The Other Woman |Charlie Barber x Reader|

~Little Black Dress~

Palms sweaty and clammy, you nervously tug at the hem of your little black dress. The night air graces your legs, skin unprotected by the thin material of your sheer, black tights. The pollution in LA, it seemed, was no better than New York City's; the stars were nearly invisible. Despite the density, the moon sheds her silvery beams across the Earth, casting dark shadows against the sidewalks and buildings.

You clutch your phone tightly in your hand, shivering in the cool breeze that had drifted in. You had dawned a black coat the length of your dress, but that didn't stop the cold from infiltrating the fabric. As anxious as you were, the other part was in disbelief that you were going to finally meet up with Charlie in a public setting. The risk was enough to make your adrenaline spike.

The street lights flicker as you walk beneath them down the street of buildings. Cars rush by in packs as traffic lights flip from red to green. The occasional chatty group of drunken adults wanders past every once in a while; broken up by silent couples walking side by side or the rare lonely straggler.

Your curious eyes roam over the storefronts and buildings, taking in just how different it was from New York. So much space, you think to yourself, though you weren't exactly envious of it. Wide streets, stretched buildings, and complexes with actual gardens. Grass, plots of land, and fences. This wasn't exactly something you could find in the heart of the big city.

The lights of the theater are like a breath of fresh air. You inhale sharply, eyes widening at the grandeur of it. It certainly was a big theater; it must have been a memorial hall or convention center or some sorts. Definitely a memorial hall. Big white pillars line the front, stone cascading down the steps leading up to the sets of glass doors. Lampposts of clean, black metal line the sides and the grass, illuminating the darkness with splashes of gold.

Some well-dressed people linger on the steps, wrapped in jackets and their best furs. It almost feels as though you had taken a step back in time. They chat quietly amongst themselves, glancing periodically back to the theater to check the time on the clock displayed above the ticketing stands.

Different banners of all colors flutter gently in the breeze, displaying the different plays, musicals, and ballets that would soon be showcased here. A statue sits in the middle of the steps; a dark, rusted man dressed smartly in an old-fashioned suit. His hand, which had been extended out like he was gesturing, was the only pure gold part about him. Folks must have made it tradition to touch his fingertips walking up.

As you ascend the steps, you eye the figure wearily. His expression was stuck between a place of condescending nature and blankness. Not wanting to miss out on the touch of luck, you gently run your hand across his palm, shivering at how cold he feels.

"Look at you, blending right in already." A warm, deep voice draws you out of your thoughts.

You look up, following the shadow that had been cast across the steps by the dim light. Charlie stands several steps above you. And he was dressed to kill.

A smart black and white suit had replaced his usual colorful button-ups and slacks. Though he had neglected to wear the suit jacket--instead keeping it slung over his arm--you don't mind it one bit. It only gives you a better view at the buttons straining to stay together with his broad chest pushing against them. He stands with his hands in his pockets, but the shiny gold watch on his wrist is visible. Charlie had done up nicely; his hair combed and styled, his black dress shoes matching the shine of his watch, and the buckle of his belt gleaming.