Re: Livingroom: Marta / Seven
Alright, yeah, so the costume was a bit of a reach. He was mostly riffing off the whole hot-professor-vibe shit that Jamie had brought up, yeah? So it’d been a question of what kind of hero he could pass for in a tweed suit, and if that suit could walk the line between the jokes he’d made (about the tweed) and also not looking completely un-fucking-touchable. In the end he’d figured that even if Jamie hated it, it was probably better than houndstooth. Not bespoke on short notice but designer, obviously, a three-piece number that he’d found in a reasonably decent cut without having to get shit tailored for a fucking housewarming party. Especially one where he was mostly just being playful for Jamie’s benefit. But in a stroke of good luck, on a table near the entrance was a stack of “Hi, my name is…” stickers and a couple of sharpies, so he grabbed one and scrawled ‘Alan T.’ on it before slapping it on his lapel and heading into the house.
It was the second time in as many weeks that he’d found himself at a party where he knew basically nobody, which was saying a whole lot more about his complete fucking lack of any social life than anything else. Not that he cared. Seven could schmooze, he could mingle, whatever the fuck he needed or wanted to make it easier, yeah? Except that he didn’t really care, this time. He was here to see Jamie, maybe meet Hannah face to face - he’d have looked for her to say hi, and pass off his housewarming gift, except that he had no idea what she looked like, yeah? But making new friends wasn’t high on the list of priorities. He’d come in with a feeling that Jamie was going to feel fucking awkward about it anyway, which is why he’d suggested meeting at the party instead of showing up together. Trying to take some of the pressure off the guy, even if Seven didn’t feel wrapped up in it himself.
So he was mostly scanning for the familiar flop of blond hair, when he found familiar in a different shade. He felt his stomach drop, like he was in an elevator jerking into motion. He’d known, even without Jamie giving him the heads up this time, that she’d probably be here. What he hadn’t known was - as she drifted between the folding chairs with their fucking twinkly lights, unaware of his presence where he stood with the cream-coloured gift box under his arm and his other hand shoved in the pocket of his tweed trousers - that he was going to open his mouth, when she was just an arm’s length away.