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fjorddeluca · 4 years

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A date. A phrase here which had two different meanings. The first, wildly known, was a specific moment within a week, a month, a year. The second, however, held the more... romantic notion to it. Two different things, not even on the same realm of existing and somehow, this was both of them. A momentous, romantic occasion.

He wasn’t a romantic person by nature. He had been raised on sharp blades and gunmetal, not rose and candlelight. Where people saw romance as solace, he instead had been taught to find the solace within gunfire and violence. In no way could those things be synonymous. Along with that, had he ever seen his parents be any shred of romantic towards one another? Racking his brain, he couldn’t find the answer to that, though Fjord knew he couldn’t exactly write it off as never happening. How did he know that their silent stretches reading over reports or securing business deals didn’t count as dates? How did he know that sitting together, drinking wine or whiskey in front of their very expensive fireplace didn’t count as a date?

If they did, he knew he didn’t want that kind. Silence was a terrible thing. He found that it allowed his mind to wander, to find things in it’s dark recesses that he had forgotten about, things long buried away. Silence meant nothing good. It was the bated breath before a strike, the seconds of waiting to see the outcome. It was the uncertainty or shock or disgust at what had been said. It was no longer having anything to talk about, to look across to the woman you loved and realising you had nothing to say to her, so you said nothing. He didn’t want that.

Which, was maybe jumping the gun a little. She had called it a date but wasn’t that colloquialism? Was she merely describing as such because it was quirky and, surely, nobody would think that landing a date with the Casanova of the De Luca’s would be so easy as simply saying so?

Wrong. Very wrong. People came and went but it was never, really, a date. He wasn’t bracing himself against the door to stop it from being torn down by desperate ladies, ready to tussle around in the bed with him. Fjord took what came to him and simply accepted it. In a way, the title was hereditary. Not once had he not heard speak of how many ladies his father had courted before, finally, deciding on his mother -- as though it were some competition. The implication that this was in his blood, among many, many other things, had always been the problem. Lemarck seemed to be right in this one, isolated case.

Always, always, was he the closed fist trying to be met with an open hand.

This, however, this whole thing was different. This wasn’t an escape -- in one way, anyway -- and it wasn’t something that was expected of him. It was merely a boy meeting a girl so they could go out together, have some fun. What was so wrong about that? Why did he feel like he was striding into no man’s land, wearing bright red so that he was a visible target for all sides? Why did it make his heart race when he thought about it too much? Why did he feel like a child, sneaking around past bedtime? In a way, it was both an adult danger and a childish danger. Scared of being caught by anyone, let alone his parents. Scared of being alone with a girl.

Unapproved. The word echoed in his mind. A paradox. They had approved of her working here and yet, if he were to introduce her as a prospective... something, it would no longer be a question of approval. And that was a whole other thing, wasn’t it? Perhaps he just let himself overthink too much these days and he knew that if someone were to work behind their walls, then it couldn’t be anybody who sympathised with the Venturi’s or someone who had even been within the same room as them and yet... He wasn’t accusing her of anything, he wasn’t but there was times when he thought too hard for too long and questioned everything.

(Innocently, he’d asked about the daughter. The girl the Venturi’s dragged into their mess the same way he had been dragged into his family’s. It wasn’t meant as anything, a curious child who had yet to find that curiosity stamped out of him. He knew nothing of her, besides the fact that she existed. Had there been times when he thought of how well they’d get along? How they’d probably sit together, share wine and horror stories of being the ones who would carry on a legacy they never asked for. Of course, if that was the case, then they’d never actually have a feud. He didn’t exactly see his parents sitting down with the Venturi’s to discuss common negatives in their business.)

Perhaps, at one point, he would have been naive enough to think that Elise wouldn’t be so bad as to betray them but it had happened before and it would happen again. A pretty face and even prettier words couldn’t distract him from what he knew people to be. A farce, really, because why was he doing this now? Waiting for her to join him for their date, if he really thought she wasn’t who she said she was? If he thought she would turn around and run him through the moment they were alone?

(All answers pointed to something that scared him too much to say or even think.)

It had been a game of cat and mice but between two cats ; he had found his way through the house without being seen by anyone who would call his attention -- he was sure they had some sort of function later tonight, one where he would sit on his father’s right, like the dutiful son he was, and they would present themselves as a tight knit family. Unbreakable, made of stone.

He made the first crack the moment he agreed to this with Elise. The second came when he heard her join him. The third with that signature smile of his. The fourth when he spoke to her.

“Was beginning to think I was being stood up.” he teased, lightly. “Thought I was gonna have to call in the big guns to track you down.”

Love. A fickle little word that he’d never experienced but if he ever did, he wanted it to be like this. Easy, like breathing in the ocean breeze, like walking through a door into the warmth of home. Like the easy feeling that settle across his shoulders now that the weight was gone. Atlas letting go of the sky.

“I think I have about... five minutes before anyone realises I’m gone.” It was no warning, not really. He didn’t care if he got caught, not now anyway. It was her he worried about but he’d never been raised in the world of showing that you that out rightly. It had to be subtle. The grasp of a hand. “Though, they might be more angry about me taking the car than me actually being in d --”

Too much, too much, too much. The voice bounced in his head and the quick frown he wore following it was just that; quick. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. Equally so, he hoped she didn’t find him too overbearing.

(Though, if that were the case, wouldn’t she have left that first night?)

A brief moment flashed past in his mind, an indecision if he should offer her his hand or arm, and by the time he’d made his mind up, he had done neither. Indecision might be the death of him.

“Shall we?”

@elise-venturi

#002 #me: shows up a month later with whatever this is #me: enjoy 🥺👉👈#he is nothing but excited and nervous #fjord: is scary mafia boy who has killed people #also fjord: what if she doesn't like me 🥺

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