Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

126. May I?

---

It had been about a month and a half since Striker had left for Envy, and the signs of early Autumn were just beginning to reveal themselves. With each day that passed, I grew more and more impatient, and it eventually reached a point where every part of me ached in stark anticipation for his return. After a month had gone by, I wanted him back so badly that I couldn't stand it.

I came home from work one morning exhausted after a long shift, and I performed my ritual of stripping off my grimy work clothes, hopping in the shower, and collapsing in the bed. I was so tired I didn't even dream.

But around late afternoon, I was awoken by the heavy clack of the deadbolt turning, and I shot up in bed and quickly scrambled to my feet, slipping on a robe over my thin nightgown.

My heart fluttered with excitement when I saw a familiar face step inside and lock the door behind him, clad in a black button-up and dark blue jeans. He turned his head as I crossed the living room, barely having time to put down his black case before I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck.

Striker chuckled softly, returning the embrace. "Hey, darlin'."

I lifted my head, and he smiled down at me before cupping my cheek in his hand and bending down to plant a tender kiss on my lips.

"I missed you," I muttered.

He gave my forehead a small peck and murmured, "I missed you, too, darlin'. Like you wouldn't believe."

I buried my face in his chest, catching the scent of a mild but pleasant cologne. I furrowed my brow in thought, recognizing the smell after a moment: It was a cologne I'd only smelled on him a handful of times—when we went on our first real date, when we attempted to have a romantic evening at the Pentagram (before the restaurant's bigoted staff nearly ruined our dinner), when we had our first outing after I'd been discharged from the hospital. . .

"What's the special occasion?"

Striker grinned, taking my chin in his fingers. "Go on and get dressed, darlin'," he said. "I'm treatin' you tonight."

I looked up at him with a hint of confusion. It wasn't necessarily unusual for him to be so gung-ho about going out on a date—but it certainly wasn't common. I pushed my bewilderment aside and smiled back at him, responding light-heartedly, "Anything in particular you want me to wear?"

"Well, I'd prefer you wear nothin' at all," he quipped, briefly eyeing my frame. "But since we're gonna be out in public,"—his smile softened for a second—"how 'bout that red dress you like?"

Curious, I retreated to my bedroom and searched the selection of dresses in my walk-in closet until I found the one I assumed he was describing: the lace-trimmed burgundy sundress Charlie had given me on my two-year anniversary at the hotel. Peeking out the closet door, I held out the dress for him to see and said, "You mean this one?"

"That one," he answered, turning back to walk out the door. "Now hurry up and get ready. I know you're probably hungry if you just woke up."

---

Striker ended up taking me to the restaurant near my apartment where we'd had our first date. The scarlet sun over Pride had just begun to set when we reached the restaurant, and the hostess led us to one of the booths next to a large window.

"So," Striker started when we took our seats, "you do anything interesting while I was gone?"

"Not really," I replied, propping my chin in my hand and looking out at the busy street on the other side of the glass. "Just work and sleep, mostly. I had lunch with Stolas a few times, and I hung out with my friends at the hotel."