Spotify wrapped 3 or 27!!!
27... "youyouyou" by tove styrke... hehehe
The date is not going well. Charles is going to text Pierre as soon as he gets home to ask him what the hell he was thinking and to demand appropriate compensation (just one date, please, Calamar, he’s my manager’s son). Before that can happen though, he’s going to have to muster up the strength to leave this bathroom and call for the check. He groans loudly, eyes screwed shut as he splashes some water on his face to cool down his heated cheeks.
“Professor Vettel!” Charles straightens to meet Sebastian Vettel’s curious gaze in the mirror. He tries to ignore the droplets of water still tracking their way down his temples, dripping quietly from his jaw onto his shirt collar.
“I’ve already told you, it’s just Seb. You graduated last week, didn’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Charles says weakly. Sebastian had been there at commencement near the graduate students’ section looking particularly steely-eyed as he squinted up at the sun from under his doctoral hat. Alex had elbowed Charles in the ribs, or had tried to at least, through the thick layers of their hot stuffy robes, waggling his eyebrows as if there was anything remotely attractive about the hideous polyester vestments of twenty-first century academia.
“You must be celebrating tonight,” Sebastian says knowingly, stepping beside him toward the sink to wash his hands.
“Ah, no.” Charles shuffles awkwardly to the side so Sebastian can get to the basket of soft, plush hand towels supplied by the restaurant. “I’m—I’m on a date. It’s going horribly,” he adds, for some horrible, unknown reason.
Sebastian’s hands still and Charles tries not to stare at the gold ring winking up at him.
