Darkstache - the coffee shop

Day Eight - Part Two

The hours he'd spent coming up with outfit ideas didn't seem to matter anymore. Wilford was ripping clothing out of his drawers, out of his wardrobe and scattering the about his once tidy bedroom floor. Why was it that he just couldn't find anything nice enough to meet Dark in now? He had lots of expensive clothes. He had lots of different coloured clothes. He just had lots of clothes. Why were there suddenly none that caught his eye?

"Calm down, Wilford!" He said aloud. "You're acting like a crazy person! You're just going to dinner, for heavens sake! It's not like you're getting married or something." He dropped the bright pink crop top (which he didn't actually remember buying but wore anyway) and focused himself. "What do people normally wear on dates? What did you wear on your last date? You wore... the first thing you put on was a pair of underwear. Okay, let's start with that." He wandered over to his large set of overspilling drawers and pulled out the highest one. "It probably won't matter what colour they are. I doubt we'll get that far tonight."

He pulled on a pair of tie-dye red and pink ones that had 'THURSDAY' printed around the waistband. It wasn't actually Thursday. It was Wednesday. He knew that because he marked the date in his diary while writing about his date with Dark.

Did Dark see it as a date? Did he see it as a meal between friends?

"I need to get dressed! Stop it, brain!" Wilford rolled his shoulders out, trying to relax himself. "Everything will be fine. I'll be fine. He'll be fine. Oh, yes, he will definitely be fine. He can't not be fine." He blinked, forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. "Shirt!"

He spun, plucking a silky pink shirt from the enormous pile on the ground. It fit nicely. Next, he wiggled himself into a pair of yellow pants and black shoes. He looked himself up and down in his floor-length mirror. Looking back on it, that mirror may have been a mistake. It covered the entirety of the wall and showed every part of his room, including his bed. Seeing himself getting nailed straight up the ass – or nailing someone else up the ass – wasn't something he could think he'd ever get used to. He grinned. That outfit. That was the one.

He had asked Dark very nicely, using his very best manners, to pick him up around 5:30. It was almost 5. He still had time. Wilford ran from his room, shutting the door behind him. He'd deal with that mess later. Probably.

He was in his living room. It was an ordinary living room, save for the rainbow he'd painted over the white ceiling. He had to get a jacket or something. He had all of those at the front door hanging on the coat rack. Which one to choose?

He had a floor length leopard print one, a black one that cut off mid torso, a cloak-y thing he scared kids with at Halloween or a normal brown one. It was probably the warmest and had a lovely fluffy lining. He did love lovely fluffy linings. He slid it over his arms, humming at the immediate warmth.

"Where did you put the flower?" He muttered to himself. He'd run straight from the coffee shop into the flower shop across town for one specific flower he'd seen earlier that morning. It was a pink one with four giant petals and smelled like no other flower he'd smelt before. It was a sweet scent. Not sickly, like his candy he had stashed under the couch, but just enough to make his mouth water. He had the urge to taste it but decided against it. Dark probably wouldn't want a saliva-covered flower.

Would Dark like the flower? Wilford had only ever really seen the man wearing his obsidian suits. Would the pink be too much for him?