[ @suck-my-tomato | Autumn Festival Oneshot | verse; post-modern ]
Shakily, she exhales. Truly, it’s a wonder she ever got this far dressing herself over the last two decades ( she was nearly 25 but the Foster Care Facility kids all donned the same gray uniform so technically she couldn’t account for that ). Smoothing the front of her .. dress, Kimiko takes a quick glance to the clock: Fifteen minutes to spare — and surely enough, the calendar read .. August 24th? That wasn’t right .. was it?
Transfixed on her possible lapse in sanity, Kimiko presses the heels of her palms into her eyes until the spinning shapes and colors on the inside of her eyelids bleed away into one encompassing darkness. Her heart is stuttering, trying its damnedest to keep up with her brain as it reels back over the supposed events of the last few days. Just what got her standing here, with an obnoxiously oversized sweater brushing just above her knees , the turtled neck — no, she’d taken that one off, it felt like a cage of fingers strangling her throat — a golden chain hanging a tear drop of amber beneath the fabric and between her collar. That’s right, she’d first started in a dress; one that Maeve thrifted for her 22nd birthday, but now felt too exposing of her every flaw — she’d scrambled out of the fabric as quickly as she’d put it on.
Peeling her hands from her eyes after pressing a little too hard, Kimiko let’s her vision pepper back in from the sides and stares at her reflection, neck-down in the body mirror. It wasn’t really August 24th, was it? She’d attended the most recent meeting just four days ago, where she’d earned her “4 months clean” sobriety chip. After her short and strained little speech, Kimiko had escaped to soothe her nerves with a stick of cancer. Shortly after, she was joined by Sasuke. It wasn’t a surprise; the two had found a routine in joining one another for a sip of nicotine before, during, or ( sometimes and ) after their weekly meetings. What had started as small talk on her part, in which she mentioned the autumn festival in the next town over — turned into a.. date. A proper one this time, apparently. Not just a late night drive in amicable silence, not an unplanned takeout dinner and falling asleep on the couch, nor a check-in phone call turning into three hours and the unscratched itch desire to just hang up and drive over to see the lips that passed along a voice into the speaker. He’d insisted on picking her up, being her ride — which, Kimiko realized after an admittedly bashful agreement, would mean that he’d have to drive her home after the festival, too.
Gods, she’s getting herself all worked up over probably nothing. It likely won’t even that big of a deal — even if he did call it a date, himself. A date. They’d been on .. hundreds, probably ( hundreds of thousands throughout their unknown lifetimes ) and yet she stood plucking at the frayed edges of her ripped jeans and looking at her cherry-red reflection with uncertainty. Did she feel more excited than anxious? It was getting hard to tell — she should’ve finished her banana and toast that morning, because now her head was spinning. “You’re doing it again.” Kimiko huffs at herself, turning from her mirror and heading to the sink to wet her cottony tongue.
Another glance to the clock, a check on her phone to determine the quick subtraction from when he texted that he was on his way and the time it took to drive from his place to hers.. 10 minutes left to spare. That was definitely enough time to smoke a cigarette to help smooth over her prickly edges, but.. She still didn’t feel confident in how put-together she was. Should she put some earrings in, maybe? The trip to the bathroom resulted in more nit-picking of her overall aesthetics: Should she keep her oversized sleeves rolled past her wrists or hide half of her hands beneath them? Ultimately she decides on a swipe of mascara — which she internally promises that she’ll remember to remove before succumbing to sleep later tonight — and a soft slip of garnet tinged chapstick.
By the time Kimi had become sick with the worked up and mousy person staring through the mirror, a knock sounded off at her front door. It made her jump right out of her skin. Checking her phone ( left by the kitchen sink ), the Tamashi confirms: Sasuke had let her know he was parked out front .. 7 minutes ago. Shit-fuck-goddamnit.
Kimiko is unlocking her door ( which takes a few extra seconds ) and swinging it open with apologetic fervor just moments after her realization. Had she fucked it all up already? “ H-hey! Uh— ‘m sorry, I meant to come straight down. ” A quick scratch to the skin beneath her ear turns into a tuck of loose hair behind her ear. She’s yet to even make eye contact, for fear of seeing the telltale signs of anger ( or worse, disappointment ) there. Instead, Kimiko plucks her shoulder satchel from the hook on the wall and fastens it over her shoulder, hands wringing the strap just above her navel.
At last, golden globes swing up to catch him in her careful stare. “ So, ..are we still on? ”
