Strangers in the Night

by StoryDweller

Summary:

Love was just a glance away, a warm embracing dance away.

Notes:

This is just a fluffy Erwin Smith x Reader fanfic which has been stuck in my mind for a while.

Hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading! （˶′◡‵˶）

It wasn’t as if you were naive enough to believe that he would come back. And to be rather honest with yourself, you didn’t want him to.  A man that mostly talked about himself, his job, his dog and his digestive problems is not necessarily someone you want to spend a night with or – god forbid – your life. Never mind the wasted effort you put into your outfit and your hair.

Sighing, you looked out onto the water of the river below your feet, the city lights being reflected in it. How clichéd it was. A lone woman standing on a bridge and staring into the dark night after a failed date with a man whose name you couldn’t even remember anymore. But you had no problem with being on your own. You were used to it after all.

There was laughter and the pleasant buzz of ongoing conversations. Right next to the bridge was a small Italian café with small tables and even smaller chairs placed in front of it. Candles flickering on every table, slightly illuminating pretty faces smiling at each other and all you felt was longing stinging in your chest. You turned back to the water and leaned onto the railing of the bridge. You didn’t want to go home into your empty apartment yet. All that was waiting for you there was an overfed, grumpy cat and a bottle of cheap red wine.

The thin metal railing wobbled slightly as someone leaned down on it right next to you. You ignored them. Maybe they would just leave if you didn’t say anything. Most people did anyway.

This person did not.

“What a wonderful night.”

A deep, rich voice. A man then. Just great, you thought to yourself. After today’s night you didn’t want to have another one of those flat, shallow conversations with a flat, shallow person only interested in a pretty face and maybe some company until the morning after.  So all you did was nod. He didn’t leave, though. After a while you were sick of staring wistfully out into the water and you felt kind of idiotic doing so anyway. So you turned to the person next to you thinking: might as well.

A sharp jaw, thin lips and a prominent nose which seemed to have been broken at least once. Deep set eyes looking straight ahead, thick eyebrows and a short, military like hair-cut. It was too dark to recognise any details. He was tall even hunched over. Broad shoulders. Thick arms and nice hands folded atop of each other. He seemed attractive but many people did so in sparely lit areas.

“It has a sense of tranquillity, doesn’t it?” He turned to you, a kind smile on his lips. The question confused you.

“What has?”

“Enjoying the same view with a stranger.”

A poet then. But what does it matter? Poets stayed human and men stayed men. Lust stayed lust and love won’t be found by luck. But then again life generally consists out of lucky moments which take you step further in the direction you want to go and maybe a conversation with a seemingly good looking stranger is exactly what you needed right this moment. There wasn’t much to lose except time in the first place and time, you thought to yourself, you had plenty. There wasn’t anything waiting for you.

“What brings you here then, stranger?” You put on a cheeky smile looking into his general direction but not directly into his eyes.

“Restlessness.” There was a short pause. “What about you?” He seemed to murmur everything he said. A deep rumble coming from within his chest.

“A date that turned out differently than expected.”

“Not good I take it.”

“You could put it that way, yes.”

It was nice in a way. Just taking in each other’s presence without any expectations. Music came from the little Italian café now. A man singing words in a language you couldn’t understand but it sounded beautiful nonetheless.

“May I ask what happened?”

You laughed a little at that. So formal. Nobody has ever spoken to you in such a manner. So reserved but kind. Strangely distanced but interested.

“He just left. Said he needed to go immediately as if I had been the one acting rude and just left me hanging there with the bill. I paid it of course. Not the end of the world but a disappointment stays a disappointment.”

“Not much of a gentleman then.”

“You could say that.”

 “I haven’t been on a date for a long time. It makes me feel like an old man already.” He smiled a bittersweet smile, looking down at his hands while doing so. You searched his face for signs of his age at that. The lines on his skin seemed more tired than old but maybe this is exactly what makes people age. Exhaustion.

“What makes you restless, then?” Your eyes met when you said that. You couldn’t tell the colour. Shadows can hide things in a face that makes it unique and with it the story’s which seemed to be told by every mole and every scar. Reactions are lost when you can’t see them but even in this low light you can recognise that you asked a question which he’d rather left unanswered. You stayed quiet, though. Either option was fine with you.

He made up his mind after a while because he breathed in deeply through his nose and relaxed a little. He turned around and leaned with his back against the railing and looked up into the sky. You wish you could say that there were stars twinkling above you but you were in the heart of the city so the artificial lights made it impossible to see them. Instead, only the moon loomed quietly over the two of you.

“There’s the certain type of responsibility wearing me out with every step I take. No decision seems to be the right one and leaves me with doubt I can’t afford.”

This caught your interest. It made you wonder.

“What kind of responsibility?”

“The kind which can save lives as much as it can destroy them.”

“Are we talking about death here?”

No answer. How morbid, you thought, noticing the deep circles under his eyes. Shadows make them more prominent and let him seem worn out. How much torment can one man stand? , you asked yourself.

The two of you just stood there for a while, not uttering a word. He was right. It was peaceful. The feeling of being alone with your thoughts but not in solitude settled over you like a veil. It loosened a knot in your chest you didn’t know was there. You hoped that he felt the same way.

At some point you imitated his position, leaning against the railing with you back. The bridge was mostly empty. Sometimes a couple or a lone stranger on his way home would walk by.

“You know,” you said after mulling over it for a while. “I think it makes us human. To doubt ourselves.”

“You might be right about that. I am only wondering if there is any space for humanity in my decisions. The mercy of one day could be the mistake of the next.”

This was getting heavier than expected. Maybe it’s a sense of anonymity that let’s one talk freely but still, this was heading into a direction you weren’t expecting it to. Or wanted it to. Maybe it was you’re your own fault, picking up the conversation where he had left it. Maybe you should’ve just gone home. He seemed to notice your hesitation to respond.

“I’m sorry. It was a long day and I am feeling gloomy. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no. It’s not that. I’m just… surprised. That’s all. I’m not used to this kind of honesty.”

“Me neither.”

You heard people cheering next to you. It came from the Italian café. Looking through the open door you saw a man getting up on a small stage with a microphone in one hand. A few people got up to listen to him and after a few notes some even started to dance. There it was again. Longing.

“Can you dance?”

The question took you by surprise and you looked at him. He just stood there, looking back at you, waiting for you to answer with a calm expression on his face. Was it just a desperate way out of the conversation you just had or genuine interest? Maybe it was both.

“Well, I guess. A simple waltz even I can do.”

He straightened and was even taller now. He simply extended his hand, his other arm behind his back.

“May I ask for a dance?”

You laughed again. What a weird man. Weird but charming. Smiling you took his hand. It was big and rough. Calloused even. But his skin was warm and his fingers gently lowered themselves over yours. The two of you walked hand in hand closer to the café to hear the music better. At the same time you noticed more about him as you stepped into the light. His hair was a light blond but his roots seemed darker and his skin was slightly tanned from the sun. His lips were chapped. His eyes a striking blue. The bags under his eyes didn’t seem so prominent anymore.

His right hand found a way around your waist and he pulled you closer to himself. You felt how strong his chest was under his pristine white shirt. He smelled nice. Like fresh blankets and warm summer mornings. You put your left hand on his shoulder.

The man in the café sang a Frank Sinatra song and you both stepped back and forth, him gently leading you through the dance. It was slow and the world around you seemed to fade away. Normally you would’ve been embarrassed but your cheeks weren’t reddening now. All you felt was the happy glow of good company engulfing you. You liked the way he held you. The way he looked at you. So calm and strong. Slightly surprised and maybe even smitten.

His fingers tightened over yours and you did the same. Smiling at each other you danced in circles. He spun you around a few times, making you giggle, and you stumbled a little when he pulled you back against his chest.

One song changed to the next but you didn’t stop swaying on the street. After a while you put your head just below his shoulder and you felt him lay his chin on top of yours. This embrace seemed too familiar, too close and simply too much, but you weren’t going to stop now. You haven’t felt this certain type of warmth in a long time and you were craving it. You craved those strong hands holding you up and stopping you from crumbling.

Maybe you would’ve kept dancing like this until the sun came up from behind the horizon but at some point the man stopped singing and the lights of the Italian café slowly went out leaving the two of you in the dark. You parted from the embrace but your right hand stayed in his left.

“It’s getting late,” he said and you chuckled.

“It is late.”

“What a pity.”

You could only agree.

“I think I should head home. I actually need to get up in the morning and I won’t get much sleep now, but every hour counts.” You tried to smile.

“I will bring you home.” There was no space for arguments, so you left your hand in his and lead the way. No words were spoken, there was no need for conversation. Enough had been said this night already. It was quiet. The air was fresh.

Way too soon for you, you were standing in front of your door. It was an old building but pretty. The rent was affordable and you didn’t need much space in the first place. You only let go of his hand when you had to look for your keys in your bag. They jingled loudly.

For a split second you thought about inviting him in. You wanted to feel more of him. See which parts of his skin stayed soft and which didn’t. Wanted to taste him and let yourself be engulfed by his warmth. Wanted to wake up in a bed smelling like a warm summer morning. You simply wanted him. In you, wrapped around you, surrounding you. His voice, his smell, his soft touches. You wanted him to take you and to make you feel again.

But the words were stuck in your throat and all you were able to say was “Thank you.” He smiled and left a soft kiss on your left cheek before he walked away. Leaving you to sleep alone in your cold apartment with a fat, grumpy cat and bottle of cheap wine realizing that you didn’t even know his name. So you just dreamed of slow dances and big, warm hands finding ways over your skin. You dreamed of his lips kissing yours. You dreamed of soft caresses which healed all your wounds.

The next morning was worse than most. You slept in late, rushing through your morning routine and your cat loudly demanding food. Your hair stayed a mostly unbrushed mess and you just had enough time to dress into something work appropriate.

Your colleagues didn’t help much to lighten your mood, constantly asking about last night and reminding you of that one stranger you didn’t know you’d miss. You kept him a secret, though. It felt as if every word spilled would make it less real so you just spend the entire day thinking about him. Missing him even. As that thought struck you a hurt laugh found its way from your lips. It was incomprehensible to you.  Completely irrational, illogical and borderline crazy. This wasn’t Bridget Jones and you weren’t the main character in a cheesy romance novel favoured by lonely housewives with too much time on their hands. So you banned the stranger from your thoughts and this night you soothed yourself to sleep with that bottle of red wine and Bridget Jones running on your TV.

You were feeling a lot better about yourself a few days later and you always liked the vegetable section in the grocery store. It always smelled fresh and clean. Sometimes you saw short blond hair amidst the people in the store, hoping it would be him but it never was. The wine section of the store was practically calling out to you but nothing feels more pathetic than drinking yourself to sleep over a man whose name you didn’t even know. Again. You wouldn’t do it.

Instead you forgot about your groceries altogether and went to the bridge from then. It looked different in the evening light. Warmer. Everything was tinted in an orange tone. You liked it so you stood there, leaning against the railing looking out into the water and when a stranger leaned down onto it right next to you, you didn’t look up. You didn’t dare to hope.

But there it was, the deep rumble of his voice right next to your ear.

“What a wonderful evening.”

You smiled and turned to him. His eyes meeting yours as if no time has passed.

“You’re repeating yourself you know.”

“I’ve been hoping you would come back.”

“You do know where I live.” It sounded a bit sourer than you intended it to but he didn’t seem bothered by it.

“I didn’t want to impose.”

You wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t have imposed. That you would’ve taken him up to your apartment and let him into your bed the night you met. That you wanted him. That you hoped that he wanted you too. That you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, this strangely charming man with his big, warm hands which made you feel safe. Instead, you kept it simple.

“I don’t even know your name.”

 “It’s Erwin. Erwin Smith.” He smiled when he asked for yours and you smiled back when you opened your mouth and told him.