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When Amor finally glances back up, he's greeted with his reflection glinting back at him in the bathroom mirror - a messy mop of deep blue, swept back with the max-hold hair gel he had nicked from Bosip's room that afternoon. He's ditched the usual getup for a more presentable black suit... also not his own, but hey. It fits him pretty much perfectly, barring the parts of the pants he had to roll up at the ankles. They'll be sitting down to eat, he reasons, so it's not like it'll be such a noticeable aspect of the otherall fit. While he was tempted to show up for his date in the usual trusty plain white t-shirt and shorts (really tempted, mind you), he wanted to make a real stunning and lasting impression, y'know? First dates and all. Something like that- whatever, fancy restaurant, fancy clothing. It made just enough sense to justify a more cleaner look, although no amount of sense was going to convince him to ditch the headphones too. The epic gamer headphones stay on during the romantic dinner date.
Calm down, man. It's just a dinner date. Amor rattles the thought through his head over and over again, fumbling with the buttons on his blazer to distract himself from the urge to run his hands through his hair - which would certainly mess up the entire thirty minutes he took to style his hair. How the hell does Bosip stick to this routine every day? How many tubs of the stuff does he go through?? For all the planning that this date took on his behalf, he didn't really expect hair styling to take nearly as much time as it did. Getting the outfit was easier. But, hey. He planned meticulously for this day, so he was gonna put his all into making sure it went to plan. Nothing but the best for his queen, or something like that.
He reaches up one last time to push a few stray strands of his hair out of his face before turning to leave the bathroom, trailing down the hallway and heading back into the restaurant area. After all, it would hardly be polite to keep your date waiting on you... and especially not a date as good-looking as his, frankly put.
Amor strides across the restaurant until he reaches a certain table, fairy lights strewn delicately across the walls nearby. From where they were seated, he could see people scrolling past - some faces familiar, some not. It was a popular place, no doubt. But no time to dwell on that, because his lovely date for tonight was a much more important subject to focus on than some stray passerby. He slips into the seat across from his beloved, shooting them a wink.
"Hey, sweetheart. Have you been waiting long?"
Amor's gaming chair does not respond, because it's more of a strong, silent type. And also because it's a chair, but those are the little details as far as anyone is concerned.
He puts his arms on the table between them to lean forward slightly, the surface of the wood feeling cool on his skin. He takes the lack of response as a negative. "Heh- that's good. I'd hate to keep you waiting, or me waiting, because I'm actually really hungry right now. I thought about bringing snacks but that'd be weird because we're having a dinner date, soooo...." The chair creaks in response. Not exactly the chattiest of conversation partners, but it wasn't exactly expected to be so. Amor takes a moment to look, letting out a low whistle after glancing over it for a few seconds. "But hey, food aside, someone cleaned up real nicely today." There's a lilt at the end of his voice, and he shifts to get more comfortable now that they've settled into the atmosphere.
One of the waiters drops by a menu and he takes it with a smile, before directing his attention down to the options. Huh... okay. Lots of options, and he had a pretty good idea on what sounded like good date food. Setting the menu down, he raises his gaze back to meet his chair's. If you can consider that to be eye contact.
"How's the prettiest date in this restaurant doing?" Amor croons, crossing his arms over his chest.
A brown-haired boy from the table right next to theirs leans over and interjects the conversation with an "I'm doing great, thanks". Without breaking eye (chair?) contact, Amor reaches to grab the bottle of ketchup sitting on the side and squirts it directly into the intruder's face.
The waiter shows up just in time to redirect their attention away from the guy behind them currently scrubbing ketchup off his face with napkins.
"What can I get for you today?" The waiter asks with a well-practiced smile, although Amor is too busy looking back down at the menu to notice, and the chair does not have eyes.
"Uh... we'll start with some... this?" He holds the menu up and points to one of the items on the menu. He has no clue what the hell it is, because it's some kinda weird fancy probably French or Italian named dish, but it sounds vaguely familiar and fancy enough that it'll be impressive to pick. Make him sound like one of those real knowledgeable food connoisseurs and charm the socks off his dear chair. Plus, he's heard all the food here is pretty top-tier, so what are the chances it'd turn out to be something bad? The waiter quickly takes their order and leaves them to their own devices, and he swivels in his seat to face his conversation partner once more. He's been so attentive this entire date! As in, the entire ten minutes not even that has passed.
He fishes around in the depths of his brain for one of the pickup lines he'd done some intense Google searching for the day prior, but regrettably comes up pretty much empty - after all, it's a little hard to form sharp, coherent thoughts with such a drop-dead gorgeous being present a few feet in front of you. Instead of pulling out his phone out of his pocket to check his Notes app for where he'd written a few down, he props his chin on his palm and sighs dreamily. Sure, he'd be content with sitting in silence sans the restaurant's background music, staring at each other passionately (at least on one of their sides). But he's starting to get a bit antsy, so he gently nudges the chair's legs with the tip of his foot. He does it again with a small giggle, and oh there he goes he's playing footsie with his chair.
The game of footsie is interrupted as abruptly as it begins when Amor suddenly sits up straight, retracting his legs back into his personal space and rummaging around in his pockets. "Hang on- I had a feeling the lighting in here would be a little on the sub-par side, sooo... I brought my own." He produces a bunch of tiny candles with a wide grin, quickly dispersing them across the surface of the table. "Candles are way more romantic, anyway!"
If his gaming chair is alarmed at how quickly he pulls out a matchbox to light the copious amounts of candles, it does not show it. Not even when, halfway through lighting the candles, he proceeds to drop the match and set the table on fire, frantically jumping up and cussing and slapping at the fire to put it out.
Unfortunately, his hands are still covered in hair gel because he didn't wash his hands before leaving the bathroom. He notices his mistake just as the fire travels up onto his hands. He gulps audibly, glancing around before frantically grabbing for the water jug and sticking his hands into it. As soon as that works, he yanks his hands right back out and the rest of the water gets unceremoniously dumped onto the table, putting out the main fire.
Okay, crisis averted. Date saved. He sets the jug down and drops back into his seat with a relieved sigh, reaching up to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck. "Whoops."
The chair graciously does not acknowledge his misdemeanour. Not that it has a choice in the matter.
But, hey. Despite the water currently pooling on top of the table, some of the candles were successfully lit and managed to stay out of the crossfire of the water jug, so who's to say he completely failed at his task? Most of the water is quickly mopped up with a handful of napkins and set to the side. Good as new. Although the same couldn't really be said for the romantic atmosphere, which had mostly fizzled out as soon as he lit the table on fire... that could at least be mended, though, with enough bad pickup lines.
Yeah, he could do that.
Amor grins, crawling across the table and dropping himself onto the seat of the gaming chair. The candles rattle in their places from the movement of the table, and he puts just enough care into avoiding setting himself on fire for the second time within the span of thirty minutes. The gaming chair is greeted with a lapful of fluffy blue-haired gamer.
"So." He drawls, hooking one arm around the chair's headrest with a smug grin. The other hand comes to rest on the spanse of leather right below, stroking gently. "Come here often?"
"Dude, what the fuck?"
He jolts in his seat, glancing over his shoulder to see a familiar, also blue-haired face, gawking at him from across the table. Bob blinks once, twice, then reaches up to rub furiously at his eyes and then goes right back to staring. The lighting of the lamp hanging right above them is acting more like a spotlight than anything else. His gaze lingers on Amor, then flits over to the chair, then to the candles, then back to Amor himself, and then finally just settles with rubbing at his eyes again as if, like a genie's magic lamp, Bob could simply wish for this image burned into his retinas to disappear if he rubbed hard enough.
Another familiar face comes into view, walking over to where Bob stood - because when was Bob without Bosip, really? Especially given a place like this, where they were assumedly on a date of their own. Unfortunately, this does nothing to aid Amor's predicament.
"Bob?" Bosip starts talking, taking in Bob's expression and overall loss for words with a sizeable amount of concern. "Is everything alri-"
He abruptly trails off when Bob snaps his head sharply in his direction and, slowly, makes a wide gesture with his arms in the general direction towards where Amor is sitting. At one of the tables with way too many candles scattered across it, clutching onto his chair. Strangely well dressed. Bosip follows his gaze and his eyesbrows receed into his hairline. Amor's on this side of the restaurant, which means this table is for two, which means...
He looks more than a little bewildered, but at least he takes it better than Bob does, considering that he's still able to speak instead of gaping in silence. And speak he does.
"Are you- are you on a date with your chair?"
"No!" Amor immediately squawks, you know, like a liar. The chair, more composed than anyone else currently in this area of the restaurant, says nothing, also to Amor's chagrin because now he's completely alone in floundering for a reasonable excuse. Amor glances back over to where his limbs are clinging onto said chair in a very koala-esque fashion, quickly letting go and rearranging himself to sit in a more normal sitting position. Act natural, he thinks.
He realizes at the exact moment Bob's eyes snap down that this was actually a terrible idea.
"IS THAT MY SUIT???" Bob all but shrieks, and he looks like he's about to say a whole lot more on the topic when Bosip promptly grabs onto his upper arm and starts tugging him away from Amor's table and presumably back towards their own without another word. As they retreat, Amor finally notices that Bosip's hair is surprisingly flat.
Looks like he forgot to return the hair gel too.
Okay, well, the mood just got shot right out of the window, but at least they're getting some food. So. It's... a salvageable date. Amor makes a mental note to maybe pick something else, maybe something with a little less... flammability?
An idea drops right into his head and his eyes light up, akin to a lightbulb over a cartoon character's head, and he's already starting to plan for their next date. With far less fire. And more ice.