Frimer
Note: There are sentences in here using foreign languages. For translations as you read, please refer to: Frimer Translation Guide
Frimer – French. (vrb) “to show off”
Summary: Your helpless crush on Neal gets worse when he starts spending more time with you… and talking to you in other languages, which he knows you love.
Words: 3,241
“Hey, Neal,” you greeted, coming up to his desk and working hard to make sure your face stayed its normal color.
He looked up at you with a polite smile. Once he realized you weren’t one of the agents that would bust him for the doodles he was making in the margins of his paperwork, the smile turned into a wide beam. “Hey, Y/N! How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been well,” you answered, biting you lip so you didn’t smile. “So, um, Peter says you’re multilingual.”
He canted his head proudly. “Sí, es cierto.” You blinked. Other than the ‘yes,’ you had no idea what he’d said. His smile went from smug to amused and he chuckled. It made you blush, despite your best efforts. “What do you need?”
You held out the folder. “Peter needs this translated, but if we go through the normal channels, we won’t get it back until tomorrow – and that’s if we’re lucky. Would you mind?”
Neal leaned over his desk. “Por supuesto no. Cualquier cosa para ayudarte, mi corazón.” You nodded like you understood, but you were sure he could tell it went over your head. He reached up for the folder, so you assumed he was saying he didn’t mind, and handed it to him. Neal let your fingers brush as he took it from you. His skin was warm and soft and you didn’t think it was possible to be any more in love with a person as you were right then.
“Gracias,” you squeaked, because you figured pretty much everyone knew that word, and you hurried to go back to your desk.
You had always loved foreign languages. You thought they were fascinating. More than that, though, you had a secret: you loved listening to people talk in them. It was something your friends mercilessly teased you about when they found out. You didn’t know what it was, but some languages just sounded so romantic, and when you didn’t understand the words, it was a great opportunity to just listen to someone’s voice.
You already had a crush on Neal about the size of Canada and Russia combined (because that’s a totally normal unit of measurement) and you could listen to him read a phonebook to you and still just be happy that he was talking to you, so hearing him speak to you in Spanish just made everything worse. Or better, depending on your perspective, but since you were trying not to embarrass yourself by making it obvious your dream guy was your coworker, it definitely made things worse.
Unfortunately, it seemed like your flustered response to his Spanish was enough for him to cotton on. He showed off whenever he got the chance. It was doing very little to help you with your predicament. In the words of Tumblr, your ovaries were unable to take it.
“Kon’nichiwa,” Neal said brightly, making himself at home by sitting on the edge of your desk. He set a cup of coffee by his leg. Judging by the scent wafting from the lid, it was your favorite order from the coffee shop nearest to Federal Plaza. “Watashi wa kōhī o motte kimashita.”
You blinked owlishly. Neal put his hand down by the coffee and pushed it a few inches closer to your hand.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you replied, understanding the gesture. Though you took the coffee anyway (you didn’t want to be rude) you were both flattered and embarrassed. Yay, he was paying attention to you! … He was paying attention to you. What if he realized you liked him as more than a friend?
He shrugged his shoulders and somehow made a careless gesture look elegant. “Watashi wa shitakatta. Daisukidesu.” His beautiful eyes stayed locked on you until you started to feel your face turn pink again and you turned your head away. His low chuckle rang in your ears, even as he stood up and left.
You made sure he was all the way back at his desk before you muttered, “Tumblr is on to something.”
You didn’t know anymore if Neal was messing with your head on purpose or if he just saw it as a friendly game. Every day, you woke up, you promised yourself you weren’t going to let him make you feel romanced and special, and every day, you failed. He would saunter over, purposeful and charming, and hell, you felt romanced and special just when he looked into your eyes. It was just the icing on the cake that he would speak to you in whatever language he thought of first. You’d identified six different ones so far, not including English, and you had to say that, everything else aside, you were very impressed.
You’d always been friendly with each other. If Neal had been a jerk, you would’ve been able to get over your crush in less than a week. But no, he had to be the most sensitive guy ever, who brought you coffee and chastened Peter on how his romantic gestures weren’t romantic enough and who got really offended when he heard about someone cheating on their lover, no matter who the person was. It certainly didn’t hurt that he looked like Adonis might’ve, had the ancient Greeks developed their belief systems in a time when Colgate and Armani existed.
Things were just harder now than they had used to be. Neal had been broken up with Sara for well over a year now, and you were having trouble showing signs of having a social life of your own, much less of getting over the man you weren’t allowed to have. Your life revolved around very few people: your best friend from college, Peter (your boss), Diana, and Neal.
“Languages!” Your friend gushed over the phone.
You groaned and slammed your head back against the headboard, then grimaced. “I know. And he knows, that’s even worse. He found my weakness and he’s exploiting it shamelessly.”
“He’s showing off,” she pointed out to you, her voice sounding all cheerful and optimistic. It made you feel queasy. “Guys do that when they want to impress someone. At least your guy’s not showing off by acting macho and mean.”
“Color me impressed,” you grumbled. “I wish he would stop, but at the same time, I love it. It feels like he’s flirting with me, but instead of those stupid lines boys used in university, it’s… sweet. Cute. Tailored specifically to my interests because he knows I like hearing him talk.”
“Then why want him to stop?” She snorted over the phone. “He sounds like a keeper.”
“He would be, if he was mine to have. Look, he’s a people person. I have a hard time believing he hasn’t figured out how much I like him, so teasing me like this seems mean. I’d assume he was being a brat, but… he’s not that kind of person.” Neal was a lot of things, but he had never been a douche. You looked over to the window and saw that it was much darker than you’d thought. “Ugh. It’s late. I have to go.”
There was a pause before her response as she checked the time. “Time flies. We need to talk again soon. I miss living in the same city.”
“You’re the one that moved,” you reminded. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Y/N.”
Your next day at work began with a pink piece of paper on your desk. It was folded up into an origami tulip. Immediately, your eyes went to Neal – he was the only one in the WCCD that would hand-deliver cutesy arts and crafts. He was focused on his computer.
Regardless, you’d met Alex Hunter, and you knew how these worked. You unfolded the little flower and smoothed out the creases in the paper. Your first reaction was surprise that the ink hadn’t smudged. The second was exasperation – it was a full handwritten letter, but it was written in an Asian dialect you couldn’t even begin to read.
“Really?” You called across the aisle, holding the paper up so that the script was facing the conman. He bit his tongue between his teeth as he grinned and giggled. It was adorable and cute and you so didn’t have time for this. “I don’t even know how to pronounce this, let alone understand it!”
“Zhè shi yī fēng qíngshū, qīn’ài de,” Neal responded, swiveling his chair around to face you. Now that you could see his face better, you could see the dimples. Dimples. Either you got incredibly lucky by somehow earning his increased level of interest, or someone up there was really enjoying taunting you.
No matter what was happening, his voice never failed to awe you, and regardless of whatever the Chinese was (it sounded like Chinese), he’d still given you a flower. Sort of.
“Why?” You asked simply, sitting down hard in your chair. You just wanted a reason. You just wanted to know what you’d done to deserve this weirdly enjoyable torture.
Neal’s wide smile faded slightly. You felt a little bad – you hadn’t meant to upset him, you just wanted to know how much longer this was going to last. Being Neal’s friend was hard, but you valued him as a person too much to walk out on friendship just because you were pining for more. Having him play around with you so much was difficult to handle. Suddenly you had him talking to you and engaging with you, and you didn’t really know what to do. You would’ve been confused but delighted except for the fact that you weren’t able to catch onto any clues, because they were all coming at you in conversational Swahili or whatever.
More seriously, he glanced at his desk before meeting your eyes again. “Yīnwèi wŏ xiăng ràng nĭ dui wŏ tèbié.” He lifted one shoulder halfheartedly and pressed his lips together tightly as if unsure whether or not to stop. He must’ve decided not to, because he let his shoulder fall. “Wŏ xiăng yào tèbié gĕi nĭ.”
You were definitely still as clueless as before, but it seemed important. And it sounded gorgeous falling from his soft, kissable lips.
You kept the Chinese letter. Your original intention had been to have it translated by some online service. Right before you’d taken a photo with your phone, you remembered the earnest, open expression on Neal’s face as he explained what it was. You didn’t need to know the words to know that you needed to treat it with care. It felt… personal. It had started out as a joke, but Neal had made it feel like it was something special, just between you two, so you moved it somewhere safe and didn’t upload it to the internet.
On Friday, you had a special dinner plan: you were going to meet a friend’s boyfriend. Knowing Peter, you weren’t going to be given leeway to leave work early just to dress up, so you went ahead and wore your nice dress to work. It wasn’t too revealing or too clingy, but the gentle flow of the skirt made you feel comfortable and confident, and the color went well with your eyes.
When Neal came in with Peter – both of them after you had already arrived – he made a detour to your desk (common these days) and placed a hand casually on the back of your chair.
“Sembri stupefacente, amore.” Neal looked down at your dress with a polite smile on your face. His soft and sweet tone gave you a pretty good idea that it was a compliment, and you looked down in vain hopes that he wouldn’t realize how delighted you were that he complimented you.
You swallowed and looked back up. “Thanks. That’s Italian, right?” It was another of the romance languages; you could tell that much by the smooth way it rolled over his tongue, but the accent was wrong for it to be French, and you’d heard enough Spanish from him at this point to recognize when he was speaking in something else.
His mouth quirked in delight that you guessed and he nodded enthusiastically. “Continuo a farlo a te perché mi piace dire quanto ti amo e non preoccuparmi di come reagirai.” He held his tongue and looked down at you expectantly.
Your temporary pride at following along evaporated. “Too many words,” you complained, but then attempted to stay on the same page. He’d complimented you, so… your turn? “Your suit is nice,” you ventured.
Neal chuckled. The sound came very close to giving you the shivers – it was so attractive, and so close to your ear. If he were just a little bit closer, you could’ve felt his breath. “Non cambia mai, la mia preziosa.”
You made a complete guess and gave him a nervous thumbs-up.
“Veux-tu aller au resto italien que tu aime?” Your gorgeous blue-eyed friend showed up beside you while you were fixing subpar coffee in the bureau’s kitchenette. He came out of nowhere, like an ambush. He leaned on the counter and crossed his ankles. “Seulement nous.”
You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you tried deciphering what he was saying. It wasn’t like he spoke in tongues all day, every day – you still knew how he was, what was going on in his life, and all that, as much as you had before. Now you just had the added challenges of acting normal while he behaved in a manner that would’ve convinced you to ask him to kiss you on the spot if you didn’t work together.
“Um, italien, Italian… something.” You puzzled. Neal raised an eyebrow but nodded confirmation. “Italian… suits. Shoes.” While those were surely of interest to him, you couldn’t think of why he would be asking you a question about them – you knew as much about Italian fashion as you knew of Italian language. And, just to show how far off the mark you were, you were ninety-five percent sure he wasn’t even speaking Italian. “Coffee?” You asked hopefully.
Neal, trying not to laugh, shook his head. His eyes were bright and playful and his smile was contagious. To your surprise, it wasn’t as hard to keep your cool, and you didn’t feel like you were blushing. You loved being around him as much as you always had, but you were gradually growing more accustomed to his interest.
“Um… wine? Food?” You guessed.
His face lit up and he nodded quickly. “Très bien, ma belle mademoiselle!” He had been leaning with his elbow on the counter, but he propped his hip up on the side of the cabinets instead to free his arms, gesturing as he spoke. “Veux-tu manger le diner avec moi?” He pointed at you, made a motion like he was bringing something to his mouth, and then pointed at his own chest.
“Dinner?” You asked, and his smile grew to show his teeth while he nodded again. “Okay.” You felt your face warming again.
It seemed like he’d decided enough was enough, and Neal was giving you a break. He hadn’t said a single word in anything but English since that morning, and now you were sharing a small table in an Italian restaurant not far from June’s.
“Do you have any preferences for champagne?” He asked courteously, turning the wine list around so you could see.
In truth, you were no connoisseur. You would leave that business to Neal. If a friend placed something in front of you, the odds were high that you would drink it without critiquing its wood-like qualities or whatever it was wine tasters talked about.
“Order for me,” you suggested. “That way my unsophisticated palate won’t offend your delicate tastes.”
Neal laughed and turned the list back around, moving his eyes down the page. You knew it wouldn’t take him long to decide. Even if it was a long process, he was too nice to let you sit in silence for very long. While he was distracted, you looked around as subtly as you could.
You’d let him choose the restaurant because he was the one who’d invited you. In your head, this dinner had been more like a quick meal at Fazoli’s. You couldn’t have been more wrong. For starters, there was a wine list. Appetizers began at a larger monetary value than any appetizer had a right to cost. The menu boasted fresh ingredients and meals made to order in an authentic Italian style. The ambience romantic and soothing, the lighting rosy and the soft classical music full of harmonized violas.
Would you have agreed if you’d known this was where he’d take you? On one hand, it was a dream come true. Not literally (you weren’t that far gone), but it was like one of those cute daydreams you would’ve loved to fantasize about, had the idea occurred to you. On the flip side, it was hard enough just being friends. Now he was bestowing you with unexpected trinkets and gifts, inviting you to five-star restaurants, playing around for fun, acting like he was romancing you- oh my God, he’s romancing you.
“This is a date!” You blurted suddenly, your eyes wide. You covered your mouth instantly, embarrassed. You felt stupid for not realizing sooner and silly for saying it so loudly in an already-quiet public place.
How dumb could you be? You’ve wanted to date him for what feels like forever and you didn’t notice when he asked you out? What the actual hell, Y/N?
Neal slowly put down the wine list. “What gave it away?” He asked sarcastically. There wasn’t a sting to the question, but it still made you feel even worse. You wondered what the odds were of there being a sudden fire in the kitchen that you could go put out and decided that they weren’t in your favor. Neal gave a long look to your chastened expression and reached across the table, taking your hand in his and stroking your fingers with his thumb. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t feel bad. I’m the idiot who had to ask in a language you don’t even speak.”
“All of that… the languages, they were all just to ask me out?” You asked unsurely. That seemed like a lot of effort that you weren’t sure you were worth – especially from Neal, who could easily have anyone he wanted.
“Not at first,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. He glanced down at the table as if he was embarrassed, too. “I was just playing around. When I saw how much you liked it, though, I kept at it. I thought if I impressed you, you might be more likely to say yes when I did ask.”
You turned your hand over so that you could gently squeeze his. “You didn’t have to do any of that. I’ve had an insanely inappropriate crush on you since you asked me if your hat made you look like a cartoon.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “I was proving a point to Peter.”
You took your hand away. “My turn to ask something,” you decided bravely.
He leaned forward and tilted his head. “What’s that?”
“Will you kiss me?” You almost lost your nerve, but managed not to cop out at the last minute.
You watched him to see his reaction and were relieved and thrilled when he licked his lips and grinned. “And here I was, thinking I’d have to ask first.”
Requested by anonymous.
So I took a request for little scenes and made it into little scenes compromising a ridiculously fluffy plot. Sorry…
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