~ mick jagger imagines ~

~ cold night pt. 1 ~

I caress my satin sheets, my long nails tickling over the fabric briskly. I sit up in bed after my long nap and yawn. I get up and walk over to the window of my desolate London flat. The pane is cold as I rub my fingertips against it. It had been thunder-storming all day and now the purple-hued lightning was just as bright in the night.
A chill stakes me suddenly and I walk back over to my bed, folding my arms to warm myself.
My loneliness is the color blue. It's cool and it's deep and it flows like an unpredictable river. One minute it's trickling slowly behind you, next you're knee-deep & wading helplessly through it, and then suddenly you're drowning in barrels of your own substance. The substance of someone sober of affection.
Deep in my cold feels, I get myself ready to go out. I don't know where I'm planning on going but I just know that I need to be away with my thoughts.
I comb and curl my hair, feathering out any piece that needed styling.
I put on eyeliner, softly etching it into my waterline as I tear up from the tickle of it.
I spray my favorite perfume, wafting it towards my nose to detect each aromatic note present.
I put on my coat and boots, a temporary sensation of warmth filling my bones as I embark out into the stormy night.
I walk into the street, scuffling my toes softly. It's so cold outside that I can see the condensation of my breath whistle around me like smoke in the wind. I look down at my feet, completely unaware of the world around me. I may not have a destination in my thoughts but I have a destination in my legs, each aching step pressing on. The cold air seeps into my coat like millions of syringes precisely needling themselves into my skin. The heavy rain drops mercilessly on my head from above. The roar of the thunder grumbles the concrete under my feet, vibrating the soles of my boots to the beat of my sluggish pace.
I finally look up to see where I am after aimlessly moping for an eternity. I only vaguely recognize my whereabouts. I mean, I know that I'm surely still within city limits.
At this point, I just begin to follow the street lights. If I follow the light, then I am secure.
The fluorescence of the flickering orange streetlight's buzz looms over me as I gradually pick up my pace.
I begin to walk frantic.
I'm hustling around like a jet engine after take off, burning fuel as I speed around to clear my mind.
Bustling and bustling until my legs have worn out. Until they have been satisfied.
And they have reached their destination. A lovely little bakery in a casual street corner. Its appearance is quaint like a humble, little nook.
Its outside is riddled with tendril bearing vines creeping up the outer walls and an array of colorful potted flowers. The inside is covered in thousands of little trinkets, picture frames, and plants. It feels as though I'm intruding inside the house of a little, old granny lady whom is napping away on a creaky, wooden rocking chair.
However, the smell of freshly baked goods eases my worries of being a stranger and welcomes me in like a warm hug.
There are five tables in the small building, all wooden and round with a rainbow knitted cloth draped over the middle. There are different cliques of people sitting at every table, leaving seemingly no room for me.
I'm fine with this though, for my idea was to order a small parcel of bread and head back home.
I make my way to the counter to order.
"Hi, welcome in, dear! Anything looking good to you?," a middle-aged woman with wavy, salt and pepper hair endearingly addresses me.
"Um... I have to be honest with you. It all looks very good to me," I say with a laugh as my eyes scan each dessert encased in glass.
The woman giggles at this. "Ohhh, it's completely fine. You can take your time, dear."
I smile warmly as I look intently at my options. What really catches my eye is a cheesecake on the middle shelf, labeled 'Blueberry & boysenberry swirl'.
"Erm, could I get the blueberry swirl cheesecake, please?," I ask.
"Of course," the woman says merrily, reaching for the cake.
I look around the shop at all the little baubles and doodads lining different shelves. You had all sorts of stuffed animals, old wind up toys, jewelry, tin sculptures, and things staring down at you. It was almost as if you were the main event in a big arena to an audience small accessories.
And as I look around, I begin to look at the other kinds of people that were in the bakery with me. One man is with his young daughter and they're sharing a big Wesson oil chocolate cake. The girl has chocolate stained all around her mouth as she giggles with a forkful of her next bite.
One table is a group of cheeky, young teen girls who had been eyeing me since I walked in. They have catty expressions and their noses are constantly scrunched with disgust as if they smell something funny.
One table has an old couple sharing a tiny slice of warm apple pie as they hold hands without saying a word.
But the one intrigues me the most out of any in my quick glance was a table with one man about my age. The moment I walked in, his icy blue eyes snaked up and down my body. I didn't sense any mal-intent in this scanning of me but I could definitely feel the weight of his stare bearing down on me like a paperweight.
As I glanced at the people in the bakery for that split second, I saw that he was still staring at me. We make eye contact, prompting him to look away to pretend as if he'd never stared at me at all.
Although he looked away, I can't stop looking back at him. His aura is unmatched. I almost feel magnetized to him.
"Here's your cake, babe. That'll be 16 quid," the woman cordially says as she hands me a brown paper bag with my order of cheesecake.
I whip my head around to look at her & smile. I reach into my pockets to dig around for my money and pull out a 20 quid note. I set it on the counter and keep my hand held out to receive my change. I put the change in my pocket and grab the paper bag.
"Thank you so much, ma'am," I say gleefully.
"Of course, you're welcome," the woman replies.
My head droops down as I turn for the door. I'm about to leave when I hear a sudden voice ring from the back of the bakery.
"You can sit here with me if you'd like," I hear the man's voice remark as the squeal of a wooden chair being dragged against the floor reverberates across the room.
I look back to see the entrancing man tenderly looking into my eyes with his hand rested upon an empty chair open next to him.
Without much of a hesitation, I walk to the chair and sit down. I feel the warmth of his hand slightly brush against my back as he presses against the chair to scoot me in.
"Thank you," I say promptly, setting my paper bag on the table. "I'm y/n."
We firmly shake hands.
"I'm Mick," the man says with a quick, caring smile.
He takes a bite of his dessert I can't identify. I must've been staring pretty intently at it because he takes notice to my looks.
"You wanna try some?," he asks. "It's really good."
"Oh, I was just looking at it to figure out what it even was," I say laughing.
He begins to silently laugh, covering his hand over his mouth as he continues chewing.
As I look at him, I begin to dissect each of his features. I come to a stern realization that keeps replaying itself over and over in my mind: this man is one of the most gorgeous people I've ever seen in my whole life. I mean, really. When he smiles, his eyes look happy. And I mean really happy in a way that I've never seen before. It's like his whole face shines when he smiles like a toasty sunset along the horizon. He has pure glee. I've never seen someone like that before.
"It's called a Battenberg cake," he says with a smile still stricken on his face. "It's really good, if you want to try some."
"Yeah, sure," I nod my head.
He uses his fork to scoop up a piece and I open my mouth. He puts the fork in my mouth and I slowly bite off it.
I giggle a little. "Mm, that is good," I nod my head. "Is there jam in this?," I inquisitively ask.
Mick chuckles. "I don't know. Ask the baker up there. She makes...," he takes a moment to chew and then fork down another bite, "Most of these fresh.. every day... every morning." He emphasizes each word and then looks over to me to see my reaction.
"Really?," I say.
"Yeah," Mick says. He seems as though he's proud on the behalf of the baker and that to me feels super sweet. He really gives off the impression that he's a passionate person and I personally find it adorable.
"How long has she had this shop open for?," I ask.
"About 7 years, I think," Mick says. "That's what she told me anyway." He takes a sip of water.
I stare intently at his beautiful, plushy lips. The way they perfectly rest upon his face in a gentle pout with a natural rosy blush makes him all the more kissable and all the more gorgeous. They look like warm, blossoming, and soft spring petals rising from the stems of cherry blossom trees.
His whole facial structure looks as though it was sculpted from marble. His defined cheekbones, edgy almond eyes, and sculpted jawline makes him look pristine and angelic in a unique type of way. Something about him is just unreal. He's too gorgeous.
I try hard not to commentate about it but I can't help it. If I were to fight it back it would burn a hole right through me. I had to say something about his beauty. I had to compliment him in some way.
"Your eyes are really a beautiful color," I say as I stare into them confidently.
He looks taken aback by my compliment, as if he really wasn't expecting it at all.
"Oh, uh. Thank you so much," he stammers softly with a chuckle and keen blush. He looks away from my direction, resting his elbow on the table and cupping his hand over his mouth to hide his smile.
"What is it?," I say with an anxious laugh.
Mick looks over at me and then away again.
"What?," I repeat with a worried tone.
"It's really nothing. It's just that I don't get complimented very often," Mick says with a sheepish grin as he gives me hard eye contact.
"Oh, I don't see why not," I say with a reassured chuckle. "But if I'm being perfectly honest with you, me neither."
"There's about a thousand things I could compliment you on," Mick seriously says. "I mean, really."
I laugh in disbelief as I grow the suspicion that he's being sarcastic.
"Yeah?," I say sarcastically as I look into his eyes.
"Yeah," he says.
"Like what?," I say smugly. "My crunchy wet hair. From walking down the streets in 10° weather, rainwater dripping down my socks."
He begins to laugh hysterically, waving his hands in an 'X' gesture as if to say no.
I begin to laugh along with him.
"Oh, god," I chuckle. "I do look a mess."
"I don't think so," Mick says in between laughs.
"Oh, shut up," I say with an eye roll as I continue to chuckle. "I know I'm probably turning red."
"Maybe then you're just blushing," Mick teases.
"Am not!" I proclaim.
"Are too!" Mick snaps back.
We both laugh and I grab his arm.
"What would I be blushing out?" I ask.
His thumb gently begins to caress my hand. I pretend that it's nonchalant but in my head, I'm freaking out.
"I don't know," Mick says. "I just know that I have pretty girl sitting next to me who thinks way too little of herself." He gently squeezes my hand, cradling my fingers clemently with the pads of his.
Now I was definitely blushing.