What’s the tale, nightingale?
Thu Nov 1, 2018 23:31

In his three years as a student at RMI, Drew had complained about random strangers suddenly tearing up after revealing personal things to him without prompting. That had been weird, and he was glad that it seemed to be over now, but this was so much worse. Drew had literally never seen Remington cry before, and now that it was happening, it just felt wrong. There was so much wrongness that Drew felt like he needed a grownup to come fix it. He felt about as qualified to deal with this as he was to train a manticore to make paella.

But he was here, so he was going to help. Remy buried her face in his shoulder, and Drew shifted his arm a little so it was more securely around her. “Malachi stood you up?” It didn’t make more sense when Drew repeated it. He didn’t know Malachi very well—the other guy had transferred in this year, and as a fourth-year his schedule didn’t overlap with Drew’s—but Remington had mentioned he was fun to debate with. She’d mentioned she was going to hang out with him today, but she hadn’t said it was a date.

It felt weird that she hadn’t told him. Maybe it was none of his business, but Drew had totally told all his friends when he had his first date with Darlene.

“No way. He’s the idiot, not you,” Drew said, conviction providing the accompaniment to his words’ melody. What kind of person said yes to a date and then stood the girl up? He wasn’t going to punch Malachi, but Drew really wished the other guy was on the Quidditch team so he could shoot a few Bludgers at him during the next match. What an asshole.

It was just—Drew knew how much this must have meant to Remington. She put a lot of thought into everything, so Drew was sure she’d thoroughly planned her first date: who she’d go with, what they would do, her outfit, everything. Remington was wearing actual makeup, not just mascara. Drew couldn’t really tell the difference between natural makeup and no makeup—once he’d asked if Remington was up late studying the night before because she looked tired, but it turned out she just hadn’t put on mascara that day. So he didn’t say anything about makeup anymore. But he could definitely tell she’d been wearing it right now. Also, Drew was one hundred percent sure he had never seen Remington’s legs before. She’d wear jeans, sure, and leggings and a skirt, sure, but never shorts. Now that it had come up, Drew didn’t know why his friend didn’t wear shorts more often. “You look amazing. Seriously, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

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    • What’s the tale, nightingale? - Drew, Thu Nov 1 23:31
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