Chapter Text
You hold your coat as close to your body as you can. Your scarf flutters in the waves of the cold December wind that hits your face like shards of glass. The snow that fell by the roadside a few days ago begins to solidify into chunks of ice and mixes with the ground, changing its snow-white color. Christmas lights illuminate the streets where the sound of chatter and laughter fills the air. From a distance, you can see the bar where you're going to meet your colleagues for the holiday party they've planned. You would have settled for a simple Ugly Christmas Sweater party at the office, but Gina from Human Resources decided to go big. You hesitated until the last minute, undecided whether to go because, frankly, you just didn't feel like it. You see these people every day for eight hours a day, you could have done without tonight, but you decided that going would be better than explaining to thirty different people why you weren't there by making up some lame excuse.
You finally enter the bar, and the warmth of the lit stove welcomes you in a pleasant embrace. You look around for your colleagues and notice Kelly from Marketing standing up and signaling to you. You walk over to the table to join them, smiling slightly and regretting your decision to come. You don't even know who half of these people you see walking absentmindedly through the aisles and to whom you usually reserve a simple wave and a knowing smile are.
“Hey!” Olivia says to you, pointing to the empty chair next to her. You approach her and thank her with a glance. She’s one of the few people you really get along with. You wouldn't call her your friend, but the endless days in front of the computer screen go by faster with her company. “I didn't think you'd come.” she tells you, smiling warmly.
You smile too, taking off your scarf and placing it on the chair behind you. “Neither did I.”
“Tonight even the Grinch has graced us with her presence,” a male voice that you know all too well and that will never cease to irritate you, says from across the table. You look up at him, trying to hide your annoyance as best you can with a fake smile.
“I don't know, Anthony, I don't really see myself as the Grinch that much. I don't hate Christmas. But spending it with you… that would be a real bummer.”
The colleagues at the table laugh, thinking it's just some regular banter. Anthony stares at you with his mouth open for a few seconds, trying to come up with a good comeback, but then he looks away and continues talking to the guy sitting next to him whose name you can't even remember.
The conversations are exactly what you would expect. Middle-aged men and women talking about how they organized Elf on the Shelf for their kids and what they're cooking for Christmas dinner, and then moving on to talk about taxes and pensions. You take a sip of your now watered-down Coke from the melting ice while you completely isolate yourself, glancing sideways at the clock, waiting for an acceptable time to dip.
Olivia looks at you and giggles. “You look particularly amused.”
You look at her and smile, “So amused that I’m thinking of putting in my two weeks notice.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
You laugh, too, sighing at the end and lightly biting your chapped lower lip, “I knew I should’ve stayed home.”
“You don’t have to stay.”
You lower your gaze to your half-full glass, focusing on a single piece of ice floating on the surface, waiting to melt completely. “Gina would kill me if I left before the toast in honor of the arrival of baby Jesus.”
This is exactly how she defined it when she told everyone about her plans for the party. Gina is a very devoted woman, and very sweet, though a little bigoted at times. You saw the stinging look on her face when another guy – whose name you can't remember either – giggled at the colorful way she described things. You don't want to be looked at in the same way.
“Right.” she smiles.
You take your coat and put it on your shoulders and wrap the scarf around your neck. “I'm going to get some air.”
Olivia nods and turns to the others beside her, trying to get back into one of the boring conversations. You laugh when you hear Gina asking Olivia where you're going as you walk towards the bar's private patio, telling her that you couldn't possibly miss her special toast.
The cold hits you again and you already miss the cozy warmth, but you're grateful for the silence you needed, even if only for a second. You take a deep breath as you watch the flickering colored lights decorate the entire patio. Christmas carols and muffled voices play in the background of your thoughts.
You promised yourself you'd try to get along with your coworkers more, you promised yourself you'd try to bring out the best in yourself so you could finally shed your lone wolf reputation – it turns out it's not that easy.
You're the newest person at work, and you're trying to make a place for yourself in groups that have been established for years, but it's hard when there are few people willing to put a chair at the table for you.
Everyone is nice for the most part, but no one has really tried to get to know you. No one except Olivia, who doesn't go so far as to work with you anyway.
Not that you really need more friends. You don't have many, but you would go to war for the ones you do have. Especially for Charlie. She was your light at the end of the tunnel when you moved to another state for college, leaving your family and everything you knew behind. You were inseparable from the moment you opened your dorm room door and she greeted you with a smile that lit up the room.
You were with her when she started dating Tommy, wiped away her tears when they broke up, listened to her complaints, her screams, her forced indifference until they inevitably got back together because they were clearly made for each other.
You were the first person she showed her engagement ring to a few months ago. You’re her maid of honor, her sidekick.
After college, you were separated for a while. Each of you returned home to two different states. The distance did not affect your relationship one bit. And after two years you decided that your life needed a radical change, that the bubble you had been in since childhood was no longer for you, that you longed for the years you had spent in a different environment, meeting different people, experiencing different things. As much as you hated leaving your family behind, you needed a change of scenery.
So you moved to the same state as Charlie and found a job in the sales department of a furniture company, which isn’t exactly your dream job, but it’s definitely a good start point.
It has been ten minutes since you left and the socially acceptable time for a breath of air is running out. The problem is that you're fine where you are, and right now you have no desire to go back inside.
You're thinking of an excuse to justify your extended absence when the door to the patio opens. You turn around, expecting to find one of your colleagues looking for you to let you back in, but instead you're met by a man. His blond hair falls neatly over his face, slightly covering his light eyes, the color of which you can't quite make out.
The man pauses at the exit, his hand still resting on the door as he looks at you with an almost apologetic expression.
“Sorry, I didn't think anyone was here,” he says in a low, embarrassed tone.
“Don't worry, I was just leaving.”
The man curls his lips into a thin line and nods, releasing his grip on the door and walking toward the railing that surrounds the small patio. Right where you are, but on the opposite side.
You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he clutches an almost empty glass of beer. You can't stop looking at him, and you hope he doesn't notice. You try to be as nonchalant as possible, but you're not immune to his beauty.
You turn around to get a better look at him and notice his outfit. He's wearing a pair of boots, a pair of black jeans, and an army green t-shirt with a brown leather jacket. His totally inappropriate attire for the temperature is your crutch to strike up a conversation and shoot your shot, so you go for it.
“I feel even colder just looking at you,” you say in a joking tone, smiling.
He turns to you with a confused look on his face. “What?”
You hesitate for a moment before pointing at him. “Your jacket.”
“Oh.” he mutters, breaking into an embarrassed smile as he lowers his gaze to the glass in his hands.
You turn back to look at the street beyond the patio, biting your lip. You can't blame yourself for trying, but you can't please everyone. Even if, deep down, you feel a little embarrassed. You glanced at him a few more times out of the corner of your eye to see if he was looking at you, too, but his gaze remained fixed in front of him.
Maybe he doesn't feel like talking, probably wants to be alone, and you're just disturbing him. Maybe he went out to get away from an overwhelming situation, just like you. And just like you, he deserves his moment of total solitude.
You give the railing a little tap before you sigh and turn towards the door. As you are about to put your hand on the doorknob and return to your coworkers who you bet didn’t even notice you left, his voice behind you stops you and makes you smile smugly. “To be honest, this jacket is keeping me quite warm.”
You turn to him. “Hard to tell.”
The man snickers. He turns to you and rests his elbow on the railing. “And what are you doing out here if you're so cold?”
“I ran away.”
“From what?”
“A boring evening.” you say, going back to the railing, but closer to him this time.
He nods. “A man?” he asks, but he cuts you off before you can even answer, nervously running a hand through his silky hair. “Sorry, I didn't mean to pry.”
“It's okay.” you chuckle, “Colleagues.”
You continue to look him straight in the face, but you notice that he tends to avoid eye contact, and so you find yourself observing his perfect and defined jaw. When he finally looks at you, you can get a better look at his eyes and see their color. They're blue.
“I get it. They can be a real pain in the ass.”
You laugh. “Tell me about it.”
“Why didn't you find an excuse to stay home?”
Good question. You've been asking yourself that ever since you stepped out of the house. But you actually know the answer. “I don't want them to think I'm weird.” you admit.
“You shouldn't care what others think of you,” he tells you, taking a sip of his beer.
“Easy to say. Not so easy to do.”
The man looks at you and nods. For a few minutes there is silence between you. Strangely, though, it is not an awkward silence; it’s almost comfortable. You didn't think talking to a stranger could be so therapeutic. Maybe it's the idea that whatever you say, he'll take with him without ever being able to tell anyone, because none of those willing to listen would want to know an unknown woman's problems. Maybe it's the idea that whatever you tell him, he'll probably forget by tomorrow morning.
“Why would they think you're weird anyway?” he breaks the silence.
“Because I've been working there for a few months now, after I moved here recently, and I still haven’t been able to settle in.”
“Did you stay here after you graduated?” he changes the subject, perhaps thinking you don't want to talk about your uncomfortable work situation. In fact, the only person you've talked to about it is Charlie, and you would have liked to hear another point of view, maybe some advice. But maybe it’s better not to dump your problems on a stranger who just wanted to drink his beer in peace.
“No, I actually went to college in Rhode Island.”
The man nods with the stoic expression he has since you first saw him. “Brown?”
“Yes.”
“Ivy League, nice.”
You smile proudly. You remember the day you opened your acceptance letter. Your parents were around you, and your mother burst into tears of joy, one of your most cherished memories.
He clears his throat, “My sister also studied there.”
“It's a good university.”
“I bet it is.”
You move even closer to him, feeling the scent of his cologne fill your nostrils. He glances at you briefly, swallows, and returns his attention to the glass in his hands. You seem to make him nervous; you can't tell if the blush on his face is from the cold or from you. He's cute.
“What about you?”
He turns to you and hesitates to answer. “Um, I joined the police academy.”
“Oh, so you're a cop?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“It's a long story.”
You look at him, fascinated and confused at the same time. Even though you're dying to know the reason for all this secrecy, you can't blame him for not wanting to tell a complete stranger everything about himself.
“How are you doing in the city?” he asks you, trying to turn the conversation away from his job.
“So far, I would say pretty well. I haven't met many people yet, but the ones I have are very interesting.” you say, looking him straight in the eye and smiling.
He looks away and smiles, shaking his head. Of course he has a stunning smile.
“I'm not that interesting.”
“I beg to differ.”
“And what makes you think that?” he asks you with a half-smile on his face. His rosy cheeks and full red lips add a touch of color to his tired face. His blue eyes scan you carefully for the first time. And this time it’s you who are awed by his gaze.
“You look to me like someone who has a lot to tell, even if you prefer to keep it all inside. Am I wrong?”
“You're not,” he says after a few seconds. “And what kind are you?”
“The kind of person who confesses to a stranger that she feels like a fish out of water with anyone who isn't part of her immediate circle and doesn't know how to fit in with the people she sees every single day.”
“You seem to be doing pretty well to me.”
“I'm glad.” you reply, flattered.
You look at each other for a few seconds, both of you smiling.
Your moment is interrupted by a voice behind you calling your name. You both turn towards the door and find Olivia on the threshold, smiling sheepishly.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.”
“It's okay.” you say, moving slightly away from your conversation partner. He notices and steps back as well, probably sensing your embarrassment.
“Gina is about to give her toast and asked me to find you.”
You nod. “I'll be right there.”
Olivia nods and goes back inside, leaving you time to say goodbye to the person who gave you the most exciting part of this evening. “Duty calls.”
“Apparently,” he mutters, looking at you as you approach the door. “Bye,” he says, stating your name.
You smile, “Bye stranger.”
As you turn to go back inside, his voice stops you once again. “It's Leon,” you turn and look at him for a few seconds. “My name is Leon.” he repeats.
“It was nice to meet you, Leon.”
He smiles at you again, and you smile back, waving again before going back inside. As you re-enter, greeted again by the pleasant warmth, you turn to watch him through the mirrored door. You watch him turn back to the street beyond the patio, still holding his now-empty beer glass.
And for the rest of the evening, you did nothing but think about that brief conversation. All you thought about was watching him through the door and seeing that the smile that graced his face when you said goodbye was still there even after you left.