Pessimist

41 - Pessimist

"Mon cœur!" I hear from the other room as I apply the finishing touches to my makeup. I take a tinted lip gloss from my overflowing makeup bag, twisting the lid before generously swiping my upper and lower lips and smashing them together to get the perfect look.

"Yes, snookums?" I call back to Dean, zipping shut the bag and tucking in a few essentials in my shoulder purse. I give myself a once-over in the bathroom mirror, making sure everything is up to my standards before grabbing my purse and shutting off the bathroom light so I can make my way over to him.

"Come eat.'' Dean is dressed in a suit, his fancy jacket draped over the couch armrest as one hand is loosely shoved into his pocket while the other stirs something in a pot on the stove.

"It smells good," I tell him, setting my purse on the counter and walking over to stand next to him. "But why're you feeding me before the ceremony? Aren't we going out to eat afterward?"

"We are but I know you. You haven't eaten anything of nutritional substance all day—"

"—coffee counts and I was nervous for today!—"

"—And I can't let my lover go hungry. Besides, once the nerves leave the hunger will kick in and I know you'll try and ditch your graduation for some food."

I smile at that, slyly going behind him to wrap my arms around his waist in a hug as I peer at the food cooking over his shoulder. "You mean our graduation because we're both graduating Mr. Double Major."

His free hand slips out of his pocket, coming to rest on my joined hands at his waist as he looks over his shoulder at me. "Will you continue to call me that after our graduation?"

"Don't know..." I trail off, smiling widely at him. "Will you carry me back home after my shoes hurt?"

He feigns his irritation by sighing loudly and rolling his eyes, diverting his attention back to the food on the stove as he answers. "I might as well..."

I unlock my hands, rounding the counter and perching myself up onto a chair as I watch Dean in the kitchen. He moves around in a familiar flow, stirring the pot once more before shutting off the stove with a click and placing a heat protecting trivet on the counter before setting the pot on top of that. He slides me clean bowls and utensils, getting both of us a cup of water before sitting next to me as I plate up our food.

It's a simple ten-minute meal dish that I dive right into, tucking my hair behind my ears so they don't fall in. After the third swat at my hair, Dean stands up and grabs a claw clip, gently pulling my hair back and securing it before finishing his meal.

We're quick about it since the ceremonies about to start soon, Dean washing up in the bathroom as soon as we're both done as I clean and dry our bowls and spoons, setting them aside to dry before un-clipping my hair, re-checking my makeup, flatting down my dress, and rummaging through my purse to double check that I do, in fact, have all of my essentials.

It's only when I'm bent over, securing the final clasp of my heel does Dean wander back in, a small box in his hands. I stand upright, staying still as he walks over to me, a small smile on his face as he reaches me and softly cups my face, so as to not ruin my makeup, before bending down to press a quick kiss to my lips. When he pulls back I laugh a little, seeing the sheen of my gloss glistening on his mouth.

"What?" He asks, noticing where my mind is at. "Don't you think I look pretty?"

"You always look pretty," I trace his bottom lip with my thumb. "I think we need to put your face in a paper bag so the other girls don't steal you away from me."

"How will I breathe? Or even talk?"

"I can poke some holes I guess."

"Thank you for being so accommodating." He drawls, his hand on my face sliding down to my bare shoulder, finger playing with the thin strap of my dress.