The Lives We Didn't Choose (AJS Roleplaying x Kita-san)

[AJS Roleplaying]

The Lives We Didn't Choose A Roleplay Brought to You By: ​

Adrian 'AJ' Carlson Jr. written by AJS Roleplaying ​

Verena "Rena" Bristol written by Kita-san ​

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[Kita-san]

She met AJ's eyes, and for a beat too long, she simply studied him—the tousled edges of sleep still clinging to him, the way the morning light caught in the line of his collarbone and shadowed the hollows beneath. He was real in a way most things weren't. Not polished. Not performative. Just… here. Present. And her heart did that quiet little tumble it always did when something felt true.

A slow smile curved her lips, one that started soft but bloomed into something knowing as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tilted her head. "I didn't expect you to be this poetic before coffee," she murmured, voice still husky with morning. "Makes me wonder what you're like after a proper breakfast." Verena tucked some loose stands of hair behind her right ear.

She closed the sketchbook gently, her fingers lingering on the cover. "I was trying to capture the morning," she said, eyes never quite leaving his. "But then you stood there, all golden and sleep-rumpled, and now I'm not sure if I'm sketching light or you." A small pause, just long enough to be deliberate. "Same thing, maybe."

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly as he sat across from her. The tension between them wasn't sharp—it was slow-burning, patient, the kind that didn't need to be rushed because it was already inevitable. She let his words settle around her, warmth blooming low in her chest at the quiet honesty of them.

"I know," she said softly. "I felt it. You didn't pull away, AJ. You stayed." Her gaze dipped for a second, not out of shyness, but reverence. "i understand what you mean. I really do.”

She set her mug down, shifting slightly, crossing her leg over the other. "I wanted you too," she said, voice low and steady, the kind of tone that slid beneath the surface. "Still do.” She could feel her cheeks warming up. All she could do was offer a small smile and lower her gaze back to her sketch book. There was no denying the chemistry she felt with AJ. It was just a matter of time that they deepened their bond. Verena knew that if AJ had pushed to go further last night she would have gave in and let it happen. Not once did she even consider James.

When he stood, she watched him move, eyes catching on the way his fingers ghosted along the chair like a secret only she got to know. She exhaled slowly, feeling her pulse hum like low music beneath her skin.

At his suggestion, she rose too, barefoot like him, walking to his side. "And what would we do here if we stayed?" she asked, arching a brow, her voice laced with intrigue but edged with a touch of genuine wonder. Her lips curled thoughtfully. "I mean, I could draw," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the sketchpad still resting on the armchair, "but I could always do that anytime.”

Her hand found his waist, sliding around him slowly, deliberately, as she turned to face the view beyond the window. The city unfolded in layers before them—hazy buildings, winding rooftops, morning traffic just beginning to murmur in the distance. "The market street sounds perfect," she murmured, her voice lower now, more intimate, as if they were the only two people in the whole sunlit world. "But…" her lips tilted into a sly little smile, "I'm open to suggestions."

Before he could answer, she slipped into the narrow space between him and the glass. There was barely room for breath, let alone hesitation. Her body brushed against his—warm, languid, confidently close—and she looked up at him with a look that could quiet storms. Verena tilted her chin up, her lips parting just enough to press the softest kiss to his. It wasn't urgent, but it wasn't empty either.

She lingered for a moment, just a heartbeat longer than necessary, then pulled back with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Good morning," she said playfully, fingers lifting to run gently through his tousled hair. Her touch was lazy, indulgent, like she was committing the shape of him to memory. And then her gaze swept across his face again, slower this time—studying the lines softened by sleep, the quiet intensity still lingering in his eyes, the way the golden light caught along the edge of his cheekbone and made him look almost unreal. She smiled—genuine, quiet.

Then she leaned into him just a little more, her hands flattening against his chest. "If we stayed," she said, letting the idea settle into the space between them, "maybe we'd just… slow down. Let the morning keep us. You'd make more coffee, and I'd steal one of your shirts, and we'd stay barefoot until noon.” She suggested but then the idea of walking around the market street intrigued her again.

With a grin she kissed the corner of his mouth—quick, playful. "But hey," she said lightly and paused just enough to let the moment breathe, "if the market comes with croissants and fresh strawberries, I guess I can be persuaded."

She gave his hand a gentle tug, grounding and coaxing all at once. "Come on," she said, eyes sparkling. "Let's go collect stories in the sunlight. We can always come back here… later."

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ smiled as her lips left his skin, a breath of warmth and mischief lingering in their wake. He took a moment - one heartbeat, maybe two - to commit it all to memory: the way she stood close enough to make the morning hum, the way her kiss had felt like both invitation and restraint, the way she teased and grounded him in equal measure. He brushed a thumb across her knuckles where her hand curled around his, his voice low, still hoarse with sleep but threaded with something steadier. "Croissants and fresh strawberries, huh?" he murmured. "You drive a hard bargain."

Still barefoot, he stepped back just enough to reach for his shirt draped over the chair, slipping it on as he watched her gather the essentials with quiet elegance. There was a rhythm to her now - unrushed, fluid. They didn't need to say much more. Not in this moment. Everything worth saying was already coiled gently between them.

Once dressed, AJ took up his wallet and phone from the dresser, slipping them into the inner pocket of his blazer. "I've got meetings this afternoon," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Some client updates, and I promised our engineers a site review at two. But dinner's ours." He held her gaze, and something in his tone dipped lower.

Outside, the city pulsed with the rising tempo of the day, but AJ moved through it like it hadn't quite reached him yet. They walked slowly, hand in hand, their footsteps casual along the sidewalk as the streets began to thrum with the colour and scent of the market district. He could already smell the warm bread drifting from an open-air bakery, mingling with the tang of citrus, coffee, and street vendors hawking their wares in a symphony of chatter.

AJ watched her beside him, the way her gaze flicked from stall to stall, her lips parting slightly as she took in the crush of colour and life. And though the space around them grew louder - more vibrant, more alive - he never let go of her hand. If anything, he adjusted his grip slightly, anchoring them as they slipped into the current. They stopped at a stand that sold fresh honeycomb, amber shards glinting like jewels in the sun. AJ leaned in, his body brushing lightly against hers, the contact deliberate but subtle. "Used to have this as a kid," he said, eyes fixed on the sticky sweetness, "except I'd eat it straight from the comb, no bread, just pure sugar high and a scolding from my mum." He glanced sideways at her, his voice low enough to fall beneath the swell of morning bustle. "Bet you were the kind of kid who turned art projects into masterpieces and never coloured inside the lines."

They wandered next into a corner lined with blooms - peonies, roses, lavender bundles tied in twine. AJ paused as she admired a bouquet of soft ivory ranunculi, and without a word, he reached past her and bought a single stem. He handed it to her, eyes warm, voice quieter now. "Not to impress," he said. "Just… seemed to belong with you."

As they walked, AJ found himself learning the rhythm of her steps. The pauses she took when something caught her eye. The way her fingers brushed against textured pottery, trailing over worn book spines, how her eyes softened at the sight of a child laughing too loud or a dog chasing the scent of pastries. She absorbed the world in layers - and for the first time in a long time, AJ wasn't moving through it alone. He was with someone. Seeing through someone.

At a food stall draped in checkered cloth, they shared a paper tray of flaky croissants still warm from the oven. AJ watched as she tore hers carefully, fingertips dusted with powdered sugar. He brought a piece to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, then broke off another bit and offered it to her wordlessly. The exchange was easy, unspoken. The kind of intimacy that didn't demand declaration.

They sat on the low stone edge of a nearby fountain, the sunlight warming their knees, and AJ took a moment to lean back on his elbows, tilting his face to the sky. "You know," he said after a while, "this city feels different today. Like it's… slowing down for us. Or maybe we're just finally moving at the right pace." He turned to look at her, the corner of his mouth curving. "You've got that effect on things."

His watch buzzed faintly - a reminder of the time - and he sighed softly, reluctant but accepting. "I should head back soon. Get my notes in order before the meeting." He sat up straighter, brushing pastry crumbs from his shirt. "But tonight - I let you pick the place". His tone was light, but his eyes held something steadier beneath the question. A promise, almost. That he'd show up. Again and again.

He let the moment stretch, his hand lifting to brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek. His knuckles grazed her skin, his touch light but lingering. Then he kissed her - slow, warm, full of the kind of affection that didn't need to press forward to be full.

"I'll see you tonight," he said, voice rougher now, quieter. Then, with one last glance, AJ stepped back, letting his fingers slip from hers like a ribbon undone - but not lost. Not this time.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena moved easily beside him, steps light but purposeful, one hip brushing his as they walked through the market haze. The day, loud and alive around them, seemed to bend away just enough to leave space for them to breathe in it. Her fingers never left his. When he adjusted his grip, she answered with a gentle squeeze—silent, certain.

"I did turn my art projects into messes," she admitted at the honeycomb stall, eyes catching his sidelong glance with a glint. "But I made them feel like masterpieces, so the teachers stopped correcting me."

She took the single stem of ranunculus with a hush that felt sacred. Not because she needed flowers, but because he saw something and thought of her.

The fountain felt like a pause in the score. Her dress skimmed her knees as she sat, sunlight tracing her collarbone, pastry crumbs nestled at the corners of her mouth. She watched him lean back, something boyish in the angle of his smile and the lazy sprawl of his limbs.
"You do move differently now," she said, eyes not leaving him. "Like you're letting the world catch up to you instead of the other way around."

When he kissed her, she stilled. Not because she was surprised—but because she wanted to feel it with all of her. Every slow, careful second. Her hand touched his chest briefly, fingertips resting over his heart. Not to keep him, but to remember the rhythm.

"I'll pick the place," she whispered.

Then, as his fingers slipped away, she didn't chase them. Just smiled, still, like something golden and quiet had just settled between them. And when he was gone, she sat a little longer in the sun, the ranunculus still tucked behind her ear, and the city still moving just a touch slower.

The market in San Francisco had a rhythm all its own—a symphony of clinking glasses, distant buskers tuning guitars, vendors calling out specials in lyrical bursts of English, Spanish, and Cantonese. Verena slipped back into the current like a stone skimming water, light and deliberate. Her sandals made the faintest sound against the warm pavement as she drifted from one stall to the next, never in a hurry.

At a ceramic stand run by a woman with silver curls and hennaed hands, Verena paused, fingers grazing the rim of a hand-thrown bowl glazed in seafoam and ochre. The older woman watched her with a kind of quiet recognition."Made that one during a storm," the vendor offered. "The glaze did something unexpected." Verena smiled, tilting her head.
"Like it wanted to say something different."
"Exactly." A pause. "You looking for something in particular, or just letting the day lead?"Verena turned the bowl over in her hands, the weight of it grounding. "Just letting it lead."

She didn't buy the bowl. Not yet. But she left a thumbprint of warmth on its rim and a note in her mind to come back later. A few stalls down, the scent of tamarind and grilled corn wafted from a food cart where a man in a wide-brimmed hat carved fresh mango roses, sprinkling them with chili and lime. Verena accepted a skewer without question and handed over her payment for the item. The mango dripped juice onto her fingers as she walked, sweet and sharp on her tongue, and she wiped her hand on a linen napkin tucked into her bag.

She wandered into a narrow alley just off the main path, quieter here, shaded by stretched canvas and ivy-strewn balconies. A record shop leaned into the corner like it had been there since the '60s—inside, dust and vinyl swirled in golden shafts of light. She lingered by the window, then slipped in, the bell overhead giving a gentle chime.

Inside, the cool drawl of Alex Turner drifted through the air—sleek, louche, laced with cigarette smoke and clever regret. Verena traced the spines of the records until she found Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino. She lifted it out slowly, reading the title like a secret. There was something about the way he played with words—how he could make longing sound like an inside joke and seduction feel like philosophy. She didn't need to buy it. She already knew the songs. But holding the vinyl felt like touching part of the architecture of her own inner world.

The shopkeeper looked up from his crossword. "That album messes people up in the best way." Verena nodded, gaze still on the cover. "Every track feels like a late-night conversation you weren't supposed to hear."

She slipped it under her arm, paid for the item, and left with a smile—not showy, just sharp at the edges. Like the song was still playing behind her eyes.

Slowly she curled back to ceramic stall. It was just as she'd left it—anchored by sunlight and the quiet presence of the silver-haired woman still seated behind the table, shaping clay with steady hands. Verena paused before stepping in, letting her gaze rest once more on the bowl she hadn't stopped thinking about. Seafoam and ochre, as if it had been scooped from a tide pool just before the sky turned. The brush of her thumb had marked it before—she wondered if the woman had noticed.

This time, she picked it up with no hesitation.

The woman looked up, eyes soft but sharp. "Back for the storm?” Verena smiled, small and sure. "It wouldn't leave me alone."
The woman wiped her hands on a cloth, stood slowly. "That's how the good ones work. They haunt a little. Ask to be carried." She tilted her head, studying Verena like a pot she was still spinning into shape. "It's not just the color, is it?"

"No," Verena said, tracing the slight asymmetry in the bowl's rim. "It's the flaw. The way it held when it shouldn't have." A beat. The woman smiled then—wide and unguarded. "Then you're its person."
She wrapped the bowl in brown paper and cloth, careful and practiced, her movements slow but certain, like she was giving something over that mattered. When she handed it to Verena, their fingers brushed, and it felt like something unspoken passed between them. Not gratitude, exactly—recognition. Verena nodded, accepting the package like a gift rather than a purchase.

She walked away with the wrapped bowl tucked carefully against her side, its weight just enough to be known. Around her, the market buzzed with music, language, scent—but the sound fell to a hush in her mind. Not silence. Stillness.

For once, she didn't need to be anywhere else. Not until tonight.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stepped out into the sun-washed afternoon, one hand braced against the warehouse's rusted frame as if steadying himself between two worlds. Behind him, the old bones of the building - timber beams, steel joints, light-dappled concrete - still vibrated with the echoes of his conversation with the start-up founders. They were young, scrappy, full of ideas and caffeine. And for once, the chaotic energy didn't put him off. It pulled him in.

He had reviewed the building's plans dozens of times back in New York, poured over the structural reports, sketched reconfigurations - but it wasn't until now, standing inside the shell of the place, that the vision clicked into place. The warehouse was raw. Scarred with use. A little forgotten. But AJ could see it - how light would spill through the restored windows come morning, how the mezzanine could float like a ribbon of possibility overhead, how the exposed brick could be left honest and imperfect, textured by time rather than erased by modern gloss.

The founders had met him on-site, wide-eyed and brimming with conviction. They talked fast and overlapping, their ideas spilling out like a pitch in motion - flex spaces, sustainable materials, an open-floor plan with "soul." AJ listened more than he spoke at first, nodding occasionally, mapping their enthusiasm against the structural reality. Then he began to ask questions. Not challenges—cues. What did they want the space to feel like when people stepped in for the first time? What kind of work did they want to inspire? Where did people rest, collaborate, breathe?

They'd gone deeper than expected. Talked about the psychology of light. The necessity of quiet zones. A meditation nook above the server room. One of them laughed and said AJ didn't speak like an architect. He spoke like he was designing a feeling. AJ smiled. That was the point. The hours slipped. He hadn't even realized how much time had passed until the shadows stretched long across the raw floor and his phone vibrated in his pocket—subtle, insistent.

A glance at the time. Shit.

He turned to the founders, still in mid-discussion over the eco-friendly finishes.

"I've got to go," he said, voice calm but firm, pocketing his sketchbook. "Dinner plans."

They tried to coax him to stay - just one more idea, one more question - but AJ was already tucking the final pencil behind his ear and walking toward the exit, his stride long and unhurried but purposeful.

His thoughts began to rearrange the moment he stepped back onto the street. They moved from acoustics and load-bearing walls to sandalwood and linen. From ventilation flow to the way Verena's fingers had brushed the croissant flakes from his lips with a kind of casual reverence that had left him winded. She'd said she'd pick the place. He trusted her with that, just like he'd trusted her hand in his that morning, the weight of her gaze, the kiss she'd pressed to the corner of his mouth like a promise.

As the city swallowed him up again, AJ loosened the collar of his shirt and slid on his sunglasses. The sun was still high, but the heat had settled into something more golden than sharp. San Francisco had a rhythm he was only now learning to hear properly - half improvisation, half ritual.

He walked back toward the hotel, retracing steps they'd shared just hours earlier. Past the honeycomb vendor. Past the flower stand. Past a ceramic table he didn't linger at, though he noticed a bowl missing and smiled without knowing why. He thought of her standing barefoot by the window, sketchpad resting lightly against her thigh, and wondered how long it would take before his silhouette appeared on one of those pages - distorted and mythologized in graphite, maybe, but drawn with truth.

He thought of her voice - low, warm, the way she'd said still do - and it stirred something deeper than want.​

 

[Kita-san]

She stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in steam and stillness, her skin carrying the scent of rose water and something warmer—amber, maybe, with a touch of vanilla. Her hair was towel-dried and air-damp, already beginning to fall in loose waves. The city outside her window was shifting into something softer, more golden. A moment balanced perfectly between daylight and evening.

The outfit she'd laid across the bed earlier wasn't delicate. It was clean, sharp, with just enough recklessness. Black high-waisted jeans—fitted, with a subtle fray at the ankle—and a cropped silk camisole in deep bronze, the straps delicate but the shape unapologetically strong. She complimented the look with gold jewelry. Two bracelets, a couple rings and a simple dainty necklace. At the foot of the bed laid a pair of black leather heels, the kind that spoke in subtle lines rather than loud shine. They had a pointed toe, sleek and modern, with a 2.5-inch block heel—comfortable enough for city streets, stylish enough to anchor the silk and denim she would wear.

The design was minimal but clever: thin crisscrossing straps wrapped across the top of the foot and buckled just above the ankle with a small matte gold clasp. The straps weren't just functional—they would frame the arch of her foot like negative space in a sculpture. The leather was soft but structured, matte rather than glossy, giving the whole shoe an architectural feel—feminine, but never delicate.

Verena knew that AJ would be returning soon so she quickly began to finish getting ready.
Her makeup was less defiant tonight. She kept her skin luminous and clean, her lips a muted rose, eyes warm and subtly defined with copper and taupe—just enough to catch the light. A soft glow along her cheekbones, like she'd just stepped out of golden hour. Not made-up. Just seen.

After finishing her makeup—soft and deliberate, each stroke like the punctuation of a sentence she'd been thinking about all day—Verena leaned closer to the mirror and turned her attention to her hair. The waves had fallen into their usual pattern, a little unruly from the steam, a little too much like who she was when no one was looking. She brushed them out slowly, watching her reflection shift with each pass—familiar and unfamiliar, all at once.

She reached for the curl cream, working it through the lengths with careful fingers, scrunching and defining until the shape found its rhythm again. This wasn't vanity—it was preparation. A kind of ritual. The way dancers stretched before going on stage. The wild edges of her hair weren't unwelcome, but tonight she wanted control. Not perfection. Just clarity.

She stood for a moment in the soft hum of the bathroom light, wearing only her sleek black bra and matching seamless thong, the kind of underthings meant more for comfort but still could be used for seduction. Once she exited the bathroom she moved to the full-length mirror, adjusting her earrings watching her reflection not with critique but recognition. This was how she wanted to be seen tonight: composed, warm, sharp where it counted. Not chasing anything. Just showing up.

She thought of AJ again—how his hands had moved through the market that morning, thoughtful and tactile. The way he looked at the city like it was a blueprint unfolding just for him. And how he'd looked at her—like she was something real, not romanticized. She exhaled through her nose, slow, and turned to slip on her black jeans.

She picked Penny Roma for dinner—down in the Mission, tucked behind a quiet stretch of 20th Street. It wasn't showy, but it didn't need to be. The space was equal parts brick and candlelight, filled with the scent of garlic oil and fresh pasta, the buzz of conversation, the thrum of music you felt more than heard. The kind of place where people leaned in closer. Where time moved in half-steps. She had felt spoiled last night and didn’t feel the need to go anywhere fancy. She just wanted a fun atmosphere and good food.

Now, slipping on her silk camisole and catching her own reflection again, Verena thought of AJ's eyes when she'd said still do. Not startled. Not smug. Just still. Like he'd heard it with more than his ears. Like he understood exactly what she'd meant—and what she hadn't said out loud. She smiled to herself, soft and private. Still do, she thought again.

And tonight, she'd let the rest of that sentence finish itself. Tonight wasn't about declarations. It wasn't about proving anything.
It was about presence. About letting the moment be enough. And trusting that the right things would follow, one course at a time.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ entered the hotel suite just as the last rays of the sun slanted through the tall windows, casting amber streaks across the floor. The room smelled faintly of her - rosewater and something deeper, richer. He paused mid-step, the door closing softly behind him.

Then he saw her. And everything in him slowed.

There she stood by the mirror, fastening one last earring, unaware - or perhaps entirely aware - of the effect she had on him. Bronze silk kissed the line of her collarbone, the fabric catching the light in waves. Her high-waisted black jeans curved in all the right places, legs long and poised in heels that looked more like sculpture than footwear. The loose waves of her hair framed her face in a way that made her look half siren, half storybook secret, and all real.

AJ didn't speak right away. He couldn't. His eyes travelled the length of her, not hungrily, but reverently. He felt like someone standing at the edge of a painting that made silence sacred.

"Fuck," he breathed under his breath - too quiet to be performative, too honest to be anything but awe. Then his face broke into a grin, the kind that spread slowly across his features, warm and unguarded. "You look…" He let the sentence fall, as if anything more would only diminish the truth of it.

She turned then, and their eyes locked. That was enough.

AJ crossed the space between them in just a few steps, cupping her face gently in his hands as he leaned down and kissed her - not out of obligation or habit, but like he'd been waiting all day for just this exact moment. His lips moved slow over hers, savouring rather than claiming, lingering just long enough to let her know he'd felt every ounce of her absence in the hours they'd spent apart. When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers, his smile still intact.

"Give me ten minutes," he murmured. "Fifteen if I lose the battle with my collar."

Then he stepped away, reluctantly, grabbing his clean clothes from his bag - charcoal slacks and a pale blue button-down, fresh and pressed, the sleeves already folded at the cuffs for ease. He disappeared into the bathroom with the soft click of the door.

Steam filled the room within minutes, the hot spray of the shower easing away the ache in his shoulders. His mind, however, was not so easily scrubbed clean. It lingered on her - on the way she'd looked when he walked in, on the memory of her fingers in his hair that morning, on the way she kissed like it was her idea, not his. He dried off quickly and pulled on the clean clothes, threading each button slowly, trying to stay focused. But the anticipation was electric. The night felt like it held a promise - unspoken but present. Not pressure. Not performance. Just presence. Like she'd said without saying it: we don't have to be anything but exactly who we are. Still towelling his hair dry, he stepped back into the suite barefoot, shoes dangling from one hand. "Okay," he said, meeting her gaze again. "Ready. Unless you need five more minutes to critique my collar situation."

He slipped on his loafers, tucked in his shirt, then approached her again, reaching for her hand. He turned it over in his, brushing his thumb across her palm as if grounding himself. "Penny Roma?" he asked, catching the subtle satisfaction on her face as he said it. "You have excellent taste. And I'm not just talking about pasta."

They headed toward the elevator, her heels a soft staccato beside his longer strides. In the mirrored interior, AJ caught their reflection. They looked good together - clean lines, warm tones, a quiet kind of magnetism. He didn't stare. He didn't need to. Her presence next to him was already felt in every part of him. In the cab, the city unfolded around them like it had been waiting all day to be part of this night. AJ kept one hand resting on her knee - light, familiar, not demanding. Just there. Just enough.

He glanced over at her, unable to keep the grin from tugging at his mouth. "So, if I told you I missed you more than I expected today… would that sound casual or completely ridiculous?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He already knew the truth of it. As they pulled up to the restaurant, AJ reached for the door, then paused. "I think tonight's going to be good," he said simply. "Not because of the wine or the food or the playlist in the background - but because I'm sitting across from you. And that's more than enough."

Then he stepped out and offered her his hand. The street was alive with soft neon and city noise, but AJ's world narrowed to the brush of her fingers and the quiet certainty that, whatever this was - it was worth staying present for.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena didn't hear the door open.

She was too busy muttering to herself about the way her waves always decided to misbehave at the last minute. She stood by the full-length mirror gently messing with her waves. She was completely ready, heels and all.

"Just cooperate," she whispered to a wayward piece of hair near her temple, gently tucking it behind her ear before absolutely not liking it behind her ear. She ended up running her hands through her waves, bracing the natural way they fell. This was her. She gave herself a once-over, shifting her weight onto one leg, then the other. The bronze silk top shimmered under the honey-colored light from the windows, and the high-waisted black jeans—the ones she'd almost talked herself out of—hugged her like they were on her side tonight.

She leaned in to the mirror and scrunched her nose at her reflection. "Okay, you tried," she said with a soft little shrug, smoothing her top and reaching for her lip gloss again—not because she needed more, but because it gave her something to do while she waited.
What she didn't know was that AJ had already walked in. That he was standing there, completely still, looking at her like she was the quiet part of a song people stopped breathing to hear.

She turned only when she caught movement behind her in the reflection. The second her eyes landed on him, her expression lit up—soft and surprised, like he was a perfectly timed breeze. Before she could say anything he was already closing the distance between them. He kissed her, and her hands found his shirt automatically, fingertips curling against the fabric like they'd missed it. Like they'd missed him.

When he pulled back and said he needed ten minutes, maybe fifteen, she gave him a teasing smile and nodded her head. “Alright. No problem.” She couldn’t stop smiling.
Once the door clicked shut, Verena let herself laugh quietly and made her way over to shared lounge area. She sat on the couch and patiently waited for AJ to get ready. Easily her mind drifted to him and what he might be wearing.

She almost felt a bit nervous, like a middle schooler who had just gotten the right kind of attention. She told herself to chill. To act normal. Then promptly got up to re-check her her hair. Again.

When AJ finally emerged from the bathroom looking effortlessly handsome and slightly damp. Her eyes lingered on his collar—perfect—and the way his sleeves were rolled, and the clean scent of soap and something warm beneath it.

“Your collar is just fine.” She said as she approached him, adjusting it just a bit before leaving the suite with him.

"So you’re ok with the restaurant I picked? I’ve never been to it but it seemed pretty nice by the pictures and had great reviews.” Verena had tried her best to find a nice restaurant of course. She loved pasta so she was hoping this would be a good place for that.

In the elevator, she pretended not to notice the way his fingers brushed hers again and again, or the way their reflections caught the light together. But in the cab, when he placed his hand gently on her knee, she felt her entire nervous system nod in approval.

And when he said he missed her? She felt her heart become full, it raced a bit and there was undeniable excitement and understanding since she had felt the same way today.

The cab door clicked shut behind them as Verena and AJ stepped out into the golden hush of a San Francisco evening. The Mission's warmth had settled in—a soft, citrusy breeze weaving past the buildings, carrying the scent of fresh basil, baking sourdough, and something smoky from a food truck down the block. Penny Roma stood tucked just behind an iron gate, its entrance modest, almost secretive, like it had nothing to prove. Verena liked that about it immediately.

Twinkle lights looped above the courtyard like scattered constellations, their glow catching in the leaves of potted olive trees that framed the brick pathway. Inside, shadows and laughter danced together over glasses of Barbera and wide bowls of handmade pasta. It wasn't fancy. It was intentional—warm, earthy, and quietly full of magic.

AJ's hand slid to the small of her back as they moved toward the gate, a touch light but familiar, and she tilted her head slightly toward him, letting herself feel it. She didn't speak right away. She didn't need to. The closeness between them had settled into something that didn't require narration. It just was.

The hostess greeted them with an easy smile, confirming their reservation before leading them past the soft clatter of silverware and the murmur of voices layered like a favorite vinyl track—crackling, warm, alive. They were seated near the open window overlooking the courtyard, where vines curled like ink across the pane and the glow of outdoor heaters bathed the space in coppery warmth.

Verena eased into her chair. Her silk top shimmered briefly as she sat, catching the candlelight that flickered in its tiny glass on the table between them. She rested her hands on the edge of the table, fingers lightly interlaced, and let her eyes wander over AJ as he took his seat.

His sleeves were rolled, his jaw still slightly shadowed from the day. Verena felt it again then—that little shift in her chest. Not the nervous flutter she used to confuse with affection, but something steadier, deeper. She was used to noticing people. Framing them, studying them. But AJ made her feel noticed back, seen in ways that didn't demand performance. She liked that he didn't rush past the quiet moments. That his silences weren't empty but full of things he didn't say just to say them. She liked that when he touched her, it wasn't to take—it was to remind her: I'm here.

"You clean up well," she said, eyes flicking over him in that half-playful, half-curious way.
As the server poured water and handed over the menus, Verena stole another glance at him. The candle flickered between them, its reflection caught in his glass and the faint gleam of his cuff button. He looked relaxed now. Present. Like he didn't want to be anywhere else.

At Penny Roma, the menu read like a love letter to Italian comfort—with a modern, California twist. Verena let her fingers drift over the thick paper, eyes catching on ingredients that made her mouth water and her curiosity lean forward.

“These two sound amazing for an appetizer. The Crudo di Pesce.” She read from the menu. “ Thin slices of local halibut, dressed in lemon oil and a whisper of Calabrian chili, finished with shaved fennel and soft herbs. It shimmered on the plate like glass, delicate and bright. Or the Burrata: Creamy and cool, nestled on a bed of roasted Delicata squash and topped with pomegranate seeds and toasted hazelnuts. Sweet met savory, silk met crunch.” Verena eyes wondered to AJ. “Your opinion please?” She asked.

Her smile, soft and certain, said what she was still keeping to herself:

This isn't just dinner. It's you. And I'm exactly where I want to be.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ leaned back slightly in his chair, the leather creaking just a touch beneath him, eyes flicking between the menu and Verena's expectant gaze. But mostly her. He took a slow sip of water before answering, if only to give himself a moment to enjoy the view across the table. The candlelight played tricks - casting shadows that kissed her collarbone and shimmered over the bronze silk of her top. He couldn't help but grin.

"Well," he said, voice low but teasing, "the halibut sounds like it was written by someone halfway in love with food." He nodded thoughtfully, tapping the edge of the menu. "But I think the burrata has my vote. Something about that combination - creamy, sweet, a little crunch - it feels like... I don't know, balance. Layers."

His smile tilted, that half-smirk he didn't mean to wear but always did when something about her got to him. Which, lately, was most things. AJ set the menu down, fingers steepled lightly in front of him. "Also, if I'm being honest," he added, eyes narrowing playfully, "I think you just like saying 'whisper of Calabrian chili.' Sounded a little too sensual for a menu read."

The grin she gave him - subtle, knowing - only made it worse. He leaned forward just enough to drop his voice another note. "You're dangerous when you talk about food like that."

Their server returned to take the order, and AJ deferred the appetizer choice with a small motion of his hand toward Verena, trusting her judgment without hesitation. Once their mains were selected - he'd gone with the rigatoni with pork sugo, something rustic and rich - AJ relaxed into his seat, the tension of the day slowly peeling off him. His mind wandered briefly back to the warehouse, to the texture of old brick and the echo of possibility in that space. The startup founders had been passionate, maybe even brilliant, and AJ had gotten caught up in it - seeing what the building could become, what life it could hold. But even as he stood there among blueprints and exposed beams, he had felt her absence tugging at him. Like a note left hanging in the wrong key. Now, watching her trace her finger absently along the stem of her wine glass, he knew why.

"This is nice," he said after a long pause - not filling silence, just acknowledging it. "I think I forget sometimes how good it is to just… sit with someone like this. No rush. No pitch deck in my hand."

He glanced down, swirling the deep red of his Barbera before taking a sip. The wine was bold, but not showy - just enough warmth and grit to remind him why he liked Italian reds. He met her gaze again, softer now.

"You know," he said slowly, "I've been around a lot of people who talk too much and say too little. But with you…" His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to find the right words. "Even when we're not saying anything, it still feels like something's happening." His thumb brushed the base of his wine glass, thoughtful. "You're not trying to impress anyone. And maybe that's what's impressive." He reached across the table without thinking, fingers curling briefly around hers - no pressure, just contact. Just the affirmation that, yes, he was here. And not going anywhere.

When the appetizers arrived, AJ sat back and let her plate the portions, watching her movements with something more than casual interest. He liked how precise she was without being stiff, how she appreciated beauty but didn't perform it. Every gesture felt real. Every glance carried intention. He took a bite of the burrata, letting the contrast of textures settle on his tongue before nodding slowly, decisively. "You chose right." Then, glancing at her again with a flicker of amusement: "And not just the cheese."

The conversation drifted between bites - sometimes light and fast, sometimes slow and shaded with honesty. He told her a bit more about the project, about how rare it was to work with clients who weren't afraid to dream. "You'd like them," he said at one point. "Young, a little reckless, completely obsessed with getting it right." Then, more quietly: "Reminds me of someone."

When the mains arrived, he dug into his rigatoni with the kind of hunger that could only come from being too busy to eat all day. "Jesus," he muttered around the first bite. "I think this plate just fixed at least three of my life problems." The way she laughed - not big or loud, but deeply amused - made something settle in his chest. He watched her eat, watched the light shift over her face, and thought for a moment how easy it would be to make a habit out of this. Out of her.

The night lengthened, wine glasses refilled, the candle flickered lower. The conversation never faltered, not once. It moved like a river, sometimes fast, sometimes a slow curl, but always forward. When the check came, AJ reached for it instinctively, but didn't make a show of it. No bravado, no obligatory gestures. Just care. Consideration.

He stood, offering his hand to her again like they hadn't already touched a hundred times that day. But this was different. This was after. After the meal. After the sharing. After the quiet truths neither of them had to say aloud. As they stepped out into the night again, cooler now, he exhaled slowly. Not out of exhaustion - but contentment.​

 

[Kita-san]

As they stepped out of Penny Roma, the buzz of the restaurant dimming behind them, Verena let the night air curl around her like silk—cool, fragrant with eucalyptus and the faintest hint of garlic trailing from the kitchen door. Her heels clicked softly against the sidewalk, and beside her, AJ matched her pace without a word, his hand brushing close enough to feel like a question.

She glanced over, a soft smile playing at her lips. "That tortelloni might be the best decision I've made all week," she said, her voice humorous. The best decision she has made was to come on this trip with AJ. "Pumpkin, browned butter, sage, a little black garlic—just the right amount of sweetness without being too precious." She gave him a look, teasing but not sharp. "Which, you know… says a lot. I'm not usually a 'pumpkin pasta' kind of person." She paused a beat.

The meal had been quieter than their usual rhythm, but not lacking for substance. The kind of dinner where conversation flowed between longer silences, the comfortable kind—where no one felt the need to fill every gap. Verena had spent more time than she expected watching the way AJ listened, how he nodded when something landed, how he held space without trying to steer the evening.

"You know," she said as they turned onto a quieter street, "I forget how much I appreciate nights like this. No performance. No crowd to navigate. Just… good food, good company, and the freedom to breathe a little."

The fog was settling now in soft ribbons, curling low around parked cars and fire hydrants. "I'm glad you invited me," Verena said softly, her voice carrying just enough weight to let him know she meant it. She glanced sideways at AJ, her gaze holding his for a moment longer than casual. The space between them was quiet, but not empty—thick with everything that hadn't needed to be said over dinner, everything that had built in the pauses, and the shared glances.

They walked a few more steps down the fog-laced street, the city settling around them like a blanket. The kind of silence that wrapped around you without pressing down. Then, gently, she bumped her shoulder against his. A quiet nudge, but deliberate. Her way of saying I'm here, I see you, and I don't want to leave just yet.

Verena slowed, something in her chest catching up to the moment before her feet did. She came to a stop beneath a streetlamp, the gold light brushing soft edges along her face. AJ stopped a few steps ahead, sensing the shift. He turned, his eyes already searching hers, and she didn't hesitate. Not this time.

She closed the space between them, slowly but without question, and rose just enough to kiss him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't showy. It was real—the kind of kiss that doesn't need permission because it's been building, quietly, all evening. Her hand lightly touched his arm, just to ground herself, as if anchoring the moment so it wouldn't drift away too soon.

And when she pulled back, it wasn't with distance—it was with intention. Her eyes found his again, steady and warm, the faintest smile curling at her lips like she was still holding something tender between them.

"I've been thinking about that since the second course," she said quietly, then let out a small, almost breathless laugh. "But the timing felt better now.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, a gesture more out of habit than anything else, then looked back toward the quiet street ahead.

"There's that gelato spot on Valencia," she said, her voice lighter now, like the kiss had untied a knot somewhere inside her. "If we're not totally committed to digesting in silence. I heard they've got a black sesame flavor that's worth walking for."

She glanced at him again, a little playful this time, but still open. Honest.

"Unless you've got a better idea," she added, nudging his hand with hers, not grabbing, just… offering. "I'm open."