 It was too hot in the gym, or maybe that was just Gigi, face flush with embarrassment and anger, her whole body feeling overheated and sweaty and not because they'd been in there dancing too long without a break. If she wasn't so mad, she probably would have been in tears already. She could feel them pricking at her eyes, her throat tight and aching with emotion. Her hand throbbing, but she didn't regret how hard she'd thrown that punch.
“I need air,” she managed to get out, not talking to anyone in particular, not caring if anyone heard because she just had to go, she felt like she was suffocating standing there. She didn't even look at any of the guys there before she fled, pushing through a door that went straight outside and only making it as far as the steps before she sunk down and sat, arms hugged around herself and eyes squeezing closed. |
 Tristan’s laughter at Kit on the floor, recovering from Gigi’s gut punch, faded when he heard his date pull back — but when he turned to look for her, she’d already disappeared into the mess of dancing students in the gym.
He followed, a few beats behind, before he found her outside already hugging herself. “Shit, I’m sorry, Gigi.” |
| She shook her head, not sure what he was apologizing for. Being outside wasn't helping as much as she'd hoped, her chest still felt tight, like someone was sitting on it, her breath shallow because it felt impossible to take a deep one. Maybe she should go, she could take an Uber or something home, it'd be fine, that would be better — right?
“I didn't mean to ruin things,” Gigi heard herself saying, voice quiet and barely there — hollow, like her words. She hadn't started it but she'd finished it, messing up plenty in the process probably, not the least of which was Tristan’s night. |
| “Ruin what? He deserved it.” He sat down on the steps beside her. “He was being an idiot. Plus, you’ve given me a memory to last a lifetime, so really, you vastly improved things.”
|
| “Can you just —” Gigi shook her head, biting at the inside of her lip as she took a moment, eyes squeezing closed even more. “Is that why you asked me?” She wasn't sure she wanted the answer, but she had to ask. “I thought maybe you’d been busy and forgot and then I was there so you asked, which is fine, I — can you just tell me?”
|
| “Is… what why I asked you?” Tristan prompted, not quite getting what she was asking about. “I asked you because—” well, it was true that she had been there, but it wasn’t because he’d been busy and forgot. He hadn’t planned on it, but he didn’t regret it either. “I felt like it.”
|
| Words were proving to be difficult, both to think of and to get out. Gigi didn't know how better to articulate the jumble in her head, the needling, poking thoughts making her want to leave leave. “Okay.” Her eyes blinked open slowly, gaze focusing on a spot a few steps down but not really looking at it.
|
| He was terrible at comforting, he knew it, everyone knew it. But he reached out, gently laying his hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
|
| There was that same problem, putting it into words. It was harder to avoid crying with Tristan’s hand on her shoulder, and Gigi brushed a tear off her face, careful to avoid smudging her makeup. “I don't get asked to stuff like this, dances and things. But you asked me, and like I said it's fine if it was just cause I was there, and now Kit… was it just to sleep with me or something?”
|
| “What?!” Tristan almost reeled back. “Of course not. I didn’t — I wouldn’t — I know some guys are like that, but I didn’t —” Don’t ‘not all men’ her.
He paused to collect himself for a moment, frowning into the dark. “I didn’t ask you because of anything like that, I just… I asked because I thought we would have a good time. Not like a, good time like that!” Now he was blushing. “Like, just a G-rated good time. I don’t know, you’re cool, you were nice to me, why not? You know?” |
| It hadn't been anything that crossed her mind as a possibility until the stuff Kit was saying, because that wasn't really anything people did with her either. And Tristan, she hadn't assumed that was his reason — like she'd said, she figured he asked her out of convenience more than anything. Gigi sat quietly for a long moment, nipping at the inside of her lip and trying to calm the way her stomach was still twisting around. “It might be more PG, or PG-13,” she replied, gaze flickering over to meet his for the first time since he got out there. “With the swearing and punching.”
|
| He snorted. “Yeah, don’t take your kids to see Gigi the Powerhouse, rated PG for mild, deserved violence.”
Tristan met her gaze. “I didn’t ask you because I wanted anything from you, I just asked you because I like your company. And because you know my locker combination, definitely want to stay on your good side,” he joked. |
| His first comment made the corner of her mouth twitch, almost a smile. Her arms loosened a little from how she'd had them wrapped tight around herself, but she didn't move otherwise.
“I promise I never opened your locker until the other day when you were getting mad at it,” she said quickly, because that hadn't really been addressed at the time and she wanted to be clear about it. “And,” she added, actually smiling softly, “I like your company too.” |
| He nudged her with his shoulder. “I know,” he said with a smirk, not making it clear whether he meant the locker, or his company.
|
| Leaning over, Gigi rest her head on his shoulder, letting out a slow exhale. She didn't feel completely settled, but definitely better than she'd been when she first sat down. “Wanna stay out here a few more minutes?”
|
| “Sure.” He hesitated for just a moment, then slipped his arm around her shoulder. “We can stay as long as you want.”
|