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Stolas was never taking up an offer from Asmodeus again, at least not in regards to his love life.
Stolas did not require assistance to navigate between the goalposts in his life. By all accounts he was incredibly successful; he was a proud father, an award-winning author, and an overall dignified member of society with a prestigious family tree. The catch was that this was all on the surface. His relationship with his teenage daughter was rocky at best, his biggest fans were all under the age of ten due to writing children’s books, his marriage was in shambles, and underneath his stately appearance he was rather eccentric and whimsical.
It was safe to say that he was not the best at social graces, and that was the only reason he had even considered his friend’s proposal.
“Come on, pouty pants! It’s been how many months now since you petitioned your divorce? You need to get yourself out there again, meet some people! Make some moves, if you know what I mean.” A large, smooth hand placed itself on Stolas’ shoulder accompanied by a flirtatious wink from its owner. “It’s just one dinner, what could go wrong?”
“What could go wrong,” Stolas muttered under his breath. Oh, only his date not even showing up. Asmodeus had texted the details to him immediately; time, date, venue, even some “late-night activity” suggestions. He had even witnessed his friend’s partner (Fizzarolli, was it? Hard to confirm when his friend mostly called him Froggy) draft the very same information to his friend, whom he assumed to be the intended date in question. Where, then, did things fall through? Stolas returned his attention to his phone to review Asmodeus’ text for the fourth time that evening and ran a hand through his perfectly-slicked hair when he confirmed that no, he still had not misread the message. It was indeed the present date, he had shown up fifteen minutes prior to the time given, and a brief glance at the menus on the table found the correct restaurant name.
Stolas looked up from the glowing screen and sighed as his eyes met with a dejected gaze that peered straight into him; his reflection in the window adjacent to him truly belied how crushed he felt by this. His date must have wanted nothing to do with him.
Perhaps they had heard about the niche in which he wrote his books. “An author” was interesting, mysterious even. Did he write passionate romance novels filled with the kinkiest ideas pulled from his daydreams? Or maybe he wrote an action-packed crime thriller that had a wild twist at the very end. No, Stolas was more on par with the likes of Dr. Seuss and Norman Bridwell, the pages of his books containing rhymes and bright colors and cute animal characters, his most recent being an ode to his daughter in her early years. A fluffy little owl girl, lots of stars and galaxy-colored motifs, accompanying the words to the song he used to sing to her before bed.
Speaking of his daughter, maybe this “date” had gotten wind of how poor his relationship with her currently was. Teenagers were rebellious and stubborn, certainly, and many have had to cope with their parents splitting up. They did not all have a conniving bitch (to put it nicely, of course) for a mother, spilling falsehoods into their ears and cranking the knob on the dramatics to an eleven when discussing with anyone around that would listen. They did not all have a father who was not always present when they needed him most. Stolas would admit he did not always make the right choices, but he was trying his damndest. It showed, too! His beloved Via had finally sent him a text back after refusing to respond for months- only an emoji, but a response was a response gosh darn it. Despite this, all anyone from the outside looking in would see was a father-daughter relationship that was crumbling largely due to the divorce that he had filed for.
Oh, and there was of course that. The divorce. This stranger could have been told of his failed marriage and the proceedings in motion, and though they very much had the right to know that he was in the middle of a separation he would much liked to have informed them of this himself. Were this the case Stolas couldn’t bring himself to blame anyone, really, for ghosting him. Beyond the romantic implications of a divorce- that he were a poor choice of paramour, he would only break someone’s heart- there were broader assumptions that could be made. Stolas was ruining a family, he was a quitter, a failure for going against his father’s wishes.
Whether true or not, he certainly felt like all of those things.
Stolas looked once more at his reflection in the window and attempted to straighten up his now-tousled hair. He was about to check the time yet again when the waitress approached his table.
“Has your companion arrived yet, sir?” the waitress asked, giving a pointed glance at the untouched menu and silverware at the still-empty chair.
“Oh! Hello again, ah, n-no, not yet. I’m sure any…” Stolas had let himself trail off. He no longer felt confident enough to say ‘any moment now.’ Ugh, he could already hear the smarmy voice of his brother-in-law mocking him as soon as word got out about this…
“Sir, it has been over an hour now. I apologize, but if your companion still hasn’t shown up I am going to have to ask for you to–”
“Sorry I’m late, sweet cheeks! Sidewalk traffic is a bitch, lemme tell ya!” An unrecognized voice interrupted their back and forth, and the even more unrecognized owner of said voice sauntered up to the table. They pulled the chair across from Stolas away from the table and sat with a plop.
Somewhere a record player scratched. Stolas blinked. The waitress sighed (he would later swear he heard her say “I don’t make enough for this” under her breath). The stranger was already perusing the menu found on the table and showed zero signs of leaving any time soon. In fact they even looked up just long enough to order two glasses of red wine before resuming study of the selection of dishes. The waitress sauntered off, and with an “aha!” the stranger placed their menu back on the table, finally looking at Stolas for the first time.
Art by @BlitzyRodeo Twitter / Bsky / Insta
“So, no-show on the date? Lucky for you I popped in when I did, I’d sure be real fuckin’ embarrassed to get kicked out of a place like this.”
“You have no idea,” Stolas replied with a huff. “Though being heckled by someone off the street doesn’t seem much of a better alternative.”
“Hey now, that’s no way to talk to your thoughtful date, dove face! Anyone walking by could see you in the window looking all sad and shit, why I’m such a good Sheraton and all helping you out like this.”
“I think you mean Samaritan.”
“Yeah yeah, whatever. You pick out your dinner yet? Sure be a shame to waste a reservation at a place like this.”
As if on cue two wine glasses made a clank on the table followed by the waitress pouring a pinot noir evenly into each. She began with a sigh, “Tonight’s special is a double airline chicken breast, served with a truffle risotto and an herbed salad. Our recommended wine pairing is our oaked chardonnay. What can I get for you two tonight?”
“O-oh! Well…” Stolas hadn’t actually read the menu the entire time he had been there. He’d looked at it plenty! Spacing out while staring at a single spot however did not help educate him on the offerings.
“I’ll take this ribeye steak! The one with the bourbon rub. That’s fine, right dear?” The now-guest looked at Stolas with puppy eyes, pointing at an entree on the menu for the waitress to see.
The waitress gave no time for a reply, scribbling the order with disinterest and turning to her other patron. “Uh huh. And for you, sir?”
Brushing strands of grey hair from his face he answered feebly, “The… special? Yes, the special.”
A quick nod was the only indicator that she had heard him before walking off with impressive speed. Stolas shook his head and with renewed resolve he decided to make the best of this rom-com situation. Why not at least have an enjoyable dinner on this shit day? His gaze returned to his companion with a playful expression. “So, the bourbon-rubbed ribeye, hm? One might think you’ve only come to me for a free meal.”
“Y-yeah? Ah, well uh, I just wanted to make an impression! I mean, if you’re offering though who am I to refuse?”
A chuckle and smile lit up the weary man’s face for the first time since this whole ordeal started. “Oh I’m sure you’d have no issue taking care of our check too. What do you do for work, anyway?”
“Just some… freelance, yeah. Can’t keep all of this in one place,” the guest gestured to himself confidently and grinned. “What about you? I’m sure you’re some fancy exec or something, got a whole staff of us folks to tell what to do.”
“Oh no, no, none of that.” Stolas shook his head and paused for a fraction of a moment, taking note of what sounded like bitterness in the man's tone- a touchy subject, then. “I am an author, actually. I do suppose I’m rather successful, though I sincerely doubt you’ve heard of any books of mine.”
“A writer, huh? No wonder you talk all fancy and shit.” The guest waved his hand dismissively and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, not exactly a big reader or whatever. Best I’d know is what my Loonie leaves around the place. Got faeries or some shit on the cover.”
“Loonie?”
“My daughter! She’s perfect in every way, my sweet Loonie-Toonie. All grown up and working with her pops now!”
A smile spread across Stolas’ face, his cheeks dimpling slightly, listening to the man across the table from him gush about his daughter. That was something he could relate to; the immense love and pride he held for his own darling Via. With a giddiness and slightly fuzzy feeling blooming in his chest he carried on with conversation as he prepared his own tales about his daughter. “Why, my own daughter…”
Perhaps tonight was not so tragic as he thought it to be.
--
“Yeah, and that bitch had no idea what he had comin’ to him!” The clamorous man smacked his hands on the tabletop, jostling the silverware on the half-finished dinner plate in front of him and garnering a few looks from the table nearby. “Now I know my buddy is kinda famous and all but that creep was something else!”
Stolas, however, remained unbothered by the other diners around him. He laughed openly, his ‘oh hoo hoo hoo!’ that he’d been told sounded like an owl’s hooting (leading to him being called ‘Birdy’ from that point forward- ‘Your neck ruffles look like feathers, anyway!’). “Some people! I can’t say I have ever had a fan that extreme, your friend certainly is lucky to have a stunning bodyguard such as yourself.” If the tip of his shoe gently knocked into his companion’s leg under the table, well, what of it?
“Well, Fizz always did have a soft side to him. I’d always have to remind the burger joint that he asked for no pickles when they got his order wrong!”
Fizz? Why did that sound so familiar? Not that it likely mattered, but the thought stuck like a bright note pinned to a corkboard.
“Ugh, he owes me one though. Can’t believe I got stood up tonight, it’s definitely his fault!”
“Wait, you were stood up tonight?” Stolas blinked, and his hand that went to reach for his refilled glass of wine froze midway. “Was it by this, um… Fizz?” An uncanny coincidence to both be stood up, but it was entirely possible. More pressing to him in the moment was if his companion had someone in their life already. ‘Not that this is a date, anyway… This is just a convenient meeting of happenstance.’
“Nah, nah, he’s got his big, fancy boyfriend, can’t compete with that smooth-talker. He set me up on some blind date or whatever. The bonehead didn’t even bother to show up! Can you believe it? Missed out on this hot piece of ass. Guess the place we were supposed to meet wasn’t good enough for his posh ass!” A pause, and then, “Fancy fuck, with a name like ‘Stolas’ I dunno what I expected!”
Somewhere a radio speaker blew. The poor ‘bonehead,’ eyes blown wide, cleared his throat and spoke quickly. “What did you just say?”
“Huh? I said the meeting place wasn’t-”
“No no, what was their name?”
“Uh, Stolas? I don’t-”
“What did you say your name was again?” It occurred to Stolas that he had never bothered to ask.
“Mine? The name’s Blitzø, the ‘o’ is silent!”
“Blitzø, right, I, well. I believe I’m the person you were to meet with.”
If this were one of the many romance novellas Stolas dreamed of writing there would perhaps be a laugh and a smooth line, something like “I knew from the start you had to be the one.” However his name was not Harriett, and this was not the Running to London scenario he loved to imagine. No, his companion was a bit spicier than his fantasy…
“The fuck do you mean you’re the jackass I was supposed to meet!? Are you kidding me?”
“Why I- Well what about you? Was it your plan all along to embarrass me, have me waiting like some pathetic little imbecile while you swoop in and save the day?”
“Oh sure, blame it on me! Don’t even try it, you left me sitting around for your rich pompous tail!”
“Yes, what was it you said; I’m just a ‘fancy fuck,’ is that it? How charming, I can’t fathom why you might be stood up.”
“See? There is it!” Blitzø threw a pointed finger accusingly toward Stolas, tauntingly waving it in his face. “What next, you gonna tell me you with all your fancy-schmancy words can’t read directions?”
The table surrounding them began to buzz with whispers, nervous eyes, and laughter mixed with what was sure to be gossip. Stolas cast his gaze about the room and took a deep breath. If he failed to deescalate the scene they were making quickly the waitress would be certain to kick them out of the restaurant this time.
“Alright, why don’t we take a step back Blitzø? Tell me your sequence of events today.” If nothing else hearing him out would help bring down the heat.
Blitzø readied another rant but managed to bite his tongue, letting out a sigh and plopping into his chair with a huff. “Fine, so…”
---
“I’unno Fizz, you know I don’t really do relationships. Why do you want me to go out with this guy so bad? He’ll just get mad when he realizes he can’t pin all this down, you really wanna listen to your man complain about the earful he’ll get? Tch, sounds lame to me.”
Blitzø took a sip of the coffee in his hand, grimacing as the lukewarm liquid hit his tongue. Truthfully he couldn’t stand this cafe- their drinks tasted like straight ass- but his best friend had asked him where they should meet up for coffee that afternoon and his mind blanked out every other option having been put on the spot.
Judging by his friend’s forced smile as he sipped through his straw he felt similarly. Never here again, noted.
“Oh stop it, Blitzø, I’m not asking you to marry the guy! Just go meet him, chat ‘im up a little, maybe even…” Fizzarolli stuck his finger into his fist and continued, “a little diddle, a plap-plap, y’know. Only if you wanted, it’s no pressure. Just one night out, that’s it.”
“Mm, well I guess I do enjoy a little exercise from time to time. Alright but he’s paying! I’m not one of those cheap whores, you know!”
“That’s the spirit!” Blitzø dug out a pen and snatched a napkin from the center of the table, scribbling down what Fizz began to tell him. “Alright, so his name is Stolas…”
---
“So you wrote down the time and place?” Stolas received a nod in response. “Do you still have that paper, Blitzø?”
“Well yeah, I got it right here.” Blitzø reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a wadded up, coffee-stained napkin. He held it out and let Stolas take the crumb-embedded note, watching while he unfolded it gingerly. Wine-colored eyes scanned over the contents and quickly slid into a deadpan stare.
Stolas (fancy fuck)
6p –aturdeyy
Fairley High
🐴
“This is what you wrote? Really?”
“Hey! Got a problem? Not all of us have posh handwriting or whatever!”
Stolas remained silent as he processed everything he had just learned. One moment passed, two, and finally he took a deep breath…
And let out the heartiest goddamn laugh he’d had in ages.
Blitzø’s anger subsided as he traded it in for confusion. “What, uh… what’s so funny? I don’t get it.” He muttered a bit more as the other regained his composure, catching his breath and wiping a tear with one of his slender fingers.
“Fizzarolli didn’t happen to text you the information as well, did he?”
“I mean I guess, maybe? I didn’t really check.” Picking up his phone he proceeded to open his text messages and clicked on Fizz’s picture. Despite reading whatever his friend had sent the point Stolas was trying to make hadn’t quite clicked yet.
“What does it say?”
Blitzø flipped his phone around to show his screen to his companion.
His name is Stolas
meet him for dinner at Fahrenheit on Saturday at 6pm
don’t be late!!! 😏
“This restaurant is Fahrenheit, Blitzø. It appears you wrote down ‘Fairly High’ on your napkin. That is a dispensary two blocks over.”
The gears finally started turning for Blitzø. He blinked, his eyes widened, his face flushed, and slowly a very sheepish grin spread across his face. “I knew that.” Despite the embarrassment that tried to push through the rowdy man couldn’t help but to laugh about it all as well.
--
The pair finished what was left of their glasses of wine and wound down their evening, landing into a comfortable silence. Stolas brought his glass down from his lips and smiled. “Ah, well! I think that despite the initial confusion, this has gone rather favorably!”
Blitzø rested his head on his hand and looked away. “Not my fault there’s two places with samesy-ass names!”
“You were so close, dear.” A giggle, then, “Perhaps next time, we’ll make sure both of us have the correct destination in mind.”
“Ha, yeah! We– wait…” One, two, click. “NEXT TIME?”
Stolas couldn’t hold back his little laugh– he was utterly charmed by the animated young man across from him.
If asked about it later Blitzø would never be able to say when Stolas had grabbed a pen, nevertheless a small folded piece of paper had found itself near his phone with the author’s phone number written in beautiful calligraphy.