A picnic with my Nouveau Romantique Japanese boy

With long black hair that could rival Steve Aoki coupled with dark romantic vibes, he was it.

Long silver necklaces hung over his black turtleneck behind his biker jacket and woollen coat. His name was Hase Tamaki. If his first name, Tamaki meant he was a 'gem', he wasn't intensely modest about it with his French ‘New Romantic’ appearance. All he needed was a black stallion to complete the dark fantasy appeal he emitted.

I was personally suckerpunched by his soft pretty boy looks but I wasn't going to admit that just yet.

His long hair swished in the light wind as we took a spot at Cremorne Reserve. He was all dark and gothic and I was all classic and dainty in one of my favourite halter neck ensembles and pointy heels. I actually didn't anticipate us going on a picnic when he had picked me up, but my mother had insisted when she knew we were going on a date. I didn't have the heart to disclose to him that our hamper from my mother did not contain the contents of a charcuterie board but rather containers of spring rolls, fried rice and pork buns alongside kid-size cartons of lemon tea.

He was a gem and had politely played along with my mother's whimsies. Opening the basket, I passed him a plastic fork and his tub of fried rice.

I was almost trembling thinking he might scoff at me and my family in derision for our poor taste.

Instead he smiled and turned to pick up a carton of lemon tea with his other hand adorned with rings. Poking a straw through the seal, he passed the carton to me. His words that came next seared deep into my heart.

“I've never liked feigned propriety or false intent. When I told you I liked everything about you, I meant it. I've found my diamond in the rough. In you".

A warm flush crept onto his cheeks from his declaration and he coughed. “I'd rather a carton of lemon tea than a flute of rosé anyway".

Oh my nouveau chevalier, you've pierced my heart.

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