Prompt 40. Swoon
There was a problem with spending nearly every free moment of your time with two men of two vastly different varieties of gorgeous, and every moment not free in Academia with other women and men your own age.
A problem Ariadne discovered too easily, to her chagrin.
Arthur showing up unannounced (really he'd called six times ahead of time, but she'd lost her phone between the couch cushions and had been too bogged down in Bridget's heartbreaking tale of emotional woe to dig it out just yet) at the intimate little coffeehouse near her school to speak to her just about made Bridget's jaw dislocate to hit the tabletop in front of them. The French architecture student had looked between the two of them a half dozen times as if unable to believe Ariadne would know the man in the tailored suit.
Or, rather, that Ariadne would know him and not be far too busy banging him until they both had friction burns to meet her for coffee and an emotional breakdown.
Ariadne had pointedly commented that they were merely friends when Bridget whispered something along those very lines to her before she greeted the straight-faced pointman.
Bridget's questioning her sexuality really was quite unwarranted.
Walking into her apartment with Lily, Ilsa and Pierre to find Eames coming out of her bedroom in just a towel and a smile while asking her where she put his 'back-up pants' had been the real kicker of it all. And a good deal harder...more difficult to explain.
Pierre was fanning himself with a raise of his eyebrows in her direction when she went to look at him.
Discovering that her school friends had, amongst themselves, divided into two camps with much faux-serious (she was really hoping it was faux-serious) discussion bandied about, on the subject of which man was more 'hübsch' (as Ilsa put it), proved the problem was not simply in her mind.
Ariadne refused to wear either the 'Team Suit' or 'Team Tattoos' buttons they had inexplicably made for themselves.
A problem Ariadne discovered too easily, to her chagrin.
Arthur showing up unannounced (really he'd called six times ahead of time, but she'd lost her phone between the couch cushions and had been too bogged down in Bridget's heartbreaking tale of emotional woe to dig it out just yet) at the intimate little coffeehouse near her school to speak to her just about made Bridget's jaw dislocate to hit the tabletop in front of them. The French architecture student had looked between the two of them a half dozen times as if unable to believe Ariadne would know the man in the tailored suit.
Or, rather, that Ariadne would know him and not be far too busy banging him until they both had friction burns to meet her for coffee and an emotional breakdown.
Ariadne had pointedly commented that they were merely friends when Bridget whispered something along those very lines to her before she greeted the straight-faced pointman.
Bridget's questioning her sexuality really was quite unwarranted.
Walking into her apartment with Lily, Ilsa and Pierre to find Eames coming out of her bedroom in just a towel and a smile while asking her where she put his 'back-up pants' had been the real kicker of it all. And a good deal harder...more difficult to explain.
Pierre was fanning himself with a raise of his eyebrows in her direction when she went to look at him.
Discovering that her school friends had, amongst themselves, divided into two camps with much faux-serious (she was really hoping it was faux-serious) discussion bandied about, on the subject of which man was more 'hübsch' (as Ilsa put it), proved the problem was not simply in her mind.
Ariadne refused to wear either the 'Team Suit' or 'Team Tattoos' buttons they had inexplicably made for themselves.