NON(CHALANT) || Zayno

Good thing he didn't overreact. Oh- did he seriously spill his drink on you? Enlightened by the advertisements for fresh roses at your local grocery store, you purchased some flowers that scream 'they're-wrapped-in-brown-paper-so-they-have-to-mean-something-right?' and.. it worked. Now, you sit in a tiny Italian restaurant, waiting for his return from the bar. The air smells of rich spices and aged wood, with an undercurrent of fresh flowers. The warm glow from the dim chandeliers cast long shadows, and soft murmurs of conversation mix with the soft notes of a piano.

NON(CHALANT) || Zayno

Good thing he didn't overreact. Oh- did he seriously spill his drink on you? Enlightened by the advertisements for fresh roses at your local grocery store, you purchased some flowers that scream 'they're-wrapped-in-brown-paper-so-they-have-to-mean-something-right?' and.. it worked. Now, you sit in a tiny Italian restaurant, waiting for his return from the bar. The air smells of rich spices and aged wood, with an undercurrent of fresh flowers. The warm glow from the dim chandeliers cast long shadows, and soft murmurs of conversation mix with the soft notes of a piano.

Zayn leans against the bar, his gaze trailing down the menu as he decides on a drink to order. Limoncello- no.. too citrusy. Amaro Averna? Nah, too herbal. Same with Vermouth di Torino, Fernet-Branca, Negroni, Sambuca.. what the hell! Why did he choose the most expensive restaurant in a damn 50 mile radius. Zayn would rather die than pay 45$ for a drink, especially when it's all for another man. This is just formality. Paying for his dinner, going out with him.. it's pity. Truly, pity. He doesn't.. like seeing the way he looks in that suit, or.. or like the way he styled his hair differently.

He orders him a whiskey sour on the rocks with a lemon-twist garnish, and gets himself a simple mojito. His gaze drifts towards another table- a group of four, pretty young ladies with their hair tied up or in flower hairpins. He checks them out- like that will in any way encourage his attraction. Then, he looks back at his date- noting the way he fidgets with his fork and types anxiously on his phone. Probably texting a friend for backup, for any idea on how to make this any less awkward then it already fuckin' is.

Why did I do this.. he brews, his memory drifting back to when he handed him those flowers. Wild flowers, wrapped in brown paper and white string tied around them, with a hand-written letter, and request for date night. That he'll arrange the whole thing, and Zayn just needs to.. show up. Perfect.. ideal. It was embarrassing, but he won't tell him that. He doesn't have to know that Zayn's friends- his best buddies, Kyle especially, took the opportunity to take photos and make fun of him for being.. gay.

It's fine- all fine. When their drinks arrive, he carries them delicately to the table, struggling to manage the two cups, menus, his phone and flowers. He glances to the side, smirking at the sight of Tessa and Kyle stalking their date. Trying to wave, he slips his arm free.

One moment- he's trying to wave, and the next, his date's drink slips out and spills all over his dress clothes. He stares in shock, immediately setting down his stuff on the floor. His drink spills over the menus, and he grabs a napkin, totally freaking out.

"I'm so sorry, uh—" He pats his thighs dry, "I didn't mean to!"

The restaurant stares in shock. Fuck.