imitating a clumsy staccato

disclaimer: not mine.

It's the pigtails.

Those damn pigtails that dance whenever she passed him by, spinning on spun silk, floating in the air, breezy as her easy going smile. At the customers. (At him.)

Rude debates whether it was best to tell him that it is attraction that had made him like this. Or paranoia. He chooses neither, wondering what the outcome would be if he just let them run its course.

Day after day after day.

Reno is starting to lose his mind.

And still they do not talk to each other.

Ever.

Rude mildly wonders if that was the problem.

Really, it begins early in the morning where pigtails rest high above her ears and the waitress's outfit seems just a little bit shorter as the sun rises into the sky, and just a little bit longer as dusk spreads across the sinking horizon.

Rude, the lazy man; gets to lie in, wriggling his toes while being bathed in sunlight. It's lucky that his shop is right below his apartment. Sadly, Reno receives no such bonus though, he too shares their apartment.

And as usual, she's sitting on the counter, waiting for her hot chocolate and tiny marshmallows to be served to her, her legs swinging back and forth like a child on a swing, small hands relaxing on the marble surface.

Reno enters next, stretching his neck and clicking his fingertips to check his reflexes; sighing as she stares at him, that pouting expression bordering just on the line of adorability and annoyingness.

He wonders, every single day, whether her maid's outfit is just a hobby or something Rude set up to make her even more… attention seeking to the customers as she slides and she skates doing nearly perfect pirouettes and raising her legs and extending those slim arms as she delivers her customer's choice of meal, a cheeky grin blooming on her face.

It's their solid formation: Rude is the manager – always there, though unseen, Reno is the chef – homemaking his products with the aid of machinery and Elena – who's name sings on the tip of his tongue – is the albeit clumsy, sweet-natured waitress who uses rollerblades.

And every single day, she sits on the counter top, staring at him with that expression on her face, expectantly awaiting him to serve her the hot chocolate with marshmallows. It must be her personality, Reno assumes, wordlessly handing her over her desired drink and receiving a smile in return, warm all over with those doses of innocence.

(He wants to say something, but there's nothing to say.)

Instead, he helps her down, his firm hands placed gently on her waist, lifting her up and placing her down like a doll. If she jumps, she'd trip – skidding and crashing the tables that surrounded the counter. It's unspoken, and it's a ritual and somehow they both dance across the subject of talk by busying themselves with the presentation of the shop.

Her cup rests above the counter, only half-drank. The marshmallows were removed by a spoon. Scowling somewhat at a waste of drink, he bins the rest of the contents while she skimps across the floor, lifting her leg up to maintain her balance. She still crashes, though it's less often than it used to be. But he's always there to catch her when she falls, tawny eyes blinking before a faint blush spreads across her milky white face. She smiles and that's her way of gratitude and just as gracefully, she moves to her next customer, flittering like birds in flight.

He watches her, a soft smile resting unconsciously on his face, not even realizing that it's there; and somehow the days pass quicker when he sees her.

Evening comes, and the music box still hums in the background. Elena takes off her rollerblades, knowing far too well that she can't clean with them on – memories of screams of clutters and crashes still warm and wriggling in the tip of her toes. She hangs them up on the doorknob, pink bows tied up perfectly girly and naïve. Then in her socks, never matching for reasons unbeknownst to the till boy – that's what Reno supposes he is. She hums sometimes, when the mood takes her fancy and she sways to the beat, spraying and wiping the tables, spinning and twirling, lost in her ditzy bubblegum world.

She's not wearing her shoes, but she's dancing all the same.

And still her pigtails, placed where devil horns should be, move swishy-swishy, mocking him as the light spins them to gold and fractured hues of the colour.

Swishy-swishy.

Reno wonders if there's such a word that describes her as delightfully and deviously as that. It sounds cute, too, which does not help.

She's nearly done, he notes, emerald eyes narrowing as his hand searches for the mini-fridge which contains the sweets, either mint chocolate or orange chocolate; his other hand finding her plate – china white with royal blue designed with a pretty pattern – the tale of two lovers that turned into doves, so they say – and he places two sweets on it, turning away from the counter and going up the stairs which leads into his apartment, leaving Elena alone to turn off the lights of their small café and leave.

He never hears her soft goodbye, small and gentle as the door that closes behind her, the skates already flying.

When he comes down later that night (for every night he cannot sleep, caught in the lingering memory of her and to sit in the café whilst no else is around is… relaxing) he always rakes his hair back, and always notices that there's one sweet left. He scowls, placing the sweet back in the fridge where they are kept nice and cold, and washes the plate, setting back where it always is.

He doesn't have the heart to eat the left out sweet. They are hers and hers alone.

And that is their pattern and neither of them are willing to change it, one stuck on listening to the sound of her voice, merrily chirping as she reacts to customer service, pen and paper always in her hand; the other never speaking, talking in low murmurs that she can't hear his voice, no matter how hard she strains her ears.

Rude rolls his eyes, grunting and fixes his shade, placing them in position.

Reno scowls and wonders if he should just break the damn things. What's the point of using sunglasses if his friend – manager – uses them indoors except for stylised effect? Claiming he was a vampire just wouldn't cut it.

It must have been the ribbons that she suddenly decided to use that changes it.

Their pattern.

He's lifting her off the counter and he suddenly realizes that her hair looks softer, tinted orange by the bright colour of the red ribbons, tangled in her hair. And he freezes, her feet dangling in midair, his hands on her slim waist, her tawny eyes wide and she nearly breaks another rule of their code – by opening her mouth and speaking to him. But he shakes his head and places her down, lightly so that their shadows don't cross and he relinquishes his hold on her, leaving quickly yet smoothly, a walk in allegro.

And she smoothes out her dress and places the chairs down, where a customer can properly sit, continuing the routine as nothing's changed, flittering away and humming like a birdsong trapped between leaves carried away by the wind.

Customers come and customers go, easily as paper that is torn between her notebook, black on white – her writing, the order, blue on white – his writing – the price; small methods of communication that get their message across without saying a word.

Then comes three o'clock, two hours from closing time, and the way she moves is completely different.

The smile on her face, the sparkle in her eye, even the musical lilt that comes from being in Junon – so far away, because this is Rocket Town, where she glances at the fallen airship that wanted to touch space every time the clock chimed twelve, wishing on a far away star. Everything seems so different, those little gestures that described the way she felt. The colour of her flushed cheeks so delicate against the porcelain skin of hers, the way she hovers, one foot slightly above the other, tapping an irregular pattern as her hands spin and jiggle her pen about, left-right-up-down.

He thinks she's developed a crush on a customer, and his heart breaks a little, but says nothing, continuing with his menial task, his eyes always on her.

There's a bounce in her step and a glow in her skin and her notes with the customer's choice comes with doodles, badly drawn, but Reno doesn't mind, ignoring them as he grants the request, the machine filling up the cups, warm as the sun that dances in her skin.

That customer doesn't leave for another hour, and Reno is not counting the amount of times she's tilted her head and caught the customer's eyes to grant him one smile, her hair ruffled by the playful wind.

(Thirty-seven.) (Thirty-eight.)

His smile doesn't return until he sees that customer's tall back face her, and walk away from the small café. But his smile goes away when her gold eyes meet his, big and watery, far too innocent for such a pretty face.

He hates the way she sighs after him, like a lovelorn puppy.

She doesn't eat the sweets left on the china-white and royal blue plate, Reno is sad to say, putting them back into their designated place.

It's another change to the pattern, and Reno doesn't like it.

But Rude knows it's just a propeller to set things in motion.

She stumbles and shrieks, crashing and colliding with customers and food, hands in the air, pigtails prancing and swirling and gradually smothered in liquid and food that stumbles onto her fair hair.

Reno sighs, catching her in his arms just before she hits the ground, her cheeks flushing as quickly as her murmured apologies, flung out from decades ago. Customers are not so lucky, and the food and drinks pelt them on their face.

As the manager, Rude promises to reimburse them with free food for the day. Banana skins are not acceptable.

Reno helps her up, tawny brown eyes avoiding the gaze of emerald green, his hand holding on to her smooth skin a little more than necessary, tingling afterwards. He brushes the dust off her uniform, trying to make the best of it, and pats her hair, awkwardly, ensuring that she's okay before proceeding and letting her do her job; and he's back to watching her make a klutz out of herself.

He ignores the clapping from the onlookers who watch him move quickly to stop her from touching the floor. He doesn't think that Elena hears them.

That customer that made Elena smile doesn't come and watch her, this day. Her smiles seem a bit smaller than before, more fragile and sombre.

Reno places three sweets, two mints and one orange on the plate, thinking it might cheer her up. He considers adding a note, but doesn't – there had been too much change.

She eats none of them.

And he watches her leave, skating as she goes, hair lifting ever so slightly as her back faces him, as he stands hidden in the shadows.

That customer doesn't come back the next day. Or the next. Or the next.

She copes. It's only a crush, Reno reckons, as he makes another incorrect price on the neatly lined paper. They never bother with the lines, her writing slanted and going up or down or as a crescendo and diminuendo, his prices vertical or other amusing ways that bring a soft smile on her face.

He's been making mistakes as often as she crashes into customers.

But the red ribbons still stay on her hair, casting a pretty hue on her gold pigtails. And she still wears the maid's outfit, despite being a waitress. Without the headgear, of course. How else would the pretty pigtails be visible to public eye?

Gradually, as the end of the week draws nearer and nearer, like their changing pattern, they handle it, adjusting it, their morning routine of hot chocolate and lifting her up and placing her down still the same. The mistakes lessen and Reno thinks he's nearly there on seeing a proper smile on her face.

It's just one guy. She shouldn't place all her hope in him.

Neither should he.

But he does it anyway.

Because she's there everyday, (save the weekend) and she brings a smile to his face, their words unsaid.

The customer comes back one day, sitting in the same spot, and glancing at her with an appreciating look.

Reno's right behind her, so he hears the excited squeal that slips past her lips and the little happy dance that nearly makes her slip once more (except he'd be there to catch her) and so she smoothes her dress, gives a smile to the correct customer, placing their order on the table and skates off to the tall dark man, a wry smile touching his mouth. Barely.

She could do better. So what if he's tall and tanned? So what if he has black hair and (Reno assumes) charcoal or violet eyes (Reno reckons he's from Wutai and they have one of the two for eye colour), he's still not much to look at.

But she gives him a smile, and sits on his table, chatting like a fan girl, breeze absentminded playing with her hair, and her legs swing back and forth. Her smile widens and Reno guesses that she's giggling (and he hears it like a rainbow spreading over the Planet) and the bubble that surrounds her aura is back and he can't help but feel just a little bit resentful.

She nods and she gives another flirty smile, a twinkle in her pretty tawny eyes, gently setting herself off the table, gracefully skating back to the counter, before crashing into it. But she does that everyday and everyday she doesn't fall when she crashes against it, and somehow, that's their one exception in her collision course where he doesn't catch her.

He rolls his emerald eyes and pulls a face, extending his hand; she sticks her tongue out and giggles, ripping the paper from the notebook and handing it over, tucking the notebook in her pocket and the pencil behind her ear, and she grabs the two trays to deliver to customers.

(He decides he doesn't like Mocha coffee after that incident.)

She nearly breaks the pattern again, but thinks better of it, hips swaying as she leaves him, busying his self after her. There are other customers in this café.

Again, the tall customer stays for an hour, with one more to go before their job ends, kissing her hand (because he's such a gentleman) and she has his number in her pocket, and Reno has never been more unpleasant with the customers.

The price has never been that high either.

"You will wash that hand, right?"

"Y-You're… talking to me?"

"Look around, no—'Laney. The shop's closed. Who else would I be talking to?"

"Um… the manager?"

"Rude? He doesn't do anything."

"… thanks Reno. I'm docking your pay."

"What are you doing down here? Go back to the apartment and sleep!"

"I'm the manager. I buy the products we need for the café. I don't just sleep."

"No, you're giving me a docked pay."

"You earned it."

"Rude… just go, alright?"

"…"

"Why would I not wash my hand?"

"It's… you know… something that a fan girl says."

"What? You think I'm a fan girl just because I've got his number?"

"Well, yeah. You've been cruising and crashing ever since you've seen him."

"And you've been catching me every single time."

"Well, 'Laney, ya never said to stop. If you had said, I would have respectfully let you fall and take photos."

"I never—you never let me talk to you."

"Wrong, I didn't talk to you. You didn't talk to me. That was our unspoken rule, which could have been broken at any moment in the past. But we didn't. We didn't, 'Laney, and that's how it's been. That's how it's always been."

(He wonders if that means something.)

"Men. I don't get them. And, wait – don't call me Laney!"

"Funny, you weren't complaining before."

"That's because I didn't notice. And don't make it sound like that."

(He thinks she doesn't notice a lot of things.)

"… aw, that's cute, girl. Real cute. Keep glaring like that and your customer going to be paying you for more."

"I'm not a whore."

"Your maid outfit begs to differ."

"Just—shut up! I don't even know why I… why did I even begin to talk to you?"

"You didn't. I initiated the conversation which ya chose to continue."

"Quiet Reno! And yes, of course I'll wash my hands – it's unhygienic otherwise."

"Oh, you know my name. What's his?"

"…"

"Laney, first rule of dating is you've got to know their name. Well, okay, not really – the first rule of dating is to know you've got their attention. The name thing just helps when you get to that level."

"Goodbye Reno. I won't be talking to you again."

"Bye, Laney."

She was blushing as she stormed out the door, Reno is sure of that.

If he had looked closely, the steam that fumed out of her ears would have been visible.

She looks cute mad, and her voice is like music to his ears.

The only thing that makes their encounter bitter is that she took both sweets.

And he won't be seeing her for another two days.

Weekends are cruel.

"So what is with the outfit, Rude?"

"… I don't know, Reno. I really don't know."

"You do, man, you do."

"…"

"Out with it, already!"

"… to get you a girlfriend."

"You're saying the whole reason of getting Laney to wear a maid's outfit was to get me a girlfriend?"

(Rude's not going to tell him that 'Laney' is supposed to be Reno's girlfriend.)

"… besides the fact of it's another way of reeling the customers in and I don't have to be the waiter? Yes."

"You're evil."

(Reno suspects his cunning plan.)

"No, I'm logical."

"…"

"Tell you what, Reno. If you manage to talk to her and make her comfortable in this place, I'll double your wage."

"… you're evil."

"In a good way?"

"In a twisted way."

(Reno can't help but grin anyways. This is the way it's always been.)

(Rude thinks he's overlooked most of the time. This is just a form of payback. And to get Reno to stop moping.)

(He wants Reno to make a move on her already.)

(He wants Elena to fit in and feel like family already.)

Reno meets her outside the shop, coffee in one hand, hot chocolate and marshmallows in the other. Wordlessly, he hands it over and she gives him a small smile, her legs still dangling on the silver-shining table, and that brings out the creaminess of her legs hidden by red rollerblades and shorts that reach her knees.

She's not wearing her maid's outfit. It's odd, but she looks pretty all the same.

She's wearing a jumper that shows her curves nicely, a shade of purple that brings out the colour in her eyes and reaches her wrists and neck. And her hair, oh, her pretty hair that used to be bunched up in those pigtails with ringlets that shone like gold in a wheat field is let loose, scraping past her shoulders and framing her heart-shaped face, making her face look so much more innocent than it should be.

Her eyes are too big, too watery, and too red; and the usual twinkle in her eyes is gone. Her lips are bitten and bruised and there are tears where a flush of innocence should be, gleaming of pale white skin.

Her hands seem so small, curled up into small balls. She won't be having the hot chocolate today.

And that's okay, Reno thinks as he sets the two mugs on a different table, approaching her and wrapping his arms around her. She's here, she's here and he's going to make it all right.

(He tries to ignore the hickey that's half visible on her neck.)

"I…"

(She's breaking the pattern, she's breaking the pattern and Reno doesn't care any more, though his heart protests against him.)

"I really thought… he could be the one."

"Laney…"

"But he… he just…"

(And she's breaking down again, sobbing in his chest and pressing herself against him and there's nothing he can do but hold her tighter and stroke her hair and whisper small comforts that go unheard in her ears.)

(He won't ask and she will not tell.)

"It's okay. It's okay."

(And she nods her head, and she sniffs, and she's getting his shirt all wet with her tears and her snot and that's just not cool. But it is Elena and that thought makes it bearable, somehow.)

(They stay like that for a while.)

The café is closed that day.

"Oh, no, Rude. Don't you dare give me that look!"

(That look is a bit hard concerning the fact that Rude is still wearing his sunglasses.)

"… I asked you to make her comfortable. Not to close the café without my permission."

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, it's not my fault. It's the Mocha guy's fault."

"Why is that?"

(Reno finds it frustrating that Rude's still reading the newspaper. Rude's eyebrow arches at the 'Mocha Guy' part.)

"Because he was a jerk to Laney!"

"… and this concerns me how?"

(He doesn't mean to sound uncaring, he likes Elena, he really does, but it still doesn't explain a thing.)

"Because if Laney is too damn broken hearted then she won't come in and do her job then you're gonna have to step in and do it for her."

(And that, really, is something that Rude doesn't want to do.)

Two weeks later, Elena still hasn't returned back to her job and Rude has had to act in her place. Minus the costume and rollerblades.

It's not the same because Rude's presence doesn't make Reno smile the way Elena does with her fumbles and swerves. Sure, he's glad of the company, but Rude's not… Elena and that's what's different. Rude talks to Reno and that slows down business, if only slightly.

The atmosphere's the same, except it's not. Because without Elena it's not quite as bright and bubbly like the sun that matches her smile and the freckle on the tip of her nose, like a piece of dairy milk chocolate in the middle of a sea of white chocolate.

(Reno never offers Rude the sweets that he himself buys personally for Elena.)

(That china-white royal-blue plate is never used either.)

Reno sees Mocha coffee one day, staring at them, dark eyes smouldering (and Reno doesn't care what the colour of his eyes are – he's decided they're black to represent the devil and Mocha coffee guy is certainly evil enough to be the devil in disguise) and his expression is so indifferent that Reno wonders if he's even got a heart.

By the end of the day, when the café is nearly over and he's still the only one there, lingering just before the entrance, he's sporting a black eye.

"Thanks Rude."

(Rude grins, though says nothing.)

One week later she slips back in, sitting on the counter and in her maid's outfit, wearing bobbles instead of ribbons and they suit her just fine and the pigtails seem longer than ever.

(Reno remembers that day when her hair was loose and pigtail free. She looked so pretty then, more so than she usually did.)

Speechless, he offers her chocolate and she pouts.

"I really don't mean to be rude, but what about the marshmallows?"

(He smiles briefly, adding those sugary things that she loves and they fall in, plopping and a true smile passes through her face.)

"Thanks."

"What have you been doing?"

(He wonders why she looks so surprised. But it's kind of cute the way she coughs and regains her composure.)

"… thinking. A lot."

"If only you thought as much as you talked."

"That wouldn't do at all. If people think too much they get crazy."

"If people talk too much they get insane."

"Aw, but you put up with me."

"Only because, Laney, I like you."

(He hopes that she doesn't read into that. She doesn't comment on the use of her name. He doesn't think she minds any more.)

"Um… do I still have a job?"

(Rude enters this touching scene, notices the way that Reno and Elena hold hands, fingers entwined, and hears her last question.)

"… yes. Only if I don't have to do your job for you."

(Elena whispers in Reno's ears, and grins cheekily while the redhead nods.)

(Of course he's got the damn photos.)

Regardless, the café's still closed for the day.

Sometimes, there are more important things than customers.

They still clean up, though, and Elena dances with one stripy sock and another dotty sock.

(Reno bets that Mocha Coffee guy didn't like that.)

The music is in the background and Elena is humming with her mop and the mood suddenly takes his fancy and suddenly she's in his arms and she's giggling and they're doing a really weird version of a waltz that is jumpy and smooth and suddenly she's spinning and the next she's being dipped and—

And she smiles and kisses his cheeks.

(There's still so much that she doesn't know about him.)

(The same goes for Reno.)

Spinning, she takes her rollerblades off the door knob, and nearly turns to go.

Except she's forgotten those mint chocolate and orange chocolate sweets that rest on that china-white royal-blue plate.

"So why did you always leave one behind?"

"That was for you. I thought you'd want one."

"You never said."

"You never asked."

"Point. Okay, what about the socks?"

"What about them? I lose track of pairs of socks as easily as losing a chocobo that's right in front of me. Hey, it's happened."

"… did you ever find out his name?"

"Reno, I slept with the guy—" (she's become far more comfortable in his presence, he notes with a smile.) "—you didn't expect me to call out 'Mocha coffee guy', did you?"

"Well, ya never know."

"… so you've called out 'Mocha coffee girl'?"

"Mm. Maybe that was a dream. I can't be certain. So, what was his name?"

"Not telling."

(He grins and she laughs, and really, that's okay.)

(He doesn't want to know, anyway.)

Rude grins. His master plan is finally coming to an end, he thinks as he falls to sleep.

Though he's quite disappointed to find that both of them stayed up talking all night and weren't able to actually do their jobs.

Business is very slow that day.

He considers firing them, but they're his friends, and he doesn't bother.

The sight of them sleeping and Reno's arm around Elena is almost worth it.

Their pattern has broken.

She wears maid's outfits one day. She wears shorts the next. Sometimes she wears mini-skirts and leggings. Her hair is loose, her hair is in pigtails, sometimes above or below her ears, sometimes both.

But Reno's starting to smile everyday because they write notes to each other.

She still uses black, and he still uses blue and their pens make each other giggle.

Words like: swishy-swishy and pigtails and that guy's checking you out and you look pretty today, care for a dance later?

She replies: what does that mean? and hey! and not interested and thank you, can't wait.

And she still skates, floating on cloud nine far more often whenever she catches his eye.

She leaps in the air and practises a different way of flying, and she's created quite a bit of money from it. (She performs her best when she's wearing pigtails.) Reno's still there to catch her when she falls, always nearby.

Her blushes seem redder somehow and far more fitting on her face.

(Reno finds he doesn't care because she makes his day and that's all there is to it.)

"How long have you been dating?"

"Excuse me?"

"You and the redhead. How long?"

(Reno wonders why Laney is looking at his direction, eyes wide and mouth open, cheeks blossoming into roses as her pigtails catch the light within those ringlets of hers.)

"We… we're not dating."

"Sure, sure. That's what they all say."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Don't be so oblivious. That guy adores you, and you are absolutely smitten with him."

"Um… I'm going to go and come back later. I don't think you're ready to order yet."

She doesn't meet Reno's eye as she flees from that customer.

(And a lot more customers that ask the same thing.)

"Rude… did you set this up?"

(He's sprawled onto the couch and he's getting a headache.)

"Depends. What are you talking about?"

(Business has been good for Rude recently.)

"Elena. Me. Us. Did you… have a hand in any of this?"

"No, why would you say such a thing?"

"You're a manager. You get bored. You make projects. How could it not be you?"

"I'm your friend. You've made Elena feel right at home. It's not me."

"Rude…"

(Everything's been set in motion, so Rude thinks its okay to tell.)

"Fine. It was me, I was bored, and now you're on the way to be a merry couple just in time for Christmas."

"Oh Rude."

"Tis the season to be jolly."

(Reno needs a girl, and Elena's perfect for him.)

"Thank you."

"For messing with your head? My pleasure."

(Rude is far more evil than Reno gives him credit for.)

(Incidentally, he also involved his customers in his plan. They all got a cheaper-priced meal.)

(They would have done it anyway because the chemistry between them is visible to the public eye.)

She doesn't talk to him for a while, and that's okay. He's patient. He's kind. He still has her notes that make the day pass just a little bit faster each day.

She still twists and turns in those red rollerblades; and she still catches his eye in return of her smile.

But she's distancing herself away from him, and it's almost like his touch burns her, like a candle that melts her from the inside out and she's becoming less than comfortable when he picks her up and puts her down.

(Reno wants to kiss her a hundred and one times whenever he sees her.)

They still have the china-white royal-blue plate with sweets on top, and he's finally eating the sweets.

They seem normal then, because they're tired, and curious things slip out, only to be realized in the morning.

(But Reno still looks at her back as she walks away from the café, as she rides into the sunset.)

(She always looks back, her tawny eyes glittering gold.)

He kisses her one day, pulling her close towards him and crushing his lips with hers, because she looks too damn adorable in those stupid pigtails and she's gazing at him with that doe-eyed expression and she looks far too innocent leaning on that counter, swinging her legs back and forth.

And he's so grateful she's kissing back.

Somehow they're on the floor (he doesn't care how he got there, couldn't remember the fall, because she's too beautiful to not memorize) and he's thinking he should have done this years ago.

(He loves the glow of her skin and the smile on her face.)

"… we're continuing this, right, Reno?"

"Of course, Laney. Every single fucking day for the rest of my life."

"Merry Christmas to you too."

He offers her cappuccino with a chocolate flake instead of her hot chocolate and marshmallows. He thinks she might like it.

It's a change, and this time she welcomes it, instead of fearing it.

(Rude's a sneaky little bastard, and evil matchmaker, but he still gets be the best man in the end.)

They look stunning.

And Elena's still wearing red rollerblades.