Wax

Four

A/N: Perhaps one of the hardest chapters I've written to date. It's what personal experience does to writers, I suppose. Reunions scare and enchant me all the same. The uncertainty of a past coming together once again towards an unknown future—that is what makes a reunion so beautiful. This was very, very hard to write and I took so long trying to get myself to face it. I finally did; here it is. 

There is a clear difference from Chip and Xander's, because, well, their reunion did not involve the slow breaking apart of things that were once whole. Something long drawn out can perhaps hurt more than anything else and to witness the tragedy and not be able to do anything about it is perhaps the greatest suffering of all. 

The next chapter would be so much easier for me to write hahaha, and that's honestly ironic, if you read till the end of the chapter and understand what is the 'likely' content of the next. 

Thank you for waiting. Candles represent the passing of time. They burn until extinguished. 

________________________

[Vanilla]

He was late.

I had, myself, been seated prior to the half-hour we'd agreed upon, having arrived a perfect seven minutes early and made good conversation with the host before being honorably attended to by the restaurant's general manager. He'd recognized me from across the room and had, at once, made his way to the entrance to be my personal escort. I was not disappointed; Chef Louviere's had maintained the impeccable standards it set for design and service since its first opening in Versailles.

The initial concern I had was with punctuality, in that I would find myself a disastrous five to ten minutes late having unfortunately encountered some public humiliation that involved being drenched waist up and a decent suit ruined. I hadn't so much as bothered to write the draft of anything I wished to say about Chef Andre's, and so I'd headed back to my apartment for a quick shower and re-evaluation of my evening attire. This, I'd spent a decent amount of time doing.

It seemed almost necessary that my mind entertain the contemplation of additional accessories; of course, the intention was to avoid appearing overly enthusiastic for our first dinner in seven years but there was certainly no denying the fact that I had been saving the pair of suspenders for special occasions. Once, to the final interview for an internship at the Times, and another, at my godfathers' renewal of vows—courtesy of still being madly in love with one another. The most recent occasion was Giselle's wedding.

Those aside, I could not bear exposing such exquisite leather to the light. How an idiot like himself could afford such luxurious material and quality back then remained quite the astonishing mystery. The suspenders were long lasting; with a look and fashion that stood the test of time, continuing to stay within my closet of taste that had, with maturity and age, narrowed every step of the way. A sharp indifference was the key to the wardrobe of every critic and a pair of slim leather braces had, somewhere along the way, developed into the height of androgynous fashion.

"I hope you're feeling better this evening, Mr. White. Perhaps Chef Louviere could impress you with some specials? Or maybe you would like a glass of red for a pick-me-up?"

Raising my gaze with a blink, I was slow to ask what it was he meant by a pick-me-up; slightly confused by the implication that I was upset or in some way or other, not my usual self. Manager John recovered with an embarrassed shake of his head, offering, in response, the tasting menu before running through today's specials and then excusing himself to allow myself some privacy for a decision.