HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LAURIE aka @disastergirl !!!! I hope it is absolutely fantastic because you are incredible and the sweetest and deserve all the best!!!
to
celebrate, here’s a little bit of a modern AU based on 11:11 by
Arkells. I just loved the imagery of the song and couldn’t get the idea
of CS with it out of my head. (couldn’t get the song out, either…but
it’s cute!)
Hope you have a beautiful day, just like you!!!!
It maybe wasn’t the classiest place, but there was a reason Killian kept coming back to that bar: it wasn’t a dump, it had good music, and, on the nights he felt like company, he was more apt to find someone to his liking there than he would at a higher-end joint.
Tonight, though, he was content to people watch. It was also good for that.
On rock nights, there were any number of metalheads raging, and they often put his modest amount of eyeliner to shame.
On electronic nights, he swore he saw colors he didn’t know existed—and some of the more strung-out patrons probably did, too.
Even on nights like tonight, with a nondescript Northern European-looking deejay spinning remixes, he could see all manner of people out for a night on the town: some meeting friends, some making friends.
In particular, one set of girls had caught his eye. They were near the stage, attention often diverting to the deejay, who kept winking at them. One was brunette and covered in red; the other was blonde and wearing a crown and a black dress. The brunette had clearly dragged her friend out, but they seemed to be having fun, laughing and dancing. He nursed his rum and tried to look elsewhere, to catch something else of interest in the crowd, but his eyes kept going back to her.
Eventually, the brunette dragged the blonde off the floor and to the other side of the U-shaped bar, taking seats across from him as they placed their drink order. The blonde caught her breath while the brunette pulled out her phone. He couldn’t help but hear the lass’s shout.
“Ahh, it’s 11:11! Emma, you have to make a wish!”
“Ruby, no.”
“But it’s your birthday!”
That exact phrase had been pulled on Emma no more than three times tonight. Apparently, because it’s your birthday was reason enough to get dolled up, wear a silly plastic tiara, and get dragged to the club where Ruby’s boyfriend was currently deejaying. It’s not that she wasn’t having fun, but she would have been equally content to stay in with some pizza and pastries and drink wine until they sobbed over The Notebook.
“Ugh, fine. I wish I’d stayed home tonight!”
“That’s not how it works and you know it,” she admonished as their shots arrived. “Here,” she said as she forced one of the glasses into Emma’s hand before lifting hers in a toast. “To birthday wishes!”
Emma tipped her head back and downed the shot—birthday cake-flavored, of course—and kept her eyes shut as she swallowed. She’d never tell Ruby, but she did make a wish.
It All Starts With a Dance 