Golden (rewrite)

6

You mumbled curses under your breath while you went on and wipe your bleeding nose with the sleeve of your old jacket.

"Please don't do that. Use a tissue." He hands you a packet of dry facial tissues. You muttered thanks and pulled one out.

He sighed when you used it to wipe your bloodied sleeve instead of your nose.

Lanette's attractive and well-structured physique elegantly sat back down on a chair. "Is that his costume?" No, it's not, that's his everyday, usual wear.

He's wearing a pastel blue turtleneck and a pair of dark dress pants held up by a black, leather belt. Lanette wore formal shoes as footwear.

What about you? You're wearing a tattered (f/c) coat that is barely hanging onto its strings. You love that coat because it kept you somewhat warm during hard times. Underneath it is a white shirt, yellowed from years of use. Thick, baggy, faded jeans protected you from the waist down. Shoes? Tony's stolen sneakers.

Overall, you felt like worthless, classless trash around him.

He smiled and gestured towards the chair opposite of him. "Please (y/n), take a seat. I'd like to talk to you." He is polite and soft, unlike the first time you met him.

Still a bit disoriented, you stumbled to a chair. The broken one that you crashed into earlier. "Wait, (y/n). That's—"

"Ow!" Its four, shaky legs gave out and you fell to the ground. You groaned in pain as you cradle your head in pain. "Ah shit, I'm gonna need to pay for this chair..." Lanette got up from his seat and rushed to your injured form.

He smiled sympathetically and offered his hand to you.

"Uhh..." you looked around to see four bodyguards standing in each corner of the cafe. Then you looked back to his hand. "They should be within earshot..."

"Uhh, sir! I don't think you'd want a repeated sex offender to touch you, would ya?" You said it loud enough for everyone in the room to here. Maybe a bit too loud, you heard Tony guffawing from the lobby. "Goddamn it, Tony."

You frowned when Lanette did not retract his hand and his bodyguards stood still.

"You and I both know that is not true at all. Come, let me help you." Lanette moved his large, smooth hand nearer to you.

"My hands are covered in blood." You showed him.

"I have a packet of moist towelettes with me. Please, let me help you."

"You carry your own toilet with you?" You asked. Disbelief flashed on his face again.

"No, not toilets. Towelettes!— you may refer them as wet wipes."

"Ohh... okay, good for you. But I still have blood on my hands, though. You're gonna get some... incurable deadly disease if you touch it." He knitted his eyebrows in concern.

"And... what could that disease be?" Lanette is sure you are free from any life-threatening diseases, he did some extensive research on you after all.

"Mad cow disease." He raised an eyebrow.

"You're being ridiculous." His tone indicates that his patience is starting to run out.

"Hey, If you turned into an angry cow, don't say I didn't warn ya." You hesitantly held onto his hand. He pulled you up, more like yanking you up because you're lighter than he expected.

"Ow!" An audible crack resonated throughout the cafe. Horror was written on the celebrity's beautiful face. "Something just popped." You added just to make him feel worse.