FIC: After Midnight (Jurassic World, Claire/Owen, PG)
Owen stood on Claire’s stoop, rehearsing his lines.
“Claire, I really like you, and I know you like me, and I think that it behooves us to-” No. Not behooves. Where did he even learn that word? Behooves. It sounded like it was about cows. No, “-I think that it would be stupid of us not to-” No, because then Claire would think he was calling her stupid, and that would be very, very bad.
Maybe I should have written this down before I came over here, he thought.
He was going to back away, go back home and sober up and think of some better things to say, but then, he’d already rung the doorbell back before the whole behooves incident. And he could hear Claire’s footsteps coming toward the door, and he was way too old to be ding dong ditching pretty girls. That kind of thing, it had been explained to him, was no longer an indicator that a boy liked you; it was more an indicator that one should call the police and maybe fire that boy.
Owen could hear Claire messing with the lock, and he swallowed, ran a hand through his hair, and tried to look presentable.
“Claire,” he started, and then the door opened, and he stopped.
Claire answered the door in a nightgown, which was totally unfair.
Who even owns a nightgown anymore? he thought. What is this, Jane Austen? And then, God, is this why people like Jane Austen?
“Well?” Claire said pointedly, and Owen realized he’d just been staring at her for some time.
“Claire,” he said. Then it all came out in one breath: “Claire, I really like you, and I know our first date was a train wreck but I think you’re beautiful and intelligent and maybe a little anal retentive but overall really great, and obviously you like me because who wouldn’t, and I think we should go on a second date.”
Claire blinked at him. “Are you drunk?”
Owen started to get offended, but the answer was yes.
“No,” he said.
Claire stared at him. “You smell like a brewery.”
“A distillery,” he said immediately.
“What?”
“Beer is brewed in a brewery,” he said. “Liquor is distilled in a distillery.”
Claire’s jaw clenched. “All right, you smell like you have been swimming in agave. Did I get that right?”
“Yes, Claire, you did.” Then: “Well?”
Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “Well what?”
“Well, do you want to go out with me again or not?”
“It is one o’clock in the morning, you are drunk, and I am not dressed.”
“I didn’t mean right this second,” he said.
Claire sighed. She stepped onto the porch; they were toe to toe. Her bare feet were smaller than the heels made them seem; she was shorter. She was so small in her bare feet and thin nightgown; next to him she looked like a doll, and Owen had the sudden urge to take her in his arms.
“Good night, Owen,” she said, and kissed him gently. Then she stepped back inside, gave him one last look, and closed the door.
Owen smiled. “Not a no,” he said. “That was not a no.”