I return to the table and set the drink down in front of Asher. He takes a sip and smiles, “Much better, thank you.”
“No problem,” I reply, sliding onto my stool. I try to lift my feet back onto the footrest, but something is off. I glance down curiously. Are our stools closer together than they were before? Subtle, I smile to myself, though the act doesn’t completely surprise me. The energy has shifted between us since we hung out that day in his living room. While it’s true that we haven’t had a chance to really chat much since then, there have been moments when we occupy the same space, when we have the opportunity to be close. He’ll stand next to me in our morning meetings, near enough that if I shift my weight, I can rest my arm against his, so I do. My body instantly relaxes when we’re touching. Sometimes I don’t even realize how much tension I’m carrying until I lean against him and feel it release.
I’d assumed I was probably imagining things, that none of it was intentional on his part. He really is a very physical person by nature, and doesn’t have much of a personal bubble, so it seemed reasonable that I was reading into it too much. But now with the stools, I think maybe it was intentional all along.
I suppose now I have to decide whether to scoot away or stay where I’m at, not that I have to think about it too hard, more just an observation really. Without a word, I move my foot to the footrest on the side of Asher’s stool since it no longer fits on my own.
Realizing that I now have two drinks to finish instead of one, I take a large gulp of my beer, taking a moment to appreciate the warmth in my belly before stealing a glance at Ash who’s gone surprisingly quiet while I chase my own random string of thoughts.
He’s leaning forward on the table, propped up on one hand with the other wrapped around his drink, watching me.
“What?” I ask, suddenly feeling awkward.
Normally, a direct compliment like that would embarrass me, but with my anxiety slightly dampened under the weight of the alcohol, I feel relaxed, and I lean forward, matching his posture. My eyes drift down to the birthmark that starts at his jaw and trails down the side of his neck, disappearing into the black of his hoodie. I allow myself a moment to imagine what it would be like to kiss him there. To breathe him in and feel his pulse quicken beneath my lips.
I glance away briefly in an attempt to stop myself before my mind wanders too far in that direction. When I look back at him, the corner of his mouth is turned up into a half-smile that has now become familiar, and the second our eyes meet, he winks at me, immediately breaking my demeanor and causing my cheeks to burn. I laugh and sit up to finish my beer before swapping the glasses in front of me and starting on the one I stole from him earlier.
“That’s never gonna get old, y’know,” he takes a sip of his whiskey and then leans into me, “Okay, so, I’m curious.”
“You actually came out for a drink – which, they all told me you wouldn’t, by the way – but you walked right past everyone and sat back here in the corner. Is it because you secretly hate them all? Or did you just want me all to yourself?”
I can’t help but smile at that last bit, but I sidestep it and answer with a shrug, “Ah, no, they’re all fine. I just don’t like big groups. I get agitated when there are lots of conversations going on at once, and it gets worse when everyone is drinking and loud. It’s why I usually don’t go out with everyone.”
“I see. So, why’d you come out today?”
“Because you asked me to.”
“Aha, you did want me all to yourself!”
“Well, I wouldn’t word it that way. It sounds so… possessive. But, yeah, I guess I did.”
“Well, you’ve got me, so tell me something.”
“Anything. Tell me something about you that I don’t know yet. Something that would surprise me.”
Oh god, he’s really putting me on the spot now, isn’t he? I buy myself some time by taking a drink of my beer and then settle on what feels like the easiest. “Alright, um, I like to rock climb.”
“How you’re that fit when you spend all day sitting at a desk. I was starting to wonder if you live at the gym on eighty-third.”
“Well, I kind of do. I’m at the gym five days a week, and in the mountains every other weekend. I’m training to climb Mt. Komorebi.”
“Like the actual mountain. You’re just gonna climb it.”
“Yes,” I laugh, “I’m going to climb it.”
“Um, my sister and her boyfriend. And Kiyoshi, he’s done it before, so he’s leading us.”
“Well, shit,” he takes a sip of his drink, shaking his head as if he still doesn’t quite believe it, “Okay, yeah, you surprised me.”
“I’m gonna need another drink first. You want one?”
Since I’m training, I’m supposed to keep alcohol consumption to a minimum, but now that I have a buzz, I’m feeling far more relaxed and cheerful than usual, and I want to hold on to this feeling a little longer, so I tell him, “Sure, just one more,” a sentence I’ll likely repeat multiple times tonight if past experience has taught me anything.
While Ash goes up to the bar to get us another round of drinks, I notice that the group of our co-workers is getting up to leave. I can only imagine what they must be thinking or saying about us right now. I couldn’t care less, though. Let them say what they want. A couple of them look over and wave goodbye, so I raise my hand and give a small wave in return.
Ash comes back with our drinks and says goodbye to a few of them before sitting down. Once they’re out of earshot, he nudges my arm and says quietly, “Most of them are intimidated by you, y’know.”
“I don’t know. Probably because you’re really good at what you do. And you just sit back there all brilliant and serious all the time.”
“But you don’t think I’m intimidating?”
“Nah, I think you’re sweet.”
I give him a small smile, noticing the compliments that have started to pile up. Oddly enough, they feel sincere, and I’m not quite sure what to do with that, but, thanks to the alcohol, the filter between my thoughts and my words has started to dissolve and I say, “I see. So, I’m cute and fit and brilliant and sweet?”
He chuckles softly, looking embarrassed, “Yeah. Yeah, you are. And, as long as we’re keeping track, you’re funny too. Sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” I laugh quietly, more to myself than anything as I remember that first moment we met. And then I look down, down to where I feel his hand come to rest on my leg, the heat of it warming my thigh.
“Is that okay?” He asks, “Do you want me to move my hand?”
I look up into his eyes and shake my head slightly, “No. No, it’s okay.” I lick my lips and watch his eyes flick down to my mouth and back up again, and for a brief moment I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me. Or maybe not. Maybe I imagined it. Or maybe he got nervous and changed his mind. I’m not sure. But, instead, he reaches over and takes a sip of his drink.
As I watch him, it occurs to me that he’s cleverly kept the conversation focused on me the whole time, so I place my hand on top of his, as if to reiterate that I don’t want him to move it, and say, “So, you never told me.”
Looking confused, he asks, “Told you what?”
“Something about you that I don’t know.”
“Oh, that,” he grins up at me, “I won’t be able to top climbing a mountain.”
“That’s okay, it’s not a competition,” I assure him, “It doesn’t have to be anything big or surprising. I just want to learn something new about you.”
His grin stretches wider, reaching his eyes. He pulls the corner of his lip between his teeth, chewing on it as he considers his answer, and I run my thumb over the back of his hand while I wait patiently. Finally, he takes a breath, having made a decision, “Okay. I have an idea for a video game, and I’ve been working on it for the last, I don’t know, three or four years. Storyboarding it and sketching it out, the world, characters, environment, everything.”
“Really?” I ask, intrigued, “Can I see it?”
“The thing is, I’m an artist, not a developer. The mechanics and the code, I basically only know enough to make a real mess of things.”
“Yeah, she’s good. But you’re better.”
“Are you asking me to code your game?”
“Only if you want to. If you don’t, that’s okay. But, I don’t know, it could be fun.”
“Well, I can’t agree without knowing anything about it. For all I know, your idea is shit.”
He laughs at that, nodding, “Fair enough. It probably is.” He takes a moment to finish his drink, crunching down on a piece of ice, and then turns back to me, “Okay, long version or short version?”
It’s getting late, but I have no intention of ending the night anytime soon, so I say, “Long version.”
“Good. There is no short version,” he admits, his face is already lighting up the way it does when he talks about things he loves, making me all the more excited to hear this idea of his. “So, when I was in college—”
“Where?” I ask, cutting him off already.
“Oh, um, the Brindleton Bay School of Design.”
“Nice. Okay, sorry, go on.”
“Right, so I was studying architecture for a bit because it was a weak area of mine, and it’s good knowledge to have because you never know what you’re going to be asked to create in gaming, y’know.”
“Is that what you always wanted to do, be a game artist?”
“Not always. When I was younger, I wanted to write graphic novels.”
“Yeah. I only ever finished one, though. And once I finished it, I never really got the same inspiration to write another, and then I started getting into digital art and, like, 3D modeling and stuff.”
“Do you still have it? The one you finished?”
“Of course. It’s locked away at my parents’ house.”
“Can I read it sometime?”
“No,” he shakes his head, “it’s, um, too personal. I like you, but I don’t know you that well yet.”
“Fair enough. Anyway, sorry again, you were studying architecture.”
“Yeah, and I got really into it, like obsessed.”
“Oh, so much more than the aspens. There’s just so much, y’know. It made me want to create these whole worlds that are set in different places and in different time periods, right. And then I wanted to bring them all together somehow, so I got this idea for a video game where you have this character who travels through time in their dreams, to each of these worlds, and each one is like a level with its own story and objective, and they’re each like a piece of the puzzle of the overarching story of this character’s life. And, like, the world they visit in their dreams each night would be determined by the choices made during their waking hours, right, so the story itself can change depending on how you play. And I know it’s a lot, but I know I can design it, I’ll just never be able to make it functional. I’ve tried to learn how to code, but my brain just doesn’t work that way. And now I’m rambling, but I can’t stop talking because now I’m nervous to hear what you think. Actually, don’t tell me yet. Do you want one more drink?”
My cheeks hurt from smiling as I listen to him, completely mesmerized by the passion in his voice, and the way the energy is practically vibrating around him. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like him. And I certainly don’t want this night to end, so I say, “Yeah, just one more.”
✨I have to give a MASSIVE thank you to @herecirmsims for making the poses for this scene!! They are absolutely perfect 😭 I am always in awe of your talent and creativity, and you've been so lovely and kind, I just adore you! Words cannot express how grateful I am! These boys are so special to me and it means the world to be able to bring these moments to life for them! 💖
