Mr. Almost Perfect | Completed ✔️

five: she's a gamer, not a game

THE DAY OF their date had arrived.

If he had thought he was nervous about their first date, he was on a completely different level today. It was only a day since he knocked her to the ground in front of the flower shop, and as pathetic as it may have seemed, Matthew couldn't wait for another twenty-four hours to pass without seeing her.

Despite being a complete trainwreck up until this point, Arianna didn't run away. She didn't brush him off, creating excuses as to why she was too busy to see him again, as his previous girlfriends did in the past. So, yes, the victory dance he did in his briefs in the privacy of his room when she'd text him back that she was free that night was completely necessary.

"You can do this," Rafael said, proving to be his morale for the night. His friend stretched into a cobra pose in the living room, his zen failing to rub off on Matthew, as he continued, "Just try and relax."

Matthew checked and re-checked his pockets as he came out of his room. "I don't feel good. My stomach hurts."

"It's just your nerves. Do you want some tea?"

"No, I don't want tea!" He snapped in return, hurrying towards the door. "I need to go before I'm late."

"Best of wishes, I believe in you!" Rafael called out as he closed the door behind him.

....

"Hi, Arianna... funny meeting you here... what?! That's so stupid! You're here to pick her up, you idiot!"

Matthew groaned aloud as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Pacing in front of Arianna's door, he banished every thought of their first date, reminding himself that he could create a clean slate.

"Oh, I forgot!"

A smile immediately overtook his face as he searched his pockets. He chuckled to himself when he pulled out his notecards, all of his necessary conversation starters scribbled in messy handwriting. His nose scrunched in confusion. He was nervous earlier, yes, but as of now, he was illiterate when it came to his own handwriting.

As he was still tackling the difficult calligraphy, the apartment door was ripped open.

"H-hey Arianna! How-"

Matthew stopped immediately when he finally got a good look at who was standing at the threshold. It wasn't Arianna, that's for sure. Instead, a man stood before him, a few inches shorter than Matthew's imposing six-two height. His skin was almost bronze and bulging with muscles and popping veins. However, Matthew could tell that the Lord was with this man. Quite frankly too; the tattoo that ran down his abdomen of Christ kind of gave it away.