[ A certain Peter Quill has been anxiously awaiting for seven p.m. on Saturday to roll around -- and has been for the past several days, even. His housemates wouldn't let him hear the end of it, really, constantly making kissing noises whenever he had occasion to enter or leave the main room (and he regrets telling them about the awesome night where he and "the hot chick from the bookstore" finally talked.
"It's about friggin' time," one of them said. "If I had to see you come home one more time makin' that stupid face doin' that stupid sigh, I was seriously gonna blow up your room.")
The waiting, though, proves to be the worst part -- mostly because in the interim, he's had time to think of the myriad ways everything could go wrong. He could find out that she's, like, crazy smart -- which is highly likely. But, like, so smart that he'd never be able to keep up, and then she'd get so bored, and he'd be like, "So. Uh. TV is cool, right?" And she'd sigh and say she was feeling sick or something, and before he could even say goodbye, she'd slam her door in his face.
Or he could say something super rude or inconsiderate, and she'd get super offended and toss a drink in his face and storm off, and he'd be there, water dripping off his chin, mortified and red from embarrassment. Or he could make a move too fast, like he tends to do, send the wrong signal and then it's just another one of his one-night stands all over again. (Because Peter's shitty at relationships, and a single shared night and goodbyes in the morning has been the extent of his romantic life for a while now, honestly. The one long-term relationship he had ended in tears and voodoo hexes, so suffice it to say, Peter's not great at the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing.)
He's still thinking of every disastrous scenario when one of his roommates peeks into his bedroom, frowning.
"You are aware it's past six-thirty?"
Oh, fuck.
The next fifteen is a mad scramble to get ready -- and at least one of his housemates is nice enough to pick out an outfit for him. ("Anything you would have chosen would've been unacceptable," she told him when he thanked her profusely. "You're a slob, Peter Quill.") After that, it's a mad dash to Maya's apartment, and he makes it there with only moments to spare.
It's as he's knocking on her door that he suddenly realizes he forgot flowers. Shit. ]
oh the mundanity
"It's about friggin' time," one of them said. "If I had to see you come home one more time makin' that stupid face doin' that stupid sigh, I was seriously gonna blow up your room.")
The waiting, though, proves to be the worst part -- mostly because in the interim, he's had time to think of the myriad ways everything could go wrong. He could find out that she's, like, crazy smart -- which is highly likely. But, like, so smart that he'd never be able to keep up, and then she'd get so bored, and he'd be like, "So. Uh. TV is cool, right?" And she'd sigh and say she was feeling sick or something, and before he could even say goodbye, she'd slam her door in his face.
Or he could say something super rude or inconsiderate, and she'd get super offended and toss a drink in his face and storm off, and he'd be there, water dripping off his chin, mortified and red from embarrassment. Or he could make a move too fast, like he tends to do, send the wrong signal and then it's just another one of his one-night stands all over again. (Because Peter's shitty at relationships, and a single shared night and goodbyes in the morning has been the extent of his romantic life for a while now, honestly. The one long-term relationship he had ended in tears and voodoo hexes, so suffice it to say, Peter's not great at the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing.)
He's still thinking of every disastrous scenario when one of his roommates peeks into his bedroom, frowning.
"You are aware it's past six-thirty?"
Oh, fuck.
The next fifteen is a mad scramble to get ready -- and at least one of his housemates is nice enough to pick out an outfit for him. ("Anything you would have chosen would've been unacceptable," she told him when he thanked her profusely. "You're a slob, Peter Quill.") After that, it's a mad dash to Maya's apartment, and he makes it there with only moments to spare.
It's as he's knocking on her door that he suddenly realizes he forgot flowers. Shit. ]