TIMING: December LOCATION: Xóchitl’s house PARTIES: Alan and Xóchitl SUMMARY: In the never ending quest to better himself, Alan decides to make amends and apologize to his neighbor. It’s not too awful. CONTENT WARNINGS: None!
This was stupid. He wasn’t sure why he was even doing this. Yes, to be the better person, but right now, he felt like the embodiment of regrets, standing in front of Xochitl’s front door with a homemade cake in his hands. He’d been craving tres leche cake for a bit but it was not precisely a good idea to cook a whole cake for oneself, and he figured this was better than an olive branch.
He knocked at the front door, and immediately started wishing that she weren’t home. The car was parked in front of her house, but maybe she had gone for a walk.
Alan shook his head, snowflakes falling off graying curls as he already took his first step off her front stairs.
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She’d been doing nothing much more than lounging around on her couch, in her lazy day outfit – which, of course, still looked very put together. Xóchitl wasn’t going to risk looking anything other than good, even if she had no plans for anybody other than herself to see her.
So when there was a knock on the door, she raised an eyebrow in confusion – because she hadn’t ordered any food, and she wasn’t expecting anyone over, and yet still, she made her way over, pulled open the door, and only raised her eyebrow more sharply. “Alan? What brings you here? Did you lose something? Need some butter or flour or something?”
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“I…” His eyebrows furrowed and Alan’s gaze fell to the snow covered front steps, to the marks his shoes had left there. He supposed he hadn’t lost anything recently, even if he already missed Gael. He also supposed she didn’t mean people, but rather his keys, or something in his front yard. “No, I didn’t lose something,” He shook his head again, and, looking up at his neighbor, tried to find a proper way to let her know why he had come all the way to her front door. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Because he noticed she was in lounge wear, and that he owned a cardigan just like hers, in a different color. “Alpaca wool yeah?” He inquired, because that was easier than an apology, wasn’t it.
Clearing his throat, he extended a tupperware box containing a few slices of cake toward her. “I made too much, I figured you might…” He sighed. They hadn’t spoken since he’d sent Siobhan her way and Alan found out that his plans had failed. “I suppose I wanted to have a chat with you.”
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“You’re not interrupting anything, no.” Xóchitl shook her head, though the look of confusion still hadn’t left her face. Because while she was in no way opposed to getting any sort of attention, or having people come by her place, Alan was fairly close to the bottom of company that she’d expect. The two of them just hadn’t gotten off on the right foot – at all, and everything seemed to have snowballed and neither one of them was the sort to back down first.
She nodded. “It is Alpaca wool, good eye.” Something close to giving in, but he was being nice, and it only felt right for her to give him something in return. “Oh – that’s very nice of you.” Xóchitl nodded for him to come in. “Come on in, then. Can I get you anything to eat, or drink? What … do you need to talk to me about?”
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His lips pursed into a thin line, which was the closest he’d get to smiling right then. “I… yeah. I have the same one in navy blue,” rubbing at the back of his neck, Alan was already trying to find an excuse to leave on the spot when she invited him in. Great, well there was no way to politely decline, not when he had no one waiting for him at home, no plans, nothing else to do. He supposed he only had himself to blame for his situation, and this was why he needed seriously to work on improving his situation.
“I… A drink I suppose would be nice,” he nodded. It definitely would help with his nerves. With a sigh, the werewolf caved in, and stepped inside, brushing his shoes on the mat carefully before further walking in. “I’ve never been in your house,” he noted, taking a look around. It was well decorated, tasteful, which you could tell from the look on his face alone. “It’s nice.”
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“A drink I can always do. Should I surprise you, or do you have a preference? I have most things.” Because Xóchitl could hardly go two days without drinking something, but Alan didn’t need to know that. Just that she had exquisite taste in alcohol.
“I am aware, yeah.” She looked over, not wanting to insult him, or make him think she was being intentionally rude. That could come at another time, but right now, since he was trying – or doing a damn good job at faking it – she’d refrain. “Thank you. It’s not maximalist, thank god. Not that – if you have that vibe at all, no judgment or whatever, but I don’t want there to be too much.”
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“Wine’s alright,” because he didn’t want to seem like the sort that fed himself on tequila and rum, and he felt like people’s wine choices reflected a lot about them. “Red, white, rosé. It’s fine,” his eyes stopped traveling around the hallway and fell on his neighbor. Her confidence drew a light laugh out of him. There it was, the reason why he couldn’t stand her, allegedly. They were a lot more similar than they should have been.
“Maximalism wouldn’t have gotten that response from me, I can assure you that,” he didn’t like a cluttered environment, and Alan’s house perhaps sometimes lacked warmth, but he felt at home there, which was what mattered most. “Don’t worry, you didn’t accidentally insult my design choices,” he brushed off the comment, and followed after her, unsure of where she was taking them.
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“Works for me.” Xóchitl rolled her eyes, away from Alan’s view. “I do know the types of wine, but good to know you’re not picky.” His laugh made her smile, and she shouldn’t have liked that, but it felt nice to laugh, and it wasn’t like she was even remotely trying to sleep with Alan (she did draw the line somewhere, and for all that she thought well of her looks, she was also aware when she wasn’t someone’s type). She let him see that she was smiling, because it was nice – again – an overused word certainly, but well-enough to describe Alan, at least right now.
“And thank fuck for that,” Xóchitl brushed her fingers against the bridge of her nose. “I respect that you don’t want a maximalist lifestyle. You do, in fact, seem to be proving yourself to be somewhat a man of taste. Though I’ll have to come by your place sometime to see for sure, won’t I?” She led him over and into the living room, motioning for him to sit down before she went and grabbed a bottle of red wine, older than she was, and a couple wine glasses. “Here,” she poured one nearly full and handed it to him. “If you tell me you put ice in your wine I am kicking you out.”
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“Yellow, orange,” he went on with a slightly mocking smile, this once. He didn’t mean to school her on wine types, but rather to let her know all sorts would be appreciated.
“Thank… fuck, indeed,” Alan did his best to keep a straight face. Her choice of words was a bit insulting. Somewhat a man of taste. But he wanted to behave, and instead of clicking his tongue at that, he smoothed over a wrinkle in his sweater, and fell quiet. He supposed he could host a party for the neighbors. It was nearly the end of the year and it would be nice for everyone to meet. “Sure. I’ll let you know when you can come over,” because there was such a thing as a bad time of the month which was more than those three nights. Recovering from those was always rough. He wondered if it was getting worse with age. For a while, he thought he was getting better at handling it, but now he wondered if that wasn’t just his usual hubris speaking. “The fact alone that you thought I might put ice cubes in my wine. I’m offended,” he didn’t need to approach his nose from the glass to get its scent, or imagine precisely how it would taste. “Someone’s looking to impress me,” he commented, taking a small sip. “And succeeding.”
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“Listing the colors of the rainbow are we, Mr. Real Estate Duarte?” So maybe this was fun, and maybe he was good company. Not that she was ready to outwardly admit that, not just yet.
“Please do. I can bring food, or something. I know a place that makes banging birria tacos. So good they’re better than…” sex, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t necessarily entirely true, and also not the sort of phrasing she was comfortable with around Alan. Emilio, Jade, Siobhan, maybe, but not Alan. Not because she loathed him (in fact, she enjoyed his company more than she was ready to admit). “I didn’t mean to offend you, but I also just had to make sure. There’s only a few reasons I’ll kick someone out of my home, and ice cubes in wine is… probably, one of them?” Xóchitl shrugged. “Well, I’m glad I can impress you. We should do this more often. The impressing each other thing, because what you brought looks phenomenal.”
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“You’ve never had orange wine?” He paused. “You can call me Alan, you know.” There was another brief silence before he added. “I’ll have a bottle sent to you. It’s great with seafood, and impressing your date,” he gave her a knowing, yet appreciative look. It was hardly her fault that she managed to charm Siobhan into some sort of good behavior, when he miserably failed.
His eyebrows furrowed at the sentence she left unfinished, though he didn’t comment on it and instead leaned back into his seat, his smile disappearing in his glass of wine. He supposed the way things were going wasn’t the most terrible ground for an apology, and setting his glass on the coffee table, he looked her way. “That’s actually why I’m here. I believe we’d have a lot more fun trying to one up one another in a friendly way,” a pause, “I would also like to apologize for my past behavior or… poor choice of words.”
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“Can’t say that I have. I normally go for the harder stuff.” She dug her toe into her carpet. “Okay – I will call you Alan and you can send me wine. Don’t always get to the food part of dates, but I’ll keep that in mind.” There was no reason for her to get into the whole ‘I don’t like or feel comfortable with emotional attachments’ deal.
“I’d much prefer to one-up you in a friendly way. I also suppose that as we are both eligible daters, there’s only a small pool of overlap in our competition. Bi men, who are, for the record, some of the best men to be with, and are actually far more aware of others’ needs than like, straight men, but that’s not my point. I … accept your apology.” There was no reason for Xóchitl to not accept it. “I’m sorry for the rudeness that I’ve been responsible for towards you, too. I can get… snippy. At times. It’s been known to happen.”
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“Is that so? I find that’s the most delightful part of a date,” because that meant getting to know the other more intimately than a bedroom could ever allow, and Alan, for all he could pretend to be stoic, was one for romanticism. “But fine, I’ll make sure to have tequila on the shelves when you come over.”
Once again, Alan’s eyebrows furrowed. Even if he agreed on bi men being quite remarkable lovers, he was unsure he had reached this point in their new friendship where he felt comfortable talking about this just yet. “I’m glad,” he cleared his throat and rubbed at his cheek to conceal the blush on them. “Sorry, I… I suppose that was on the both of us, yes. I’m glad to put this behind us,” and Alan, who wasn’t one for believing in fate, or luck, managed to see the turn of events as evidence that he could indeed become a better person.
