11

Winston hasn't been ion a date in literal years; not since his high school when he was still... well, before. He doesn't even remember what he worried about then—what he felt on the dates themselves. Everything is overshadowed by his parents, and his family, and he none of the memories of what he assumes were his first love remains with him. Lost, he rests his head in his hands and groans.

He can't even remember what one does on a first date; what are normal first dates even about? What do you even do the first time you go out? Dinner so you can talk? Movies so you can get used to each other's company? What do you prioritize, and how do you make the call?

Groaning again, Winston curls up tighter on the kitchen chair, flopping over almost half the table. Gary's younger brother pats his back in a distinctly condescending manner. "There, there," Liam says, sounding maliciously happy.

"You're a good kid, Liam," mutters Winston into the table, the wood uncomfortable but he's committed now okay, he can't back out.

The hand on his back is abruptly withdrawn as Liam goes "Ew" and leaves him to his lonely fate.

Winston groans again.

It's almost dinner time and Gary is off tutoring a kid in his room, and so Winston fled to the safety of the kitchne to mourn his forever shattered mind. He sighs after a moment, sitting up straight and rubbing his eyes harshly until they sting. Only then does he stop, letting his hands fall to this lap. He studies the kitchen instead, letting his mind go blank in a faux detective state.

It's a narrow kitchen, long but not very wide, and the table is wedged in at the very end of it. It's a square, thin table and the dark surfaced in covered in old scratches and wounds, tears in the wood and even spots of paint here and there.

His eyes glide over to the rest of the room; the tiny sink unusable for washing dishes, the countertops so black they look blue when the light hits them. The walls are covered with photos taped onto them, Gary and Liam starring nearly every single one. Gary has long-since given up on trying to hide them from Winston—his mother merely tapes them right back up as soon as Gary gets distracted by something shiny.

Standing, Winston starts to pace. He brushes his hands through his hair a few times, tugs on a couple of stray strands and walks back and forwards for surely an hour. Though the clock insists it's only about five minutes but really, what does a clock know? Is it sentient? Can it counts relative time? No. So it surely does not matter what it says.

Anyway, Gary mom's bustles into the kitchen after an unknowable amount of time (shut up, clock) and Winston's sits back down to give her room to move. He watches her for a moment; she's in her early sixties, long hair dyed a vibrant pink, and she hums under her breath as she shoves the groceries inelegantly around the kitchen.

"Are you staying over night?" she asks as she works, and Winston flinches. He hadn't thought she'd noticed his presence; she didn't seem to react to him.

"Yeah." After a second, he adds, "If it's no trouble."

She grins at him, "Of course it's not. You know you're always welcome." Then she winks, "It's always so energetic when you and Liam are at the same table." She laughs, turning around and leaning her back against the counter. She looks at him, and he can't help ducking his head, some old instinct making him hide. Make himself smaller. And he doesn't even know why, because she's never so much as said a mean word to him.

She's always been welcoming, truly.

And yet.

Well, and yet.

"So I hear you've got a hot date?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows in a very Gary-esque manner.

"Ms. Janet," breathes Winston, horrified (?). He draws himself up and asks, "Where did you hear about that?"

"Three guesses and the first two don't count."

"Gary," says Winston, and he slumps again. He crosses his arms over his shoulders and lean against the backrest. "He told you?" he asks, looking up at her. She's just as tall as Gary, which is taller than Winston.

She stares at him silently for a moment, then laughs and grins, "No, it was Liam. Sorry I ran into him in the hall and he spilled all the beams." Winston exhales, relaxing, and she crosses the distance to sit down across him. She rests her chin onm her hand, elbow on the table, and looks at him for a long moment. "So can I ask who it is you're going out with?"

"Jason Hill," says Winston.

She tilts her head, "And that is...?"

"He's a member of the basketball team," says Winston after a moment, for a second blanking entirely on what he actually knows about Jason. "I think he might be there on a sports scholarship?"

"Hmm," she makes an exaggerated humming noise, grabbing a clementine from the plate in the middle of the table and peeling it. "Is he popular?"

Winston purses his lips. "I think so." After a moment, he adds, "He's got a lot of friends, at least."

She hums again. "You excited for the date?"

"So excited I'm nauseous," Winston mutters.

She laughs, raising a hand to hide it when he looks at her. Between her half-smothered snickers, she says, "That's perfectly normal," in what Winston thinks is probably supposed to be a wise sagely voice. ...It doesn't quite manage to get there.

Winston nevertheless nods. she holds out a clementine to him and he gratefully accepts, peeling it under her watchful eyes. It doesn't feel heavy, oppressive, like his mo---anyway, he eats it quietly. Quickly. Scarves it down once he realizes that his stomach is actually pretty empty.

Gary's mom returns to her chores soon enough, and Winston stays where he is.

Because Jason said yes.