"

"Six-three."

"That should be illegal. I was feeling pretty good about being five-eleven."

"You should see me with my daughter's mom--long story--she's four-eleven."

"That's minuscule. Here?"

"Yeah. You can, uhm--snff!--park anywhere you want--or you don't even have to bother! I can just get out and let you go. There's no point in making you find a spot just to get out."

"It's really not a big deal. I don't have to walk you to your apartment if you wouldn't feel good about me knowing where you live, but you're not putting me out any just to park or anything." He makes the choice for them, pulling into an empty spot and throwing it in park. "So! This was nice, right? We'll have to try lunch again another time, when we both know what we're getting into."

"Should I expect flowers?"

It's a joke, but Devontae smiles at him, some dreamy, half lidded thing that makes heat rush to his cheeks. "You should."

He laughs, dropping his gaze to his lap. "Why? It won't be a date."

"Yeah, but you love them. Why not? It'd be nice to see you smile a little more and apologize a little less." He takes one of Elliott's hands, ignoring the streaks of moisture along the skirt of his sundress where he's wiped them off, and gives it a gentle squeeze. "You take care of yourself, y'hear? I'll be keeping tabs on stories with you in them."

"I will." He reaches back and takes the flowers again, then looks unsure of himself as he leans forward, then back, awkwardly having opened his arms for a hug and then thinking better of it. What's the protocol for a date that's no longer a date, even if it hasn't gone badly?

He pulls him into a half hug, gives him a firm squeeze, and releases him. "You can take the bruschetta with you, it won't be any good by the time I get home."

"Right."

He's almost to the stairway when he hears Devontae yell from the window, paused in the middle of the lane. "Hey, Elliott!"

"Yeah?"

"Bless you, for the rest of the week!"