#fedegreco

[tvtcm-blog]

@fedegreco.

they’ve arrived to the gala together. he doesn’t think anyone’s really noticed or paid them much attention: but he knows and fede knows and that’s all that matters, right? it’s not like they strolled through the door arm in arm or even hand in hand. they weren’t touching. their entrance is subtle and understated but, to tatum, it’s made all the difference. what would ordinarily be another stuffy, boring suit-and-tie event for him to lament ( and probably ditch to smoke a joint ) now, suddenly, doesn’t seem half bad. the venue is pretty, he thinks, though that may be an opinion strongly tinted by how pretty he thinks fede looks. and tate can’t stop looking. it’d be a chore to ask him to pry his eyes off of his ex boyfriend, current something and tate’s never been one to do chores. “still think i should have gone for that god-awful tie with the love hearts all over it. the sparkly one i sent you a pic of last week? it’d be a total showstopper, wouldn’t you think?” he dares press an elbow into fede’s side. it’s a playful gesture on the surface but, really, it’s just an excuse to draw closer. he plans to take plenty of those excuses tonight.

[tvtcm-blog]

@fedegreco.

he’s on the wrong side of too-drunk where it stops being fun altogether. instead of being sparkly and fuzzy on the edges, the world lurches dangerously and every step feels like a wrong one. he’s barely made it into the bathroom on his own, hugging the toilet bowl like its an idol to worship. the cool porcelain feels like the answers to his prayers when he presses his burning forehead against it, trying to blink himself into sobriety before he faces the outside world again. he should have taken giulia’s advice and gone a bit slower. he may be 6′0 but he’s a scrawny thing at best. his copious intake had to catch up with him eventually. tate lets out a groan as a wave of nausea doubles him over on the floor, fancy kenny-picked suit way too good to be kneeling on the bathroom tile. he’d checked to make sure he was in here alone before succumbing to his misery, not wanting to be put on blast for drinking himself stupid. so when he hears the main bathroom door opening, it’s entirely unwelcome. “go away!” he half whisper, half shouts at whoever enters -- it’s about all he can muster. he knows he’s pale and he feels clammy, shaky. “just... go away.” tate’s tone, though slurred, is more defeated now as he hangs his head, hoping to hell he can at least not embarrass himself while this stranger is around.

[tvtcm-blog]

@fedegreco.

tate’s sure that somewhere out there, gossip girl is having a laugh at the fact that technically, tatum van buren has gone out with both halves of the broken engagement in the span of a week. however he knows that whatever sick enjoyment she got in planning that out is going to be short-lived because this date -- valentine’s day -- is the only one that matters. it matters perhaps more than anything has mattered for him in a long, long time. it’s the start and tate wants it to be perfect. “almost there,” he drawls into fede’s ear, guiding him by two hands on his shoulders. the older boy is blindfolded with a silky red handkerchief -- something that had taken only a few kisses to convince fede to wear. ( it had taken a few more kisses to convince fede to actually leave with him instead of just celebrating their first valentine’s together in quite a while; the thought was quite tempting ). it’s not for any kinky purpose that he’s got fede strolling through the streets with only his touch for guidance. no, it’s because he’s not sure that he’d actually be able to get him in the doorway otherwise. 

he’s rented out the arboretum for the day. convincing the owner to close on valentine’s day was a feat but one well worth the dent it put in tate’s credit card statement. it’s not just a beautiful garden oasis full of fountains and floral arrangements perfect for this holiday. it’s also the place where he broke fede’s heart. the last vision he had of this place was fede’s slumped figure, head in his hands while he processed the stinging words tate had slung at him. now, he guides a bright, smiling fede greco to that very spot, drinking in the way he’s standing tall and confident in his beautiful date attire. “okay, sweetheart, i’m taking this off now,” he tugs at the blindfold and lets the satiny fabric curl around his fingers instead. “open your eyes?”