Starstruck || Rachel & Peter || V8 W4 Wednesday Morning
@healinghxst
He’d been back a couple day, and there were definitely things he desperately still needed to do, Peter finally flt like he was starting to get back on track. Of course, everyone freaking out the day before hand’t helped things, but Peter had learnt to just take weird shit like that in his stride. They’d figure out what caused it eventually.
Just as Peter was finishing up before lunch, there was a knock at the door. He didn’t have any meetings scheduled, but he was always happy to meet people when he could. Though hopefully this wouldn’t take longer than 10 minutes: there was a cheese and ham sandwich in the employee fridge with his name on it. “Hey there, how can I help-” Peter had jumped up to open the door, but was startled to see the woman on the other side. “-Rachel Coker. How can I help Rachel Coker?” He took a step back and welcomed the TV host into his office, staring at her in awed confusion. “You sure you’re meant to be here?”
it’s not that shirazu doesn’t like cafés; on the contrary, he enjoys the serene atmosphere and the heady, smoky scent of freshly roasting coffee beans quite a bit. being in a café always invokes a strange, latent desire lingering in his chest to crack open some thick tome and stick his nose into it, devouring the ink-inscribed pages with a cup of strong black coffee in his hand—but then shirazu remembers that he’s a shit reader and how he can never stomach a whole book front to back if there’s too many words in it, and that’s where all his problems with cafés begin. he can’t even begin to explain the discomfort properly, but café settings make him…itch. no matter how rigorously he tries to settle properly into the foreign wild kingdom that is your generic coffee shop, shirazu ginshi is simply a species not adaptable to life in such a sophisticated habitat. his mere presence attracts stares, lots of stares—stares at his unruly yellow hair and jagged teeth, stares at his irritating laugh and booming voice (both of which are never soft enough despite how hard he attempts to stifle them), stares at his gangly height and lazy stride and the way he seems far too big and brutish within the café’s delicate four walls. café patrons study shirazu warily over the tops of their newspapers and laptops and dainty espresso cups like he’s a bull in a china shop; they look at him like they’re just waiting for him to screw up and break something, all too ready for a reason to expel his disturbing presence out the door.
ginshi can’t give less of a fuck about how out of place he might seem in these snotty little cafés. ‘go right ahead’, he thinks with a smirk, ‘stare all ya want. i love having my pretty lil’ face admired everywhere i go—you can even take my picture, so ya never forget the handsome motherfucker that i am!’ he’s been frequenting little hole-in-the-wall coffee joints with the quinx for a while now, and it’s a grand way to blow off steam and have a little fun after work with good friends and liquid caffeine. shirazu ain’t giving that up for no one.
truly, the stares don’t bother him at all! he…he totally doesn’t get embarrassed when he talks too loudly, of course not! he wasn’t upset when he knocked that mug onto the floor after chewing saiko out, no siree! ah, fuck…
‘it’s a lot more uncomfortable when it’s just me an’ nobody else,’ shirazu broods, his brow furrowed deeply as he stirs what’s left of his lukewarm coffee with his index finger. it’s not like the squad to be late for their post-work repast—especially not urie, mister i-have-a-piece-of-coal-up-my-ass-so-deep-it’s-probably-a-diamond-by-now himself. that bastard is the punctual investigator, not him; it’s ginshi who is always tardy, thanks to saiko and…well, the occasional bottle of vodka. but that doesn’t matter at the moment. point is, the quinx should’ve met him by now. ‘i wonder if they forgot me? those fuc—…wait, no. sassan wouldn’t forget!’
he’ll sit out ten more minutes before he texts everyone again. ten more minutes, and he’ll—….
a flash of violet hair catches shirazu’s attention, glistening like a daydream in the refracted afternoon sunglow. his jaw slackens; his lips, as thin and sandpaper-rough as ever, form a small ‘o’ of complete and utter awe. one look, and ginshi is bewitched.
he doesn’t usually go for soft, booby girls. he just ain’t no supple an’ squishy kind of guy. of all the women he’s ever been with, they’ve always been kickass. he likes a strong girl, a tough-as-nails girl—a woman with hard, lean arms and bony hips, and an arm on her that throws a wicked punch better than her brother ever could. ginshi just…doesn’t think he’d know what to do with so much gentle flesh and tender sweetness.
but this girl, the one that just walked in—holy flippin’ fuck, she’s prettier than any stained-glass angel he’s ever seen. shirazu’s mouth grows aridly dry. he forces his mouth closed, and the movement feels oddly mechanical. he just can’t stop looking at her.
her titties, are like…right there. right out there, spilling generously from the neckline of her outfit for all eyes to see. they’re so nice, and pretty damn big too. it’s not like shirazu is oogling them, though. he doesn’t oogle. fuck…he tries not to oogle, at least….
an alarming observation momentarily smacks ginshi from his dazed stupor. a lot more people have come into the café since he arrived, and by now all of the tables have been filled with customers. all that’s left are a couple of barstools at the counter.
"h-hey…um, u-uh, i mean….i m-mean, excuse me, ma’am!" shirazu gives his arm an awkward little wave to attract the woman’s attention—and as soon as he does, his brain short-circuits. words automatically fail him. his voice cracks. blood roars in like a lion to swell the veins and vessels in his burning cheeks, painting his entire face a shade of crimson in mere heartbeats. overcome with a sudden bout of shyness, shirazu quickly tries to mold his malfunctioning face into the semblance of a smile—fuck, he’s such an idiot! he probably looks like a dumbass…—as he stands up out of his seat, catching his foot on a chair leg and nearly face-planting in the process. ‘keep calm, shirazu! she’s just a girl! just say what ya wanted ta say, ya big moron!'
"um. hi there. i was just leavin’, so…you can take my table, if you’d like. it isn’t a problem or anythin’! an’ it’s better than the counter too, i think. ya can sit down and relax here, read or somethin’…well, i…i’ll leave ya be, then!" shirazu smiles, nods his head, and turns to go buy another coffee for the walk home.
It didn't matter that he'd been attending the Seoul School of Performing Arts for a month now at least. It didn't matter that he'd met famous sunbaes and went to school with famous trainees and mingled with all sorts of big names at MGA on national television. It didn't matter that he only actually went to school three days a week because he had to dedicate most of his time to working with star choreographers and voice instructors and personal trainers. It didn't matter that he was fully immersed in the life of a future idol: he was still rendered a fangirling stuttering mess in the presence of his own idols. And no matter how many times he'd seen her in the halls on his way to class or surrounded by adoring friends and fans at lunch and before school and after school (and probably always who was he kidding), he was not ready for the moment he spotted her in the cafeteria at an otherwise empty table eating lunch alone.
So he stood there for several seconds, lunch tray balanced in two hands, his mind racing. What was he meant to do? Was this a sign? Would it be rude if he asked to sit with her? But what if she said no? Maybe he wouldn't ask at all. But that would be strange wouldn't it? She probably had no idea who he was, and he had to remind himself not to ask her for a photo or an autograph because that would automatically place him in the generic forgettable fan category and the last thing he wanted to be to Lee Hayi was a generic, forgettable fan.
He finally approached the table, wondering if all the eyes he felt on him were actually there or if his nerves were making them up, and set his tray down across from her with a friendly smile, hoping it wasn't as stupid of a grin as it felt. "Hi. Can I sit here?"
