Les Deux Magots Cafe

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

Gwendoline picked away the dried dough that clung to the underside of her fingernails as she stretched out on the cold wooden floor. The sun felt surprisingly frigid as it shown through the neighbour’s fence and made little lattice designs on her face, her eyes blinking in the light and shadow play of the diamonds that resulted. She hadn’t moved from this spot since she put in the pie in the oven (which had gone off ages ago as smoke began trickling out from the stove) and Torben hadn’t been home since four in the morning when he set out for a walk, which he usually did after the rare argument. It had been a hard, lonely day without her boyfriend home, and she imagined what he was doing right now. She could see him very clearly, stretched out on the pavement, drawing and colouring frantically with chalk as people either watched on curiously or whispered as he worked. When he was upset, the sidewalk became his canvas as he drew out all of his ponderous burdens and ghosts, waiting for them to be washed away into the Parisian drainage with the next rain shower. She could imagine what he was drawing: her in a monochromatic ever spin, the flower box bleeding red diamonds, and a broken heart. But pondering on it only complicated her feelings, sending her reeling as she flitted from agonized to apologetic, from guilty to victimized. Thinking about last night’s fight only made her stomach flop and her chest ache.

So when the phone called, Gwendoline answered it gratefully, glad for the distraction, and ever so pleased when it was Tristan on the other line and not her boyfriend.

Turning off the stove, Gwendoline flew from the house in an excited tizzy. Her friend was calling and pulling her out of her misery, if only for a temporary time today. Maybe when she returned, so would Torben, and maybe they’d both be in a better place to make up.

Lunch was something Gwendoline had forgotten about eating. She had made lunch (as well as dinner and a burnt dessert) to unwind, but she hadn’t actually consumed it. It wasn’t until she stepped into the café and locked eyes with Tristan that she even realized how hungry she really was.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Tristan said as Gwen sat down across from him. “I haven’t had a day off in fifty-six days and I wasn’t expecting to have free time. I know it was short-as-hell notice.”

“No, no!” she said, hoping her eyes weren’t too puffy from crying. “No, I really appreciate you inviting me out. I’m flattered.”

Whatever she did, she could not let Tristan know what happened. If he knew she was mad and hurt by his artistic idol, he would be so crushed and torn. And Gwendoline couldn’t bear to see that. “How have you been, dearie?” she asked, opening her menu. “Has Solange been treating you well?”

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

When Tristan apologized, Gwen insisted that she appreciated his impromptu invite to lunch, but if there was one thing Tristan's years as a funeral director had taught him, it was how to recognize sadness when it sat across the table, masquerading as normalcy. Tristan considered reaching for Gwen's hand, but he so often took a hands-off approach to others' sadness that Tristan had forgotten how such a gesture might be recieved.

Let the other person set the tone, his grief-counselling professor once said. Be there when and if they need you, however they need you.

Oh, sure, the advice had been about dealing with bereaved families, but Tristan was pretty sure it applied here, too. Maybe.

“How have you been, dearie?” Gwen asked. In spite of himself, Tristan smiled at the pet name. It was new. “Has Solange been treating you well?”

Tristan shook his head, amused, and opened his menu.

"Of course she hasn't," he said. Solange, even after six months as Tristan's secretary, still found him to be a bit of a weirdo. She wasn't keen on working in a funeral home; she was even less keen on Tristan himself. She also had no qualms about voicing her opinion. Yesterday, it had been Tristan's hair that she kvetched about. And upon meeting Gwen and Torben, Solange expressed nothing but shock and surprise that Tristan even had friends at all. He hadn't told Solange that Isolde was a cockroach, because she assumed Isolde was a cat and that was weird enough for her.

"How are you doing? How's work and Torben and everything?"

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

It was nice to see Tristan, not only because he provided a nice distraction from the war of words of last night, but because she found in him a kindred spirit that needed a little bit of her sugary fairy-dust. So when she asked if his secretary had been treating him well (in an attempt to disprove Torben’s insistence that they were banging each other silly in the embalming room) and he responded with an amused "Of course she hasn't,", Gwendoline’s heart formed a hairline fracture down it’s middle for him. This kind, creative man before her did not deserve the mistreatment of his disgruntled, sassy secretary, regardless of how funny he seemed to find her. But Gwendoline smiled anyway, feeding off the energy he gave her. She would not let her own sadness enter into their space, and she would stave off any new melancholy at all costs.

"How are you doing? How's work and Torben and everything?”

Gwendoline’s smile faltered. So much for avoiding her sadness. “Work is lovely,” she said rather flatly. “And Torben is…” she tried to think about how he was, what he was doing, but all that came to mind was the argument of last night.

“Why did you give up, Gwen?” Torben asked, crossing to the window.
“Shush,” she said, touching his arm. “Gabriel is one room over.”
“Let the whole street know” He yelled through his German accent, throwing the window open. “I’m tired of carrying this around. It haunts me in the head day and night!” He reached for the asphodels as Gwendoline screamed in grief.

She shook her head as she felt the back of her eyes sting with the threat of tears. “Fine, I guess. Haven’t seen him today, really. He went out early for a walk and probably got lost or something. He’ll be back by tonight, though, I’m sure.” In truth, he was probably painting quietly on a quiet street before walking down to the river, where he’d write down the events of last night on paper before setting alight and setting the ashes adrift on the Seine.

She smiled at Tristan, pushing Torben from her mind if only for a moment. “Thanks for asking me out on this lunch date, today, love.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It means a lot to me.”

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

At the mere mention of Torben’s name, Gwen’s eyes went cloudy with unshed tears. Tristan wanted to mentally kick himself, but now he was worried. In so short a time, he’d already come to care for Gwen and Torben more than he cared about most everyone in his life. It was a kind of dumb, since both Torben and Gwen had such rich, busy lives without Tristan hanging around. And Tristan knew it. But he couldn’t help himself. He’d admired Torben for so long as a fan and fellow artist, and Gwen was so incredibly good to him…

Tristan was well practiced in tragedy. Immediately, his mind travelled down dark side-streets. Torben was ill. Torben was injured. Torben wasn’t acting like himself. Torben was violent…

No, Tristan thought when Gwen shook her head. It can’t be any of that.

Please don’t be that.

“Fine, I guess. Haven’t seen him today, really. He went out early for a walk and probably got lost or something. He’ll be back by tonight, though, I’m sure.”

There was a lot unsaid when Gwen spoke. Tristan wondered if they’d gotten into a fight, Gwen and Torben. Just a run-of-the-mill lovers’ spat. He wondered what those felt like after you’d been with someone as long as Torben and Gwen must have been together. The wave of hurt on Gwen’s face had been so fresh, so sharp, that it shocked Tristan. Tristan tried not to think of his mother and her fights with Cyril, but failed. After a fight with Cyril, Esther always looked so tired and battered. If you looked past the bruises, she didn’t even look sad. Just exhausted and vacant. Esther never cared about Cyril the way that Gwen cared about Torben. Tristan studied Gwen for telltale make-up lines—where foundation met bruise—and found nothing. Words could hurt just as badly as a fist—worse, sometimes. But Torben was so quiet and so kind. He was a better man than Cyril had ever been. And Gwen was so much more than Esther had ever been. They were strange, Gwen and Torben, but they were whole and healthy people.

So this was a run of the mill lovers’ spat? This is what it looked like at close range?

A shiver ran down Tristan’s spine. A loving relationship seemed harder than an unloving one when you put things under a microscope. As much as Gwen and Torben seemed abnormal from the outside, once you observed them, they weren’t as strange as they prided themselves on being. That was a good and bad thing all at once.

“Thanks for asking me out on this lunch date, today, love,” said Gwen. She reached across the table and squeezed Tristan’s hand. The sadness was gone from her face. “It means a lot to me.”

“Anytime,” Tristan told her, squeezing her hand back.

He rolled the word ‘lunch date’ around in his head. If Gwen was really upset about a fight with Torben, Tristan was glad this was the only sort of ‘lunch date’ he’d been on in the last several years. He couldn't bring himself to feel bitterness or humorless amusement the words would have once inspired.

The waiter came, took orders and returned with food. Gwen and Tristan ate in lively conversation, and slowly the awkward sadness that hallmarked the start of their “lunch date” ebbed away. It was replaced by silly storytelling, comparisons of the week, and critiques of their dishes. A passerby would easily have mistaken Tristan and Gwen for lifelong friends instead of fast friends, made a little less than a month ago. And—truthfully—it was a mistake Tristan caught himself making, too.

About half-way through lunch, though, the illusion was pierced by the shrill sound of Tristan’s cell phone ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket to silence it. Instead, he caught sight of the Caller ID.

Hospital Europeen Georges Pompidou

“Damn,” Tristan swore, staring at the phone. Then, guiltily, he looked up at Gwen. “I have to take this. I’m really, really sorry…”

He took a deep breath and pressed talk.

“Tristan Vidal speaking,” he said—unsure if the phone call was personal or professional. The hospitals he worked with never called him on his cellphone.

“Monseiur Vidal,” a woman said on the other line. “So glad to finally reach you. No one answered your office line.”

“I’m sorry,” Tristan said, not yet sure if he meant it.

“I’m calling on behalf of the hospital’s morgue. It seems you are scheduled for a noon pick up?”

“I was not aware. I’ll be there then—“

“—It’s one o’clock now. Five after one, to be specific,” the woman on the phone said a little icily. “I don’t know what time zone you are operating in, Monsieur Vidal, but I suggest getting your watch checked.”

Tristan sucked in a deep breath. It made his cheekbones stick out further than normal until he exhaled.

“Right. I understand. I will… I’ll be there now.”

Tristan bade the woman goodbye and hung up the phone. He looked over at Gwen miserably.

“So much for a day off,” he told her, putting the phone back in his pocket and trading it for his wallet. “That was the hospital. Apparently, I have one last thing to do.”

Tristan pulled out several bills and laid them on top of the check. His shoulders were slumped; not because he hated his job, but because he hated the idea of cutting his afternoon with Gwen short.

And then a stroke of brilliance hit him. Tristan sat up a little straighter.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked. “I’ve got the car parked outside and everything already and it will be really quick—I swear…”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

“Anytime,” Tristan said, and Gwendoline was inclined to believe him, knowing full well that she would hold him to that. ‘Anytime’ seemed to be a common thread in Tristan’s life. ‘Anytime’ was apparently time for them to eat lunch together. ‘Anytime’ was time for him to paint on the underside of bridges. And, as they learned during their lovely lunch and afternoon chit-chat, ‘anytime’ was also Tristan’s work schedule.

As Gwendoline sipped her coffee between giggles coaxed out of her by Tristan, her lunchtime companion’s phone went off with a shrill sort of cry for attention.

“Damn. I have to take this. I’m really,reallysorry…”

Gwen smiled and waved her hand nonchalantly, reassuring him that answering his phone was not a mortal sin. If it was important, it was important. No one had control over who called them when. There was nothing to forgive.

As Tristan talked on his phone, Gwendoline tried her hardest not to eavesdrop. There was a reason the person called Tristan and not her, after all. But the disgruntled look on Tristan’s face piqued Gwen’s curiosity and concern sewed itself onto her the fabric of her features. She hoped he was okay.

“Right. I understand. I will… I’ll be there now.”

Once he hung up, Gwen opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but as if he had read her mind, he said, “so much for a day off. That was the hospital. Apparently, I haveonelast thing to do.”

Gwen tried not to let her smile falter. But as the corners of her mouth twitched downward, Tristan’s twitched up. “Do you want to come with me? I’ve got the car parked outside and everything already and it will be really quick—I swear…”

“The car”, Gwen knew, meant Tristan’s company hearse. Riding in a hearse was certainly an adventure Gwendoline had never had before, and it was one she had not planned on until she was in a pine box. But she was certainly not opposed to a live ride, either.

Besides she thought to herself, smirking internally. Imagine how jealous Torben will be that he wasn’t there… His loss… His fault. But Gwendoline quickly reminded herself that a good marriage was not based on making your partner jealous. She pushed the thought from her mind with one last prideful look before it lay forever forgotten in oblivion.

“I’d love to. Take the whole day, if you need. I’m in no hurry.”

[The Exodus]

OOC: Tristan/Solange, in honor of the holiday. BIC:

Tristan Vidal

It was crowded for a Thursday afternoon at Le Deux Magots Café. Actually, this was the second restaurant Tristan and Solange had come to in search of lunch. They’d initially planned to go to a bistro in the Latin Quarter (a bistro that Tristan couldn’t help but think of as “their bistro”), but the line had wrapped halfway around the block. At least at Les Deux Magots, they’d only been made to wait thirty minutes for a table. It seemed every restaurant was like this today: packed with people travelling in pairs. It was like some demented Noah’s Ark, where people, not animals, coupled off into neat two-by-twos.

If it had been a Friday night, Tristan might have understood. But today was Thursday afternoon because today was the day that Tristan set aside to wash the hearse, straighten up the embalming room, and vacuum the lobby. Thursday was cleaning day, the day before the onslaught of weekend wakes. They were booked tomorrow through Sunday, as if to make up for next week: the day off Tristan had marked down on the calendar. Solange deserved time off; Tristan needed the downtime to perform Gwen and Torben’s service for their stillborn daughter. In fact, until then, this lunch break might be the only real break either Tristan or Solange got. And Tristan was glad they were spending it together.

They were shown to their table by a harassed looking waitress. It was a small window table, which looked even smaller with the over-the-top candle-and-flower centerpiece. There were droplets of red – what Tristan instinctively thought was blood – that turned out to be rose petals sprinkled all over the table. Tristan picked one up and studied it. And then he looked at Solange.

Only a few days ago, he’d kissed her. Not on the lips, not overzealously, but on the cheek. She’d seen the mural he painted of her and had been smitten with it, if not with him. Since then, things between Solange and Tristan had been calm. Subdued. They weren’t fighting, which was a first for them. They weren’t exactly walking on eggshells, either. Things were just nice. And a couple weeks ago, Tristan would have contented himself with “nice”. He was happy – of course he was happy – but under his happiness was dissatisfaction, restlessness, self-loathing. He thought for probably the fiftieth time: I should have actually kissed her, just to know what would have happened.

Because he was curious if things would have been so “nice” if he had. Or if they would have been even nicer. And it was just too damn weird, being surrounded by couples right now-- couples who were necking in corner booths and holding hands across their tables – while sitting across from Solange.

Tristan twirled the petal between his fingers before offering it to Solange.

“I’ve been here, like, a million times and it’s never looked this… this…”

Tristan wished he had a word besides “romantic” to describe the atmosphere. But a string quartet was crackling over the speakers of the restaurant and there was no other way to describe the roses and candles, other than as someone else’s cookie-cutter idea of romance.

“It’s never looked like this,” he said. “And it’s never this crowded. Not in the middle of winter.”

In the summer, Tristan tried to avoid dining out. Tourist season made everything crowded and some things overpriced. But in the winter, even places like Les Deux Magots, which was a cultural, culinary, and artistic mecca, were relatively empty. It was like all of Paris had come to dine here and absolutely everybody was twitter-pated.

Even Tristan. After all, Tristan never has shaken his crush on Solange. It was still there, festering away under his skin and aching all over. But what else could he do?

“I mean, did you get the memo that it was national pair-off day?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Ever since the day she'd seen the mural he'd painted of her, Solange had found herself wanting to find ways to spend more time with Tristan. Something in her had shifted that day and the shift seemed to grow the more they spent time together. She'd find herself smiling at him for no reason at all, actually laughing at his corny jokes, making excuses to brush his hand with her own. She was trying to get a read on him now. What exactly were the feelings that had led him to paint the mural of her? Were they really romantic as he had said before she'd found out he'd painted it, or just random inspiration? Honestly she wasn't quite sure which one she wanted it to be.

Either way, she found herself happy to go along with him to lunch though somehow it seemed unnaturally crowded. They'd already tried to go to the Bistro where they'd first had lunch together, but the line was unbelievably long. They'd found themselves instead accepting the the half hour wait at the Les Deux Magots Cafe. They were both hungry and with only one service left for later that evening, the wait wasn't a big deal.

But something was very odd about the place as they walked to the table. The place was crowded certainly, but it seemed the the tables had mostly been divided to seat couples two at a time. Soft music came over the speakers and the tables were lined with candles and rose petals. The whole place looked like something out of a rom-com movie. What on earth was going on?

Tristan studied a rose petal clamped between his fingers. “I’ve been here, like, a million times and it’s never looked this… this…" he said, having trouble with the last word. “It’s never looked like this. And it’s never this crowded. Not in the middle of winter.”

Solange nodded in agreement, looking around in confusion. "I don't understand what's with all the red either! And why are only two people seated at every table?" Something nagged at her brain now but she couldn't quite put a finger on it.

“I mean, did you get the memo that it was national pair-off day?” Tristan said in agreement.

Suddenly it clicked and her blue eyes went wide. Pair-off day?! How had neither of them remembered? "Oh..." she murmured shortly in realization. "It's the 14th. Valentine's Day! I can't believe it! We've gotten so caught up with work we forgot that it was Valentines." She kept her voice low as though if the couples around them heard they'd turn on them and throw them out because they weren't a couple and hadn't realized it was Valentine's Day.

The waitress suddenly approached the table and gave a tried smile. She still had a long night ahead of her if was only the lunch rush. Solange made a mental note to leave a decent tip. "What can I get the lovely couple to drink this afternoon," she said politely.

Couple? In the past, Solange might have hurried to assure the woman that they were not dating. Now she just looked at Tristan with a secret sort of smile, hoping he'd get the message and be willing to be her pretend boyfriend again. She had to admit he'd done an excellent job the last time.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange’s blue eyes blazed with something – an idea, perhaps – Tristan leaned forward. If there was one thing he wished he could have captured about her in his painting, it was the way her eyes seemed to light from within, without any help from any light source.

"Oh..." Solange murmured. "It's the 14th.”

Tristan gave her a perplexed, so-what look. Of course it was the fourteenth. Today was the Bennett funeral; tonight at seven. The surviving widower had all but demanded today for his wife’s service. What was so special about February the 14th?

Perhaps picking up on his confusion, Solange whispered, “Valentine's Day! I can't believe it! We've gotten so caught up with work we forgot that it was Valentines."

Tristan’s jaw swung to the right, but his lips didn’t part. Instead, the corners of his mouth tipped downwards. This wasn’t the first time he’d forgotten a major holiday, thanks to work. But the way Solange said it – “we’ve gotten so caught up with work we forgot it was Valentine’s” – caught him more off guard than the holiday itself. He felt guilty, as if an opportunity had passed him by yet again. Imagine how different today would have been if Solange had come to work to find a dozen roses waiting on her desk…

Not so different, Tristan thought. They worked in a funeral home and Solange would likely assume the flowers to be for a service. And it didn’t matter if Tristan crafted a pathetically witty card to go along with flowers; they probably still would have ended up in the viewing room or on a hallway table.

But Solange said “we”. Which meant the holiday hadn’t been on her radar either. So here they were, this non-couple, infiltrating a lovers’ holiday. Maybe not all hope was lost. Solange seemed simultaneously mortified and gleeful about the discovery, dropping her voice to a stage whisper for Tristan’s ears only. He grinned.

“Well, at least we both forgot,” he whispered back. “Things could have been way more awkward.”

Particularly if he’d remembered. Because if Tristan had remembered it was Valentine’s Day, he probably would have tried to play secret admirer for Solange and spent the day watching and waiting for her reactions to an unsigned bouquet or a card that said something like, “Roses are red / Violets are blue / I think I might / Have a crush on you” or something equally corny and awful. Tristan was no good at romance. Cupids with heart-shaped arrows, long-stemmed roses, and heart-shaped chocolates always seemed like someone else’s idea of what love and sex and romance were about. If Tristan had gotten to vote on what constituted romance, he would have picked something more low-key, like rewiring the sound system in the funeral home to play metal and rock-and-roll covers of traditional love ballads. Why hadn’t he done that?

Before Tristan was dumb enough to ask that, before Solange could ask him how awkward he thought things could have been, the waitress approached their table. Tristan looked at her gratefully for saving him from sticking his foot in his mouth.

"What can I get the lovely couple to drink this afternoon?" the waitress asked.

Tristan caught Solange’s eye uneasily. She was smiling at him. It was a coy thing that made him chuckle breathlessly. It was the same smile she’d given him months ago, when calling him “boyfriend” and “baby”. Except this time, there was no gel-boy lurking around. Was there? Tristan looked around as discretely as he could just to be sure.

“Could we get a look at your wine list?” he asked. He smiled back at Solange. “It’s our first Valentine’s Day. We’re celebrating.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

It all made sense now. Why Monsieur Bennett had been so insistent to have his wife's funeral this evening. Why it had been unbelievably hard wrangle up enough flowers for the services all week. And why every restaurant in town looked like a fire hazard waiting to happen with how many people they were trying to cram in. Valentine's day had never exactly been one of her favorite holidays, but it was kind of hard to just over look it. Obviously they'd done just that and found themselves in the middle of a romantic lunch designed for couples.

“Well, at least we both forgot,” he whispered. “Things could have been way more awkward.” She had to admit that he sort of had a point. The only way a Valentine's lunch for couple when they weren't a couple could be more awkward was if only one of them was aware that it was a Valentine's lunch for a couple.

She didn't have time to respond before the waitress suddenly approached. And when the waitress called them a 'lovely couple' Solange hadn't been able to resist. It seemed like a good way to amuse themselves through lunch by pretending they really were a couple. She caught Tristan's grin and knew he understood.

“Could we get a look at your wine list?” Tristan asked the waitress before smiling back at her. “It’s our first Valentine’s Day. We’re celebrating.”

Solange's grin grew just a bit. Wine was a nice touch. The waitress nodded and set the wine list in front of them. They both studied it for a moment. "How about we get a blush, darling," she suggested, placing her hand over his. "I mean, you like red wine and I like white...we should compromise. It is Valentine's Day." She nodded and handed the list back to the waitress. "Two glasses of the best blush to start with, please," she said before flashing another smile at Tristan.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan was so sure he’d need a whole bottle of wine to justify the warm, jittery feeling that already filled him when Solange grinned at him. That way, if he said or did anything, he could blame it on the alcohol. He and Solange looked at the wine list together, and it struck Tristan just how close their fingers were, how easy it would be to reach out and take her hand in his. It wasn’t as though they’d never held hands before… It was only a matter of seconds before Tristan stopped caring about the wine list and focused on Solange’s half-moon nails.

"How about we get a blush, darling?" Solange asked, putting her hand on Tristan’s before he could make a move.

Something inside him lurched forward – all electricity and warmth – and he nodded. The only thing in that sentence that was clear to him was that Solange had called him “darling” and when she said it, it wasn’t cloying and babying as it was when Gwen did. It was actually kind of sexy; more than kind of.

Get it together.

"I mean, you like red wine and I like white...we should compromise,” Solange said, somehow either knowing or guessing Tristan’s preference. “It is Valentine's Day." She nodded and handed the list back to the waitress. "Two glasses of the best blush to start with, please."

“Make it a bottle,” Tristan told the waitress. He squeezed Solange’s hand and brushed his thumb over the back. An irrepressible smile wiggled onto Tristan’s lips, matching Solange’s grin. To Solange he said, “We’re not in a hurry, are we, sweetheart?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

The pet name had just sort of rolled off her tongue. She hadn't even been thinking about it and it sort of caught her by surprise. It seemed like a lot of things regarding Tristan were catching her by surprise lately. The painting had been a big surprise, but she was even more surprised by her own anxiousness to figure out the feelings that had led him to paint it in the first place. But for now she would just settle for enjoying a lunch together while they joked around like they were a couple. An easy peace had finally seemed to settle between them and she didn't want to disrupt it by bringing up the subject when she didn't have to.

She ordered two glasses of blush wine, doing the typical couple thing of taking two different tastes on things and merging them in the middle. 'Compromising'...just the kind never worked.
“Make it a bottle,” Tristan suddenly said. “We’re not in a hurry, are we, sweetheart?”

He smiled up at her, squeezing her hand and letting his thumb brush over it. She felt that same swooping feeling in her stomach that had been there the day she saw the mural. She still wasn't quite sure what it was. Instead she bit her lip and grinned before saying softly, "No hurry at all."

The waitress went hurrying off with their orders. Somehow she didn't seem too happy that they planned on taking their time here. Solange very slowly began to release Tristan's hand as if seeing if he even wanted her too. Their waitress was gone and everyone else around them seemed too wrapped up in their partner to even notice the lone couple not holding hands.

She gave a sigh as she glanced around at all of the couples and candles and roses. "I never was very big on Valentine's day," she admitted, but gave a small smile. "But maybe this one won't be so bad."

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange bit her lip, which immediately drew Tristan’s eyes to her mouth. It probably wasn’t a good idea to tell her that the tic drove him wild. Her lips were full, but delicate things; probably warm and soft. Deceptively so, Tristan thought, since Solange had the sharpest tongue of anyone he knew.

"No hurry at all," Solange agreed.

But then, as the waitress walked off, Solange slowly slid her hand away from Tristan’s. The panic he felt was that of Wily Coyote, realizing that he’d long ago walked off the cliff. Tristan desperately laced his fingers through Solange’s, fixing them in place. She’d started this, again, this fake-dating thing. She was going to see it out until Tristan walked her to the door of the funeral home and they went back to being the “them” they always were.

Was that so wrong?

Solange sighed and looked around.

"I never was very big on Valentine's day," she admitted, but gave a small smile. "But maybe this one won't be so bad."

Truthfully, he’d never been big on Valentine’s Day, either. If you loved someone, really loved someone, why did you need a holiday to prove it? A special occasion to express it? He thought fleetingly of Gwen and Torben, who used things like “It’s Wednesday” as an excuse to be romantic. He didn’t want exactly what they had – no one wanted exactly what anyone else had, right? – but that was as good a philosophy as any. Besides, if Tristan could use Valentine’s Day as an excuse to hold Solange’s hand, he would. He would use any excuse he could think of to hold her hand. And maybe one day, he wouldn’t need an excuse.

“Of course it won’t be bad,” Tristan said. Then, grinning almost nostalgically, he added, “‘Best relationship’ either of us has been in, remember?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

When she admitted that Valentine's day wasn't really her thing, it was sort of an understatement. She'd spent her teen years in the goth crowd where things like Valentine's day were considered second in evil only to cheerleaders. Any guy she had dated then had never even considered taking her out on the 14th and normally they would just end up trying to wreck the school's Valentine's dance or something. By the time she had started dating Caleb, the whole thing just seemed so cheesy. He'd respected that and they just had a night in, watching movies while eating takeout.

But as Tristan's fingers locked with her own, holding her hand firmly in place, she couldn't help but think that maybe this time it wouldn't be so bad. More and more she was starting to think she might have him figured out. And if she was right, she was surprised to find just how much she liked the idea he might have feelings for her.

“Of course it won’t be bad,” he told her, giving a fond smile. “‘Best relationship’ either of us has been in, remember?”

She laughed softly and nodded. That day seemed so long ago now. That day when they started to discover that they might have more in common than they let on. The day when they started taking some small hesitant steps towards actually being friends rather than just co-workers. Not to say that they didn't still have times when they got a little too sarcastic with one another, but wasn't that true of any friendship?

The waitress suddenly returned, placing a filled glass of wine in front of either of them and seting the bottle to the side of the table. "I'll be back in a moment to take your orders. Enjoy the wine," she said politely before disappearing again.

Solange smiled and looked over at Tristan, noticing slightly how the candlelight cast shadows the highlighted the lines of his face. He really was handsome, though in a much different way than Golden Boy Caleb had been. She'd noticed it a while back, but it hadn't been something she'd thought to dwell on much.

She raised her glass in a toast. "In that case," she murmured with a wry grin. "To the best relationship we've been in. May we be as happy someday as we pretend to be now." It was a rather odd, sort of sad kind of toast, she'd admit. But not a word of it was untrue.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange laughed and nodded; Tristan was glad she didn’t get her hackles up at his reference. That night in Batofar had been hellacious. Or, at least, he thought so anyways. Solange had played with his feelings like a yo-yo, utterly unaware of how confused she’d left him that night. But it hadn’t been all bad, since it had brought them closer. That was worth any confusion Tristan might have had. Might still be having.

The waitress returned with their wine and poured them glasses. Tristan would worry about price-tag later. “It’s worth it” seemed to be his new mantra, since “business as usual” had flown out the window a long time ago. The waitress said something about coming back to take orders – Tristan nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing. Instead, he looked at his hand, which still held onto Solange’s. She hadn’t let go, after all. But her other hand – the one not holding Tristan’s – reached for her wine glass and plucked it up. Tristan followed in suit and looked at Solange’s face. The candlelight refracted off of the pinkish wine and cast a rosy glow over Solange’s cheeks. They were sharp, her cheekbones, but in this light, Solange looked somehow softer than usual.

"In that case," she murmured with a wry grin. "To the best relationship we've been in. May we be as happy someday as we pretend to be now."

Tristan met her glass and smiled. But inside, he was breaking. Pretend to be. That’s right. That’s all this was. Pretend.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said lightly, touching his glass to his lips. “I’m pretty happy right now… All things considered.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

It was not lost on her just how strange it was for her to be toasting a fake relationship on Valentine's day. While most of the couples around them were toasting their wine to things like 'Another year together' or 'Loving you more each day', they were simply hoping to eventually be in relationship where they might be as happy as they were acting like they were. And yet, Solange had to wonder if that was even a possibility. She had thought she was this happy with Caleb, but that had fallen apart so easily. Could there be a relationship where she could be this happy and still have it last?

Tristan simply smiled at her toast, clicking his glass against her own. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said as he went to take a sip of the wine. “I’m pretty happy right now… All things considered.”

She sipped her own wine and thought on that for a moment. Even without the fake relationship stuff she had to admit she was having a pretty good time. She was enjoying the lovely atmosphere and Tristan's company. And she had to admit that she was enjoying holding his hand. But that was fake relationship stuff, right? Either way, she was happy too. "I am too," she said softly, though looked at him curiously. "But what do you mean, 'all things considered'?"

He did really get to answer because a young man who was not their waiter approached the table with a basket full of red, pink, and white roses. "Care to buy your lady a rose, Monsieur?" he asked with a smile.