mars bronwyn was on a date with you. the thirteenth date.

not that he was keeping track, obviously. despite claims otherwise, he was firmly not a romantic. yes, therese had dubbed him the token lover-boy of their friend group, but that moniker was taken with a grain of salt.

you were sure he'd be a good boyfriend. he would hold your hand like it was the only thing preventing him from plunging into the cesspit of a college locker room and call you a bitch at the same time—but then again, he was never the best at expressing affection if it wasn't swathed in a thick duvet of sarcasm.

but he wasn't your boyfriend. not yet. mordecai—one of your mutual friends—had thought it prudent for an unsolicited announcement that a heartfelt confession did not seem due in the near future. but you weren't complaining.

"if you hadn't worn that, i would have sued." mars said rather dolefully, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. his nose, straight and a touch freckled, smushed against your hair in a clumsy motion. alright, you were practically in a relationship.

the garment in question which he had demanded you don (he'd send angry pufferfish images until you agreed) was a dark blue crocheted fish cardigan he'd goaded his grandmother into making. obviously he hadn't tried to diy it himself—he'd have died.

this week's date night consisted of a nighttime walk through the boulevard after grabbing hot chocolate at your favorite local café. simple—but far less destructive than when he'd attempted to take you ice skating, for the record.

"hey, by the way, no big deal whatsoever," he began abruptly, stopping you outside the local abercrombie & fitch.

even now, he was quite distracting for you to perceive; from how his flaxen tresses wisped over his forehead to the faint summery glitter in his eyes, juxtaposing how he constantly looked like someone unconsentually forced him to consume snow. "my parents are coming to the college open weekend. it might be best if we skip saturday's date or some shit. dunno."