In two days, Arthur and Arabella are yet to text or call each other. They've wanted to, of course, but he remains too shy and she'll always be stubborn.

That's not important, though. What matters is the fact their phones now contain each other's numbers and, even better, they'll be seeing each other tonight. Like, an actual planned meet-up. (Or, as most people would call it, a date.)

Just because she's not texting Arthur, it doesn't mean Arabella's phone is dead. In fact, it buzzes just as she's picking up her curling wand.

hey what u up to tonight? x

: i got myself a date ;)

: OMG who?? do i know them?? x

: remember the cute guy in goal at that hockey game? x

: you're going out with Morgenstern?? wow have fun and tell me all the details! x

Meanwhile, Arabella isn't the only one with friends invested in her date. In a house similar to her own, less than a kilometre away, Arthur is in his bedroom with Brynn.

"What jacket should I wear?" he asks, holding up two jackets, one leather and one denim, to his chest.

Brynn tilts her head to the side, pondering. "Leather. It gives off a sort-of badass vibe and girls love a bad boy... or so I'm told."

Arthur snorts. "Yeah, because clearly I'm a total badass. I mean, it only took me like eight attempts to muster the courage to ask her out."

Unlike Arabella, who at that very moment is frantically attempting to curl her hair and apply mascara simultaneously, Arthur has to do very little to get ready. He runs a hand through his slightly damp hair, the dark gold wisps already beginning to curl as they dry from his shower, and sprays a dash of aftershave and then he's set.

Or, at least, his appearance is ready. Of course, because this is Arthur, his nerves are all over the place.

"What if she doesn't like me?" he says, chewing on his bottom lip.

Brynn rolls her eyes and for a moment it reminds him of Arabella, causing his stomach to somersault.

"God, Arthur, you're so lame," she scoffs. "Obviously she likes you! Do you not remember how relieved she was when she found out we weren't actually dating?"

He laughs as Brynn mimes gagging. After he'd told her what Arabella had said that time in the bar, Brynn had been hysterical for about five minutes straight.

"I still can't believe she thought that!" she exclaims. "I don't even like boys, let alone you!"

Arthur feigns offence. "Are you saying you wouldn't want to go out with this?" He elaborates with a gesture to his body. Brynn stands up from where she's sprawled on his bed and shoves his shoulder.

"You're such a dork, sometimes I do wonder what someone as hot as Arabella sees in you." She glances at her watch. "But you better get going or you'll be late, and that is not the kind of first impression you want to be making."

As he stares out the window of the passenger side of Brynn's car, Arthur thinks about that. Because really, this isn't going to be Arabella's first impression of him at all, not even close.

♡

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," Arabella murmurs under her breath.

This is her third attempt to call Catarina, and if she doesn't answer this time then she might just scream.

At last, the dial tone cuts off with a "Hey!" from somebody whose voice has a heavy Southern accent - definitely not Catarina.

"Um, is Cat there?" Arabella asks.

She's already leaving the house and the walk to the restaurant is only a few minutes; she doesn't have time for this.

"Who's calling?" the stranger replies.

"It's Arabella."

There's a brief pause, in which Arabella starts walking down the sidewalk. She's shivering; deciding against wearing her warmer coat was a mistake. Then, she hears the person on the other end of the line yelling away from the receiver. She catches the muffled word "sister" and feels slightly proud that Cat has told her friends about her.

There's some scuffling then "Hello, Bella?"

Arabella exhales heavily, smiling. "Cat, at last!"

"Bella, I was waiting for you to call. But then Hayley took my phone and --" Her words are tripping over each other and slurring together.

"Are you drunk?"

Arabella hears laughter. Suddenly it occurs to her that her sister has her on loud speaker, and that she's in a room full of people

"I'm at college - what did you expect?"

She's already almost reached the restaurant - a posh pizza place that opened recently. "I was just going to say I've got a date, like, now. With Arthur. But it doesn't matter, I'll tell you later."

The person she initially spoke to, Hayley, she presumes, calls out then. "Wait, you're finally going out with that kid you kept bumping into? Good for you girl!"

Arabella laughs but doesn't bother mustering a reply; she's just reached the restaurant and can see Arthur through the sleek glass doors. He looks taller than ever, talking to one of the staff and gesturing elegantly with his hands. She glances at her shoes in a sudden moment of nerves, unaware that Arthur is currently discussing his nervousness with the waitress.

"I - I've got to go," Arabella says into the phone, ending the call and slipping it into her purse without taking her eyes off her date.

The restaurant is modern and stylish - the kind of place that middle class twenty-somethings go to drink wine and pick at salads, or old guys take their trophy wives for an anniversary meal. In other circumstances, Arabella might wrinkle her nose at the place and label it snobbish. But when Arthur suggested "that fancy new place I heard does really good pizza", she couldn't resist. Of course, she'd been out for food with guys before, but they never spoiled her like this.

When the glass doors slide open automatically and Arabella steps through, Arthur spins around jerkily to look. When he sees her, with her heart shaped face framed by dark, loose curls and in a white dress that brushes the floor, his heart lurches. When she sees him, properly, with nothing in the way, she smiles to herself.

"I assume this is your date?" the waitress suddenly chips in, before the pair have a chance to speak. They nod, the initial wonder-struck feeling still lingering, both feeling a small surge of glee at being referred to as each other's dates. "Well, what a beautiful couple you make." She winks, giggling, then gestures to the table by the window.

Coincidentally (as though Arthur and Arabella's story wasn't full of enough coincidences already), there's a grand piano next to it. The black surface shines in the street lights streaming in through the window; even Arabella, who can't play it, is tempted.

"Here's your menus," says the waitress, constantly glancing between the two of them. "I'll be over in a few minutes for your orders."

Then she leaves them, rushing to another table. Arthur looks down at Arabella, and Arabella looks up at Arthur, and suddenly they're laughing. Just like that, the nerves and the awkwardness disappear. They're going to be okay.

"You look... unequivocally breathtaking," Arthur says, voice low and sincere.

Blushing - literally blushing, what has this boy done to her? - Arabella replies, "The same could be said about you, Arthur."

They sit down, Arthur realising a moment too late that he should have pulled out her chair, and start looking at the menus. Their hearts are pounding and they minds are buzzing with possibilities of things to say, but neither would have it any other way.

♡

"So," Arabella starts as she places her knife and fork together on her plate. Not that they've been used; they decided that the pizza was indeed good, too good in fact to waste time with cutlery. So they ate it slice by slice with their hands, giggling like school kids at the strings of cheese with every bite and ignoring the startled looks from nearby diners. "Tell me all about yourself."

"Bit upfront," he comments, winking at her in a way that makes her question what the hell took them so long.

"It's just... it's like I know you but at the same time, you're a stranger. I've never been on a date with a sort-of-stranger before."

Arthur nods. Arabella can't take her eyes off him: his cheekbones, his eyes, his hands, his jaw, his lips. Thankfully, the not-so-sly glances have been returned just as often. Then, as he seems to have done so many times already, he takes her by surprise.

"I know what you mean; it reminds me of a line from this Taylor Swift song: the delicate beginning rush, the feeling you can know so much, without knowing anything at all," he half-sings it softly, tapping his right hand lightly against the table, and internally Arabella feels herself falling slowly.

Externally, she raises an eyebrow and says, "You like Taylor Swift?"

Arthur shrugs, blushing. "Yeah. A guilty pleasure kinda thing, only I try not to feel so secretive. I don't think you should feel guilty about liking something, just because people try to tell you it's embarrassing."

"I get that," Arabella says. "I'm actually a bit of a secret One Direction fan, except I won't tell anyone - well, other than you, apparently. I think it's pretty brave, to not be embarrassed."

He laughs, then. "Believe me, Arabella. I get embarrassed about plenty of things. I probably have enough embarrassment and awkwardness for the both of us."

"Well," she giggles. (Yes, giggles. Why has she turned to mush?) "You are a bit awkward. I mean, it only took you, what, five meetings before you got my number?"

Then, Arabella's playful laughter stops. Arthur panics suddenly, wondering what the hell he managed to do wrong. Until he sees that her eyes are focused on the piece of paper sticking out of the front pocket of his jacket. It must have been dislodged when he reached for his phone.

When he'd just successfully asked the girl of his dreams out and he couldn't stop smiling, this seemed like the perfect idea. It was romantic, plus it's a whole lot easier to use a songwriter's words instead of his own. Now, with Arabella eyeing him slightly warily, it seems like the stupidest idea in the world.

"What's that?" she asks, pointing, curious.

"Oh, just something, I dunno, a bit dumb." He scratches back of his head, shrugging.

A soft smile creeps into Arabella's lips. "Is it for me?"

"Yeah," Arthur says, admitting defeat as he pulls it out and passes it to her.

It's a small white envelope, with a small, simple 'A' written on the front in dark green ink. Arabella's fingers make swift work of tearing it open, pulse thrumming in her fingertips.

She tugs out a sheet of white lined paper, covered in scrawls of looping handwriting in the same coloured ink.

earless - Taylor Swift

ne - Ed Sheeran

eady - Kodaline

lready Yours - Bahamas

oman Holiday - Halsey

tlas Hands - Benjamin Francis Leftwich

right - Echosmith

nchanted - Taylor Swift

ike Real People Do - Hozier

et Me In - Grouplove

rabella - Arctic Monkeys

Arabella's eyes scan over the words once, twice, then after a brief glance up at her date, for a third time. His eyes are flitting everywhere but her face; it's only when she says his name that he finally meets her eye.

"You made me a playlist?" she asks quietly.

"I was going to make a proper mixtape, y'know, like in those eighties movies," Arthur admits. "But then I realised that literally nobody has cassette players nowadays. Technology totally ruins potential romantic gestures."

Arabella laughs. "So, no standing outside my bedroom holding a boombox over your head tonight?"

Referencing a movie that's over a quarter of century old is a bit of a risk; if misunderstood it could potentially kill the atmosphere. But, thankfully, Arthur just shakes his head, one corner of his mouth quirked into a smile, and says, "Unfortunately, I also lack young John Cusack's charm and handsome looks."

"Hey, stop being so modest," Arabella replies, then tilts her chin up ostentatiously. "In fact, I think your little playlist was a very romantic gesture."

After ordering desert (a large chocolate ice cream sundae, with two spoons), Arabella nods towards the grand piano beside them.

"You know," she says, leaning forwards with her elbows on the table. "I've never actually seen you play. Got anything up your sleeve?"

Arthur grins and stands up and starts examining the piano, causing their waitress to rush towards them, asking if everything is okay.

"May I play your piano, please?" Arthur asks, polite in a way that makes Arabella swoon. (Not that she'd admit it, of course.)

The waitress lowers her voice. "That depends on if you're any good. We've had some alcohol-fuelled disasters occur at that piano. Only the very best can play it, especially if the restaurant is busy like tonight."

"Well, I don't know if I'm the best," Arthur responds, self confidence visibly dwindling.

"Yes, he is." Arabella's voice, sharp and assertive as always, joins the conversation.

Arthur glances towards her and flashes a small smile, which she reciprocates. He wonders how he got so lucky.

The waitress concedes and returns to her post, but continues to eye them warily. Arthur sits down and cracks his knuckles, making Arabella wince (but, hey, nobody's perfect).

Then, he begins to play and she couldn't care less about any of his bad habits. The music is soft and slow at first, then begins to build to something more haunting, more ethereal. She watches with fascination as Arthur's fingers fly across the keys, as elegant and beautiful as the melody he is creating. Arthur himself has his eyes shut, lost in what he's doing. It's only when he reaches the chorus that she realises the song he's woven into the seemingly improvised melody he started with.

Of course, it's Arabella by the Arctic Monkeys.

Something tells her that this will be one of those moments that she'll be reminisce on for years into her future.

When he finishes playing and opens his eyes wide, Arthur looks so young and innocent and gorgeous that she stands up from her seat and starts clapping. A few people in the vicinity, who'd been enjoying his music too, join in with the applause. It spreads like wildfire, until the entire restaurant is alive with the sound of it, like rain smattering against a window.

Arthur shifts his gaze from the other diners towards his date, and that's it. Arabella moves swiftly across the small space between them and, without hesitation, reaches up to curl her fingers around the nape of his neck. Everyone else may as well be non-existent as their eyes remain locked. Arthur gently places one of his hands in the curve of her back and the other rests on her cheek. Just like every moment together since they met, they are drawing each other closer.

The moment their lips brush, the applause in the room resonates louder. She tastes of her mint flavoured chapstick and his heartbeat thumps loudly in his ears. The kiss, like their relationship so far, is breathless and lingering - a taste of what's to come.

They separate as they grin against each other's lips, then turn to see the waitress holding their dessert and looking impossibly uncomfortable, and dissolve into laughter.

To an onlooker, the giggling, glowing couple are unrecognisable to the detached, insouciant girl and the anxious, clueless boy who met not so long ago. It's no wonder Arthur and Arabella's fates were so inextricably intertwined; they were always bound to bring out the best in each other.

♡♡♡