[how many love poems does kaeya write? answer: enough. or, well: enough to satisfy the masses, which may be a little, may be a lot. it depends! anyway: god, reim, you sure are asking for a lot. a song... has kaeya ever written a song in his life...
...no, and yet maybe that's what makes it special? just... the thought of writing anything for this particular person who doesn't know anything about him. wild.]
Is that what you want? [hmmMMM—] If it would make you happy...
[there may be someone he could ask for assistance??? someone he could ask for guidance. anyway, he'll file that away for later consideration; for now, as he tugs reim down this street—well! there's an innocuous-looking building tucked off to the side; kaeya tugs reim toward it, and after greeting the bored-looking hosting standing by some plain-looking podium...
...well. at least there is no wait to enter; the hostess leads them right to the bar, situated at the center of the restaurant (tm), and their surroundings are—it's no cheesecake factory? there are tchotchkes on the wall, sure, but they're of the sports variety; there are mittens, and bats, and who knows what else, framing such odds-and-ends as a carousel horse, which no one seems to have any problems with. who cares, you know? what does it matter. people do not come here for the decor; people come here for the absurdly cheap Specials, which the bartender serves up sans smile. take this cheap margarita and go...
so maybe they do! the margaritas/long island iced teas are cheap, as are the appetizers; maybe they order more than their fair share of each, simply to pass the time. it's not like their server cares! their server is too busy loitering by the bar to pay too close attention to them, so they are free to talk, to banter. to argue over who eats the last boneless wings, which are too drenched in sauce to be Crispy.
but eventually—well, you know! they can't loiter forever? that table is their server's livelihood, which is why kaeya leaves a decent tip‐because he pays for it all, of course he pays for it all—before leading reim outside. and this is where they should part ways? they've shared more than enough drinks; reim has every right to turn on his heel and leave kaeya standing in the (flickering) glow of the restaurant's sign, but—ah. what happens, instead, is that reim and kaeya find themselves lingering by the front door for no real reason whatsoever. kaeya should at least offer to escort reim home; that would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but as he lifts his chin, taking in the sight of reim looking back down at him...
...it's just interesting, is all. the way reim looks at him without taking a step toward him, or grabbing him; they're simply two equals exiting a mediocre establishment—after enjoying, like, far too many cheap drinks on kaeya's dime, so:]
Interesting, didn't you think?
[all of it! any of it. kaeya is practically radiating Pleased energy, because reim has made no attempt to leave him in the dust.]
no subject
...no, and yet maybe that's what makes it special? just... the thought of writing anything for this particular person who doesn't know anything about him. wild.]
Is that what you want? [hmmMMM—] If it would make you happy...
[there may be someone he could ask for assistance??? someone he could ask for guidance. anyway, he'll file that away for later consideration; for now, as he tugs reim down this street—well! there's an innocuous-looking building tucked off to the side; kaeya tugs reim toward it, and after greeting the bored-looking hosting standing by some plain-looking podium...
...well. at least there is no wait to enter; the hostess leads them right to the bar, situated at the center of the restaurant (tm), and their surroundings are—it's no cheesecake factory? there are tchotchkes on the wall, sure, but they're of the sports variety; there are mittens, and bats, and who knows what else, framing such odds-and-ends as a carousel horse, which no one seems to have any problems with. who cares, you know? what does it matter. people do not come here for the decor; people come here for the absurdly cheap Specials, which the bartender serves up sans smile. take this cheap margarita and go...
so maybe they do! the margaritas/long island iced teas are cheap, as are the appetizers; maybe they order more than their fair share of each, simply to pass the time. it's not like their server cares! their server is too busy loitering by the bar to pay too close attention to them, so they are free to talk, to banter. to argue over who eats the last boneless wings, which are too drenched in sauce to be Crispy.
but eventually—well, you know! they can't loiter forever? that table is their server's livelihood, which is why kaeya leaves a decent tip‐because he pays for it all, of course he pays for it all—before leading reim outside. and this is where they should part ways? they've shared more than enough drinks; reim has every right to turn on his heel and leave kaeya standing in the (flickering) glow of the restaurant's sign, but—ah. what happens, instead, is that reim and kaeya find themselves lingering by the front door for no real reason whatsoever. kaeya should at least offer to escort reim home; that would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but as he lifts his chin, taking in the sight of reim looking back down at him...
...it's just interesting, is all. the way reim looks at him without taking a step toward him, or grabbing him; they're simply two equals exiting a mediocre establishment—after enjoying, like, far too many cheap drinks on kaeya's dime, so:]
Interesting, didn't you think?
[all of it! any of it. kaeya is practically radiating Pleased energy, because reim has made no attempt to leave him in the dust.]