Hypernova : A Sequel to Supernova

Episode 6.5- This Is NOT A Date

Nine stood in front of his open closet, fingers trailing along the rows of neatly hung clothes. He sighed, a mix of annoyance and anxiety coiling in his chest. This isn't a date, he reminded himself for the fifth time, lips pressing into a thin line. I'm only doing this because I slapped him...it's just to apologize.

Nine frowned as another though occured to him. Also because he all but threatened me.

"He mentioned photos." Nine muttered to himself. "Are there really photos?" He sighed. Not being active in the public eye certainly didn't mean that he got a break from things like photographers.

And if what Jorah said was true, the photographer has captured that slap. He could just imagine the media storm. He shuddered at the the thought.

Pushing those thoughts aside, He looked at the sleek black button-down his hand had paused on. He pulled it off the hanger and examined it. The fabric shimmered faintly under the soft lighting in the room, its silky texture smooth between his fingers. He shook his head and tossed it onto the bed. It didn't matter how nice it looked. It wasn't like he was trying to impress Jorah.

Grabbing a pair of slim-fit trousers—dark gray, almost black—he tossed them beside the shirt and moved to the mirror. He stared at his reflection, running a hand through his freshly styled hair. He wasn't even sure why he'd bothered to style it tonight; he'd kept it casually tousled, with just enough effort to look effortless. His fingers paused, a nervous fidget playing in the strands.

"What am I doing?" he muttered, almost glaring at himself. His jaw clenched as memories of Jorah's smug voice echoed in his mind. '

He scoffed. He always knew Jorah could be impossible but this was too much, even for him. After everything he'd done to him, why couldn't he just leave him alone? Why was he toying with him? 

Nine sighed as he looked at the hand he'd slapped Jorah with. If only he hadn't let his emotions get the better of him. 

"What's done is done," he tried to soothe his fraying nerves while the feeling of discomfort continued to swell in his chest.

Nine slipped on the black button-down, the cool fabric sliding easily over his arms. He left the top two buttons undone, exposing just a hint of his collarbone. Then he slid into the slim-fit trousers, adjusting them until they sat just right on his hips. He looked at himself again in the mirror, hating how his nerves buzzed under his skin.

He was pleased enough with the final look,simple and understated. The kind of outfit that spoke confidence without trying too hard. He grabbed a pair of silver rings from his dresser, slipping them on his fingers for a touch of subtle edge.

As he laced up his black combat boots, he reminded himself, louder this time: This is not a date.

After leaving his bedroom, Nine made a beeline for his wine cabinet.  As his eyes glided over the choices, it landed on a bottle Jorah had bought. It was the last bottle. He couldn't bring himself to drink it before, but he couldn't throw it out either and so there it had remained, until now.

Nine quickly cracked the bottle open and took a drink. He wasn't one to drink much but tonight he would make an exception, he needed all the help he could get to go through with this.

Pouring another glass, he walked to the livingroom and glanced at his watch--7:15, dinner was at 8.

As he plopped in his sofa, he downed the rest of the wine, the liquid warming his throat and his chest. His fingers idly drummed on his knee, mind racing through half-formed excuses.

"Maybe I should say I'm sick." Nine mumbled aloud. He could send a quick text, blame it on a sudden headache, and avoid tonight altogether. But before he could type a word, his phone buzzed on the coffee table.