Teaser
Little Adam/? fluff, not done yet.
Adam let out a sigh as he happily shut his locker. He hummed to himself as he walked, not necessarily in tune, but with an excitement that indicated that something was definitely up. As he strode out of the building onto the street, he began to mentally run through the list of things he needed to pick up before he got home: a few groceries here, a bouquet of rose there, a bottle of wine--a little pricey, but he was feeling pretty good tonight--all the while not quite bouncing, skipping, hopping or dancing, but moving with a confusing combination of all four as his red head bobbed in and out the the Friday night New York foot traffic. Adam glanced down at his watch; he had three hours still to get everything ready before she came by his apartment. Three hours to make sure that everything was ready for an amazing evening with an amazing woman; easy as pie.
Easy as pie from hell. Adam rushed around his apartment, picking up a stray sock he missed the first time, throwing out an old chinese food box, casting a furtive glance upwards at the clock on the oven (why do I do that? WHY?!?). He was running horribly late and she would be there in half an hour. Nervous hands raked through wild hair, taking a moment to survey his surroundings. The apartment was presentable; at least it wasn’t the horrible rats nest it was earlier. The roses were in a glass vase on the table with two tall white candles on either side. He walked over to the bathroom for one quick once-over; he’d been able to tame his hair some, but parts of it still stuck out at odd angles (nothing a little gel can’t fix. Well, maybe she likes the bed-head loo...NO, BAD ADAM!!); he’d changed into a clean, white dress shirt and a pair of dark slacks--nothing fancy, but definitely not his usual jeans and shirt style. He started to check his tongue when he was reminded that dinner wasn’t even done yet. Two seconds later, he was back in the kitchen, desperately trying to finish the chicken parmesan while keeping himself clean. Just as he pulled the pan off of the heat, three soft knocks came at the door. Quickly putting the pan down and wiping his hands (OH, not on the pants! Towel, towel, I need a towel...), Adam walked out of the kitchen, paused a moment to give himself one last quick once-over, and opened the door.
Adam let out a sigh as he happily shut his locker. He hummed to himself as he walked, not necessarily in tune, but with an excitement that indicated that something was definitely up. As he strode out of the building onto the street, he began to mentally run through the list of things he needed to pick up before he got home: a few groceries here, a bouquet of rose there, a bottle of wine--a little pricey, but he was feeling pretty good tonight--all the while not quite bouncing, skipping, hopping or dancing, but moving with a confusing combination of all four as his red head bobbed in and out the the Friday night New York foot traffic. Adam glanced down at his watch; he had three hours still to get everything ready before she came by his apartment. Three hours to make sure that everything was ready for an amazing evening with an amazing woman; easy as pie.
Easy as pie from hell. Adam rushed around his apartment, picking up a stray sock he missed the first time, throwing out an old chinese food box, casting a furtive glance upwards at the clock on the oven (why do I do that? WHY?!?). He was running horribly late and she would be there in half an hour. Nervous hands raked through wild hair, taking a moment to survey his surroundings. The apartment was presentable; at least it wasn’t the horrible rats nest it was earlier. The roses were in a glass vase on the table with two tall white candles on either side. He walked over to the bathroom for one quick once-over; he’d been able to tame his hair some, but parts of it still stuck out at odd angles (nothing a little gel can’t fix. Well, maybe she likes the bed-head loo...NO, BAD ADAM!!); he’d changed into a clean, white dress shirt and a pair of dark slacks--nothing fancy, but definitely not his usual jeans and shirt style. He started to check his tongue when he was reminded that dinner wasn’t even done yet. Two seconds later, he was back in the kitchen, desperately trying to finish the chicken parmesan while keeping himself clean. Just as he pulled the pan off of the heat, three soft knocks came at the door. Quickly putting the pan down and wiping his hands (OH, not on the pants! Towel, towel, I need a towel...), Adam walked out of the kitchen, paused a moment to give himself one last quick once-over, and opened the door.