Archive of Our Own ^beta

You spend the first morning of your summer break staring listlessly at your bedroom ceiling, observing the dust particles as they swirl around each other in the balmy air. It’s a beautiful day, and surely the sign of more to come - your only dilemma is that you have no one to spend it with.

A list of your usual company floats through your mind. Liz is out of state on an architectural placement for the next two weeks. Cove and Cliff are at Kyra’s place in Nevada - it’s only fair, you muse, since she’d been the one visiting over the majority of the past summers. And your moms were taking some much-needed vacation time to celebrate Ma’s recent promotion - they had asked if you wanted to come along with them, but you’d insisted that they spend some quality time together, without you. Lee was planning to visit Sunset Bird next month, once everyone had come back from their respective trips. You’d even texted Derek, Miranda and Terry, but Derek was working over the summer, Terry was volunteering, and Miranda was abroad with her family.

So, now you were here. From the looks of things, your only social interaction for the next couple of weeks would be the clients passing through during your weekend shifts at the library.

Scrolling through your contacts list as a last-ditch effort, your eyes pause on the last friend you hadn’t yet thought to call. Well, if Baxter could still be called a friend, that was - it had been five years since he’d last visited Sunset Bird, and although you’d forged a pretty strong bond during that summer, you hadn’t communicated much beyond a few occasional texts since. Honestly, you missed him - but you were always held back by the part of you that wondered if he even remembered you.

You slam your finger down on the call button before you have the chance to talk yourself out of it. It rings for a while, before going to voicemail. You consider that maybe it’s better this way - less daunting. After the tone, you start to speak.

“Baxter, hi…” You trail off, not sure of how to best approach this discussion. You hadn’t thought this far ahead. ”I was wondering - well, I know this is totally sudden, but would you want to meet up today? To be honest, I don’t even know if you remember me. But since it’s summer break, and I’m free, and maybe you are too, we could see each other again. I could come and visit you. If you want.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing to yourself. “If you’re not interested, you can just ignore this message. But, if by any chance you are… maybe you could give me a call back.”

You roll over onto your side, pressing your face into your pillow and groaning at both your inability to string together coherent sentences, and your total lack of impulse control. Maybe he’d forgotten you, maybe now he thinks you’re--

Your thoughts are interrupted by the shrill ringing of your mobile, which you scramble to answer without even looking at the Caller ID.

“Firstly, of course I remember you.” You can hear Baxter’s smile through the phone. His voice is much the same as you remembered it to be, warm and smooth, though with a slightly more mature edge to it. “Secondly, since it’s a Monday today, I’m not working. I’d be more than happy for you to come over, if that’s what you’d like to do.”

“Oh, really?” You don’t do a particularly good job of hiding your surprise. You pick at the hem of your skirt, already full of nervous anticipation.

“What, did you expect me to say ‘no’ to an old friend?”

So he did consider you a friend. The thought brings a gentle warmth to your cheeks.

“Well. I, uh, don’t know what I expected, honestly. I know this was very sudden.”

A warm laugh crackles through the receiver. “Spontaneity doesn’t bother me - I did tell you that I’m flexible, remember? The only hangup I have about this plan is that my apartment is probably an hour or so away from where you are. Are you sure you want to travel for that long?”

“I’m the one that offered, aren’t I?”

He hums thoughtfully, “Right you are. In that case, I’ll text you my address. How does lunch sound?”

After checking, double-checking and triple-checking the door number of the apartment you’re in front of, you finally pluck up the courage to knock.

There’s a pregnant pause, then you hear muffled footsteps, getting louder until the door finally opens in front of you. The motion reveals Baxter, who props himself up against the doorframe - though you likely wouldn’t have recognised him if it wasn’t for those distinctive brown eyes blinking back at you. He’s taller than you remember, his jawline more defined and his general ‘aura’ much more… refined, even in the black t-shirt and matching, fitted trousers he’s sporting. Not to mention that his hair is now completely black, rather than that eclectic black-streaked silver that he’d had that one summer many years ago. You think this style suits him much better.

He’s so handsome that you think your objective of the day might change from ‘just hang out with an old friend’ to ‘try desperately not to make a fool of yourself’. Before you can say anything, he speaks up.

“Oh? Who might you be?” He crosses his arms, raising a brow - but before you even have time to worry, his demeanor changes completely. He leans away from the door with a charming smile. “Relax, I’m only joking. Come in.”

Puffing out a relieved breath, you step past the threshold into his place, slipping off your shoes as he shuts the door behind you.

You’re not sure exactly why, but you feel the urge to embrace him - so you do. Just like the first time you’d met, he doesn’t miss a beat.

“It’s so good to see you again. I don’t know why I didn’t do this earlier. Well, I do, but…” Realising you’re rambling, you trail off, looking down at your feet.

“Hey, better late than never, hm? You can tell me all about it in just a second - but first, coffee?” He places a hand between your shoulder blades and leads you easily into the main room of his apartment. “Take a seat, I’ll join you right after I’ve made it. Unless you’d prefer something else?”

“No, coffee is fine.” You settle down on the black leather sofa he’d just gestured to, and take some time to observe the room as he gets to work preparing the drinks. It’s pretty spacious for an apartment, and elegantly decorated - you notice the television on the wall opposite you first, above it a clock, and below it a long shelf which looks to contain books, CDs and DVDs. The adjoining kitchen is open-plan - looking over to the right, you see Baxter in said kitchen, opening and closing cupboards before sliding two mugs in turn under a sleek-looking coffee machine. Once you look away so as not to be caught staring, a slim trophy cabinet in the left corner of the living room catches your eye. Beyond the reflections in the glass window, you can sort of make out an array of cups and medals, along with some framed photographs. Perhaps you’d take a closer look later on.

Just as you’ve almost completed your observation of the living area, Baxter returns with a mug of coffee in each hand, setting them both down on the glass coffee table in front of you. You look down at the mug closest to you, about to thank him, when something catches your attention.

“How did you know I liked my coffee with whipped cream?”

He smiles at that. “I wish I could say that it was a lucky guess, but it wasn’t. Remember that day I drove by and found you and your friends sitting by the side of the road? When I looked out of my window, I couldn’t help but notice how much whipped cream was in the coffee you were drinking. It was like a tower. It was almost more cream than coffee.” He laughs, and you can’t help but crack a smile in response.

You’d expected a very awkward and stilted initial reunion, but you can already feel yourself falling into an easy rhythm with him. He has the kind of genial charm which disarms and relaxes you at once.

“That’s… so thoughtful. I would never expect you to remember something that small after so long.” You try to hide your smile behind the rim of your mug. You’d always known he was perceptive, but now you can’t help but wonder just how easily he can read you.

“Please, it was really nothing.” He smiles at you crookedly. “Though, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Sipping at your coffee, you briefly consider how to best phrase your thoughts. “Well, ever since you left, I thought so often about calling you, or meeting up, or something. But I only got my driver’s license last year, and by that time I wasn’t even sure if you still remembered me, and I wouldn’t have wanted to ask you to come over to Sunset Bird if that was the case. But now, it’s the summer, and everyone was - still is - out of town, and I didn’t want to spend it alone, and maybe that was the push I needed to finally talk to you. I, uh... I missed you.”

Baxter doesn’t interrupt you at all, and his warm expression doesn’t falter either. In fact, it only seems to soften as you reach the end of your mini-speech.

“Well it’s as I said - better late than never, no? We’ll just have to make up for it by filling each other in on everything that’s happened over the last five years. However,” he stands, taking both empty mugs and heading over to the kitchen to place them in the sink, before turning back around to look at you. “I promised you lunch, so let me take you somewhere. I know a few local places you might like - does that sound alright?”

“That sounds perfect.”

---

“I missed you too, by the way.”

You look up from your plate to Baxter, who has his elbow propped up on the table, head casually tilted into his hand as he looks at you. He’d suggested a rather homey cafe, with beige walls, oak panelling and decor, and instrumental music humming out of the ceiling speakers. On the wall behind him, there’s a beautiful sprawling mural of a woman picking olives. “Sorry I didn’t say it earlier. The summer I spent with all of you was one I never forgot - and will never forget.”

“You don’t need to apologise for that. I’m just happy that we can spend time together again.”

“I’m also glad to have the chance to spend time with someone so beautiful. Actually, if you’ll forgive my saying this, you’re even more beautiful than you were the last time I saw you. And I didn’t think that was possible.” The corner of his mouth curls into something like a smirk.

You freeze, blinking back at him for a moment, before pressing a hand to your increasingly reddening cheek. Noticing your dazed state, his eyebrows curve upwards and he sits up straighter. “Sorry, was that too forward of me? I should have checked if you were still alright with me saying things like that.”

Clearing your throat, you manage to eke out a reply. “It’s okay. I mean, it doesn’t bother me… as long as you mean what you say, that is. I just wasn’t expecting it. Actually, I guess I kind of like it?”

Baxter grins broadly at your admission. “I always mean the things I say.”

“That’s good, then, because earlier I was actually thinking about how handsome you are. I’m shocked you’re single. Wait, are you? Single?”

He laughs out loud, a warm and rich sound, not at all mocking in nature. “I’m honoured. And yes, I am single, for the moment. And you?”

You exhale loudly, unsure whether you’re more relieved that he’s single, or that he hadn’t made fun of your awkwardness surrounding the subject. Maybe, secretly, it’s more of the former. “I am, too.”

“Hmm...” He strokes his chin for some moments, looking to the side, before turning his gaze back to you. “Two single, attractive adults, hanging out alone together during the summer. What could go wrong?” He winks at you, then leans back in his chair. “I’m only teasing. What we get up to is entirely up to you. You’re the one that reached out to me, after all.”

“In that case, how does breakfast tomorrow sound? At my place, I mean.”

Baxter’s eyes light up a little, though this creates an odd juxtaposition with the way his mouth curves downwards. “I’d love to, but I work on Tuesdays. However, what about Wednesday?”

“Wednesday’s good with me! I only work on the weekends right now.”

“Wonderful. I work on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, myself.” He waves a hand, then, before leaning forward again and bracing both elbows against the table, interlocking his fingers and placing his chin on them. “But, enough about work. Tell me, what have you been up to since I left?”

“‘ Anna Karenina ’? Not exactly the sort of light, early-morning reading one might expect.”

You look over from where you’re poking at an in-progress omelette to see Baxter peering at the book you’d left on the table he’s sitting at. He smiles to himself as he takes your choice of literature in his hands, looking impressed at its weight before turning it over to read the synopsis.

“Look at how thick it is. I read a little every morning, otherwise I’d never get through it.”

“That makes sense.” He returns the book to its original position, then leans back in his chair, crossing one of his legs over the other.

“The bookshelf is just in that corner behind you, if you’d like something to read while you wait.” Not long after you say this, you hear the scrape of Baxter’s chair as he stands and makes his way over to the shelf in question.

“Hmm...” You hear him shuffle a book out from the case, “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but this doesn’t seem like a book you chose yourself.”

You continue chopping vegetables for a second omelette, not needing to look up to know which book it is. A bright pink with gold cursive lettering, it sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the more muted tones of the classics that occupy most of the space. “You’re right. Liz got me that book as a joke before I went off for my first year of university. I’ve never read it.”

The chair makes more noise as Baxter gets comfortable at the table again. “It would be a shame to let it go to waste on the shelf. I’ll read it.”

Your head snaps over to him then, and taking in the scene, you aren’t sure how you’re supposed to feel about the rather comical sight of suave, silver-tongued Baxter, reclined at your dining table with a silly grin on his face as he reads through a cheap book of romance tips.

“Why…?” Not sure how to even finish your question, you plate up the second omelette and carry both over to the table. As you move to sit opposite him, he looks up at you and smiles.

“Thank you for the breakfast.” He moves the plate closer to him, still holding the book in one hand, scanning a random page somewhere in the middle. “But to answer your question - why not? As with dancing, with romance there is always something more for me to learn.”

“I doubt that.”

His gaze flicks back up to meet yours. You have trouble placing his expression, though it looks something like curiosity, or perhaps even interest. “You flatter me.” He looks back at the book for a moment, before his expression changes abruptly, “Ah, here we go. What do you think about this?” He clears his throat.

“‘ Let’s say you have to choose between two hot guys, who are also roommates, who are both hitting on you. Look down. Go with the guy whose feet are pointed towards yours and who your feet point toward as well. This is a sign you connect on a deeper level.’ ” Raising a brow, he continues, “What an unlikely scenario, for a start. I’m beginning to think it’s a good thing you chose not to read this book. Are you sure your sister wasn’t trying to sabotage you with it?”

You chew on a bite of your omelette, thinking, before trying to inconspicuously peer over the edge of the table at Baxter’s feet. Unfortunately, at your lack of response to his question, he looks up from the book and catches your gaze. You avert it quickly, embarrassed, but he looks delighted.

“That’s adorable. Has anyone ever told you how cute you are?”

Heat flares across your cheeks, your fork clattering to your plate as you cover your face with your hands. Baxter has the decency to attempt to look a little apologetic, from what you can see through the gaps between your fingers, though you’re not sure he is at all. Mercifully, he at least changes the subject. “I should eat before this gets cold. Maybe I’ll read some more later.”

“Good idea…” The room is silent for a few moments, except for the sounds of cutlery clinking as the two of you finish off your breakfast. Once you’re done, you pipe up again. “Since it’s still pretty early, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a walk after this?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

---

Given the time of day and the mild weather, it’s no surprise that the shopping street is already alive with people once you and Baxter arrive. As you walk, he points out the occasional shop that hadn’t been there during his last visit, and the two of you make it a point to visit those particular ones so he can inspect their wares.

Your next port of call is a music store, where CDs and vinyl disks are neatly stacked across the space from top to bottom. Even though the shop had only been established a few years ago, it has a strangely ‘vintage’ feeling to it. Perhaps it’s the plaster cracking off the walls, or the faint smells of old paper and incense. You smile to yourself as you realise something, then decide to voice your source of amusement to Baxter.

“I think our favourite sections are on opposite sides of the store.”

He hums, already gravitating to the section marked ‘alt-rock’, then grins down at you. “I have an idea, if you’ll indulge me.”

“Go ahead.”

“How about I pick something out from over here, and you can choose something you think I might like from your favourite category. Next time we see each other, we can share our thoughts.”

You clap your hands together, suddenly re-energised. “That’s a great idea!” He chuckles at your enthusiasm as you move to the opposite wall, intent on looking for something he might enjoy. After some time, you make your final decision, admiring the cover art as you walk over to the counter. The shopkeeper wraps your purchase in colourful tissue paper, then slides it into a small paper bag.

When that’s done, you look over to find Baxter nodding to himself, apparently also satisfied with his decision. Once he notices you observing him, he hides the plastic case behind his back. You give an overly-exaggerated dramatic sigh, and turn around until the CD is done being packaged.

“Happy with your choice?” You ask him as you exit the shop, the bell tinkling above you.

“I’ll be happy if I find out it was a good one.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

Near the end of the shopping street is a quaint little place selling handmade jewellery, which both of you agree to check out. As soon as you step inside, you notice a pleasant scent, like a light floral perfume. It’s much brighter and cooler than the music shop, with everything carefully arranged and spaced out - there’s a separate rack for bracelets, rings, necklaces, anklets, earrings, and everything in-between. Baxter, unsurprisingly, heads towards the ring holders, while you hover between the necklaces and earrings, already unsure of where to start when so many pretty jewels are glittering up at you.

The first item that catches your eye is a pretty pair of freshwater pearl earrings. You hold one up to your ear, looking at it in a nearby mirror and admiring the way it subtly reflects the light.

The second item is a necklace with a thin silver chain and a beautiful pendant made out of amber. Bringing the pendant up to your eyes with your free hand, you can see all the flecks of colour within. You’re so mesmerised by its beauty that you don’t even register Baxter come up behind you until he speaks.

“The earrings are nice. Very… Johannes Vermeer.”

You laugh. “How cultured of you.”

He then takes the necklace from your hand gently, holding it up in front of your collarbones. “I think the necklace is even better. The colour brings out your eyes.”

You can’t help but smile as you retrieve the necklace from him. “It’s decided then. Thank you for the help - I don’t know how long I would have been standing there if it wasn’t for your expert advice.”

“Always happy to oblige.”

As you move towards the counter to pay, you notice Baxter twirling a ring around his index finger from the corner of your eye. It looks to be a simple black band with a dark red stone set in the centre.

“That ring definitely matches you. Come to think of it, you used to wear a lot of rings. How come you don’t anymore?”

“Well, there are two reasons. One is that my style has changed. I’d say it’s simpler now, wouldn’t you? As with my hair, for example.” You nod, taking your bag from the shopkeeper with a polite smile. Baxter holds the door open for you as you both exit the store and continue on your walk.

“So what’s the second reason?”

He grins at you, and from the way his eyes twinkle you get the impression he’s about to say something unexpected.

“An ex once told me I had nice hands. Well, ‘nice’ wasn’t exactly the word they used… And neither were they the first person to tell me that. But it was around that time when I decided that maybe one ring, if any, was enough.”

You are only human, and thus, can only do so much to resist a peek at his hands before you finally cave. It’s true, his fingers are long and elegant, nails neatly trimmed, with the outlines of his most prominent veins just barely visible. And as always with Baxter, your attention doesn’t go unnoticed.

“So, what do you think about them? Are they… ‘nice’?”

Upon noticing your increasingly flustered expression, he seems to take pity on you, patting you on the shoulder in what would be a comforting gesture, if you weren’t so aware of the fact that one of the hands you’d just been admiring was touching you. “You’re fun to tease. But I won’t say things like that anymore if you don’t like it. Just say the word.”

“It doesn’t bother me...” You meet his eyes again, resolute even in the face of your recent embarrassment.

“Glad to hear it.” His gaze then shifts to the stretch of the shopping street that you hadn’t yet covered. “From the looks of it, that was the last store unfamiliar to me. Good timing, too - the sun’s starting to set. Shall we start walking back?”

“Sounds good to me.”

---

You reach your house in what feels like no time at all - though you know time has passed, since the sky is now dyed orange, with wispy pink clouds coasting across it, carried by the light breeze.

Baxter gets into his car and rolls the window down, before passing a paper bag to you through it. “Here. Maybe on Friday you can come over, and let me know what you thought of it.”

You’re thankful he remembered to switch the bags, because you would have forgotten otherwise. You hand him yours with a smile, trying not to focus too much on the way the sunset illuminates his eyes. “Friday sounds perfect. Also, you have really pretty eyes.” ...Mission failed.

“Oh-- thank you. I appreciate that.” He tilts his head and smiles lopsidedly at you in a way that radiates a kind of boyish charm. “Hands, eyes… what will it be next, I wonder?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

His grin widens. “I like that attitude. In that case, I’ll be looking forward to Friday. Have a good evening, won’t you?”

“Is that a song from the album I gave you?”

You stop inspecting the various CDs in his living room display case for a moment, and glance at him from over your shoulder - but almost regret mentioning it when Baxter stops humming under his breath. He looks down at you from where he’s perched on the arm of the sofa, and crosses his arms over his chest, grinning.

“You have sharp ears. Also, good to know I was in tune.”

“More than that, it sounded good. I didn’t know you could sing.” You turn to give him your full attention.

“I can’t, really. But perhaps dancing my whole life has given me some sort of basic musical ability?”

“Or maybe you just have a naturally good voice.”

He uncrosses his arms and you catch a glimpse of black and red on one of his hands. From what you can see from the short distance between the sofa and the floor, the new ring really suits him. You would tell him that, but when you bring your gaze back up to his face, you know another one of his characteristic quips is coming.

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told me that, either. Though, it’s not usually in the context of singing.”

“You’re insufferable,” you pout, smacking a socked foot against the hardwood floor for emphasis. You drop the act shortly afterwards, though, to make sure he knows you’re only joking.

He gets up and makes his way over to the CD case himself, sitting himself just beside you with one of his legs outstretched and the other folded upwards at the knee. He tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, then turns to you. “What did you think of the album I chose for you?”

“Honestly, it wasn’t bad! Not the type of thing I would usually listen to, but I enjoyed it.” Maybe you enjoyed it more because it reminded you of him as you were listening, though you’re unsure whether you should admit that to him directly. “Track eight was my favourite.”

His eyes light up - “That’s my favourite song from the album too.”

You grin at him, pleased with that coincidence, then turn your attention back to the shelf - specifically, the very end of the shelf, where a range of DVDs are lined up. One title in particular catches your eye, but it’s one of the furthest away from you; you get up onto your knees and try to reach over Baxter to retrieve it, though you wobble precariously in the process.

Suddenly, you’re stabilised by two warm hands braced against your waist. You almost collapse with surprise despite the extra help, but thankfully manage to snag the movie case and return to your original position before that can happen.

You look down at the hands still circling your waist lightly, but before you can ask about them, Baxter lifts them away as if burnt, his expression apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked first, if you’re alright with being touched like that. I just didn’t want you to fall.”

You’re touched at his concern for your boundaries, but also take a moment to consider whether you really minded being touched by him. It was quite nice, having him hold you like that, even if brief and a little surprising at first.

“It’s okay. You helped me. Also… I don’t mind it if you touch me. I kind of… like it.” Your voice gets smaller and smaller as you reach the end of your sentence, while his smile only grows wider.

‘ Not only did I like it, but I also think I’m starting to like you ,’ your brain unhelpfully supplies. Yet more unhelpful is the next thought: ‘ You could do anything to me if it’s with those hands ’. You have trouble looking him in the eye after that one.

His lips curve into something between a smile and a smirk. “Noted.” Thankfully, he changes the topic before you can even consider admitting any of your other thoughts to him - though the glint in his eye suggests it’s not the last you’ll hear of it. “Which movie did you pick up?”

You inspect the case for a moment, turning it over in your hands. The cover art is a yellow-tinted image of a railing in the foreground, with a calm sea visible in-between the pillars. On top of the railing are two hats. The title is written in looping red cursive in the top-right corner.

“Oh, that one? I’ll admit, I’ve never watched it. I just heard the cinematography was good, so I picked it up. Would you like to watch it now?”

You look up from the movie case to the clock on the wall, and sigh. “I would love to, but it’s getting late… I have work tomorrow.”

“That’s alright.” His gaze moves to where some strands of hair have fallen over your shoulder, and he extends a hand to tuck them behind your ear. “How about Monday, then?”

You catch his hand with yours before he can withdraw it. “Monday’s good for me.”

“Want to order something?” Baxter looks at you from the kitchen area of his apartment, leaning back against the counter with his elbows flat on the marbled surface. “It’s quite hot today, I don’t know if I feel like cooking.”

You look up at him from your position on the carpet, propping yourself up with the heels of your hands behind you, the skirt of your sundress splayed out around you like a flower. “Sure, whatever you want - just order whatever you normally do and we can split the cost.”

“Nonsense. You’re my guest, so I’ll pay. The only thing you get to decide is what type of food we order.”

You level a half-hearted glare at him which he doesn’t meet. The only indication he knows you’re looking at him is the way the corner of his lips twitches into a minute smile, as he moves to pick up his phone.

About an hour later, midday’s heat has faded into the pleasant warmth of the early afternoon, and there’s an arrangement of various empty Chinese takeaway containers scattered over Baxter’s coffee table. You don’t know if it’s the weather or the good food - or both - but about halfway through the movie, your eyelids start to feel heavy. You’re sitting in the middle of the sofa, facing forward with your legs folded to the right, while your head droops to the left. You have enough presence of mind to register that Baxter is sitting to your left, and is presumably actually watching the movie, so you turn your head to press your cheek against the leather of the sofa back in the hopes that you can stop yourself from leaning any further towards him.

“Regretting your choice of movie already?” He had spoken softly, but you startle all the same. You do feel a little guilty, though, so you open your eyes to look at him properly, whispering a tired apology. To your surprise, he’s looking back at you, warm brown eyes dancing with amusement and perhaps even affection.

“I’m only joking. That doesn’t look comfortable though. You can turn this way, if you’d like?” He taps the space to his left, but leaves you to make the final decision of whether or not to rearrange your sitting position. The prospect of a warm, soft (albeit human-shaped) pillow sounds too comfortable to refuse, so you turn your legs to the left so your thighs are across his lap, your lower legs tucked in and angled parallel to his. Your cheek is pressed against his shoulder and his right arm is looped around your back, hand against your side to keep you from falling backwards.

“Is this okay?” He asks once you seem to have finished situating yourself.

You, as well-spoken as ever, respond by nudging your face into his neck with a pleased hum. You can feel his chest rumble as he laughs, before he turns the volume of the movie down to the level of unintelligible background noise. The hand against your side moves to the top of your head, then you feel fingers start to brush through your hair. It’s a slow, repetitive motion, totally relaxing, if a little puzzling. Was Baxter this open to physical contact with everyone he knew? You hadn’t seen Baxter with anyone else for the last five years, so there was really no way of knowing.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you open your eyes slightly once more with the intention to ask him about it, but you’re interrupted by the feeling of his hand moving to cup your cheek, thumb smoothing over the crease in your brow.

“Whatever it is that’s troubling you, surely it can wait? Feel free to sleep. It’s still early, and I don’t mind it.”

What a confusing man - that’s the only thought you can focus on before the low hum of the movie and the gentle touches to your hair finally lull you to sleep.

---

When you wake up, you’re in the same position - though you notice a new, light weight and warmth over the thin fabric of your dress’s skirt. Opening your eyes, you see that it’s Baxter’s laptop. From the looks of it, he seems to be sending an email.

“Good evening,” he greets, having noticed your small movement against his shoulder. In turn, you notice the way his lips curl into a smile, and you anticipate a joke accordingly.  “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve been using your legs as a laptop stand.”

“Not at all,” Baxter lifts his laptop, allowing you to shuffle your legs out from under it, stretching them out and letting them dangle off the sofa as you sit normally. “I mean, I just used you as a pillow.”

He laughs at that, placing the laptop back down on his knees. “Point taken.”

“What have you been up to since I fell asleep?”

“The director of the dance studio I work at asked me to do some admin before my shift tomorrow, since another teacher’s going to be absent. Sending emails, organising who’s in which class, etcetera, etcetera - sounds fun, no?”

“Sounds riveting.”

“I knew you’d think so.”

A comfortable silence ensues, the only sound of note being Baxter’s typing. Now that you’re more alert, you remember the circumstances leading up to your afternoon nap, and decide that instead of distracting him from his work by talking about it like any rational adult probably would, you’ll test the waters another way.

As soon as your fingertips graze his thigh over the fabric of his trousers, just above the edge of where his laptop sits, the steady sounds of his typing stop, and he peers curiously at you out of the corner of his eye. You look away quickly once you make eye contact.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” you say as you continue to draw patterns on his leg, moving your fingers slightly higher and closer to his inseam with each design. He observes you for a moment.

“Is that so?” he wonders aloud, placing his laptop down on the armrest of the sofa as you’re halfway through drawing a flower. You’re thinking about adding a stem and some leaves, but are interrupted before you can do so by the motion of Baxter placing his hands around your waist and lifting you onto his lap so your knees are on either side of his thighs. You hover there awkwardly for a moment, partly impressed with his strength and partly unsure what to do with your hands, transfixed by the way his brown eyes gleam with interest.

“If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.”

You stare at him for a moment, dazed, before lowering your gaze. He notices your shyness and leans back to make space between the two of you, his brows and forehead creased with concern. “Is this too much? You can get up at any time, you know.”

“No, it’s… Um. It’s fine. It’s good, really.”

His expression smooths out instantly, mouth curling into a familiar smile. “Glad to hear it. So, was there something in particular you wanted?”

“I have some questions.”

“Fire away.”

“Is this a date?”

To Baxter’s credit, if he’s surprised by your question at all, he doesn’t show it. “It can be, if you’d like it to be.”

You can’t help the smile that starts to tug at your lips. “I think I’d like that.”

“Oh yeah? That’s good. I like the sound of it too.” He looks at you fondly, totally attentive as he awaits another question.

“Okay. Next question. Do you like me?”

“Of course I like you. I liked you back then, and I like you now.” There is something particularly honest in the way he looks at you as he speaks.

Your eyes widen once the words leave his lips - “You liked me then ?”

His hand moves up to trace your spine. “As much as I could like someone I’d only known for one summer.”

You’re not sure what to do with that information, as excited as it makes you. Your face prickles with heat as you think back to all the time you’d spent together, and you wonder how you hadn’t noticed his feelings.

Once you’ve recovered enough to look him in the eye again, you move to lightly tug on the collar of his t-shirt, bringing his face a little closer to yours.

“Last question.” As your gaze flicks down to his mouth, you think he gets the idea. You still voice it aloud, just to make sure. “Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he smiles, closing the gap.

The next few moments are a blur of sensations that are hard to distinguish from one another. You lose your balance, falling the short distance directly onto his lap, and are suddenly hyperaware of his presence beneath you. One of his hands presses against your upper back, while the other holds the back of your thigh under your dress, just above your knee. His mouth is warm and soft and perfect under yours, and beyond that feeling you only just manage to realise that you should probably put your hands somewhere. You place them on his chest, curling them into the fabric of his t-shirt. He gives a pleased hum in response, which you feel both against your lips and underneath your fingertips.

After some time, Baxter places his hands on your waist and breaks the kiss, gaze slightly unfocused as he catches his breath through parted lips. You immediately bridge the gap to kiss him again, just once more, to which he responds with a breathless laugh.

“I’d love to continue this for the foreseeable future, gorgeous, but,” he looks over to his abandoned laptop guiltily, “I have to get that work done before tomorrow.”

Still catching your breath yourself, you murmur some form of agreement before rolling to the side, off his lap.

“However,” he types in his password before continuing, his gaze shifting onto you, “if you’d like, you could stay the night. Only if you’re comfortable, though, of course. And if you do stay, we don’t have to do anything. We don’t even have to sleep in the same room. Just - it’s getting late and I would hate for you to have to leave before I can give you my full attention. That would make me a terrible date, would it not?”

You’re touched at how considerate he’s being. Then again, he’d always been like that, even when you’d first met him at the age of eighteen. You try to hide your excitement at his suggestion. “I’d love to stay.”

“Really?” He looks shocked, as if he had definitely not expected you to agree so readily - this expression then morphs into a pleased smile. “In that case, once I’m done with my work I’ll find you some clothes, and I probably have a new toothbrush somewhere that you can use. In the meantime, feel free to watch or listen to something. Sorry about the wait. Hopefully I won’t be too long.”

“You don’t need to apologise. That sounds like a great plan.”

---

“This is the bathroom,” Baxter shows you down the hallway, pushing open a door opposite the living-room door before shutting it again. “And this-” he swings open a door at the very end of the corridor, “-is my bedroom. Though for tonight, it’s yours. It’s up to you whether I sleep here or not.”

The bedroom, much like the living room, is pretty much exactly what you’d expect from someone like Baxter - sleek surfaces in black and various light shades of violet, and minimal decoration other than a few posters on the wall and small ornaments - picture frames, awards, figurines, and more - scattered around the tables and shelves. There’s a bedside table with a lamp and a bin tucked into the hollow, a cabinet and chest of drawers running parallel to the bed, and a mirror propped up on the far wall, beside a window looking out onto the street.

He flips the light switch before opening the top drawer, retrieving a t-shirt and some sweatpants that both look comfortable but far too large for you. He then places the clothes down on top of the drawers and moves to open the cabinet, where after rummaging for a minute, he locates a toothbrush still in its packaging. Once he’s placed that on top of the pile of clothes, he turns to you again.

“There we go. I’ll let you get changed, then. Let me know if you need anything else.” He flashes you a genial smile as he starts to walk past you and out of the room, but before he can leave you catch his wrist with your hand. His eyes widen as he looks down at his wrist, then back up at you.

“Stay.”

His expression changes into something affectionate. “If that’s what you want, I’m more than happy to sleep in the same room. Just tell me when you’re ready for me to come back in.”

He’s about to turn away again when you tug gently on the wrist you’re still holding. “No - I mean, stay now .” Your face heats up and you lower your gaze to the floor. “...If you want to, that is.”

“Now?” Baxter tilts his head, eyes roaming your face, until he catches sight of the pile of clothes he’d left on the dresser. You look up to see realisation dawn across his features. There’s a moment of silence before a soft question cuts through it. “But are you sure this is what you want? Is it not too fast?”

“I’m sure. What about you?”

“Oh, absolutely. I just don’t want you to feel obligated, or anything.”

“That’s not it at all.”

Satisfied with that response, Baxter steps into the room, turning to shut the door with a soft click. “Then, let’s make up for lost time.”

As soon as he’s shut the door behind him, you waste no time before nudging him against it and kissing him. He smiles into it, all perfect teeth and warm eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Mm, someone’s eager.”

“Can you blame me?”

“It would sound a bit narcissistic if I said ‘not at all’, wouldn’t it?”

You roll your eyes and let him lead you backwards to the bed, before you decide to turn around and push him onto it instead with a gentle press to his shoulders. He blinks, a little dazed, before you settle back down onto his lap, in much the same position as you had been on the sofa earlier.

“Unexpected - but not unwelcome.” He grins, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear before moving to kiss your shoulder, just beside the strap of your dress. “You look beautiful in this dress, by the way. The colour really suits you. Then again, you always look beautiful.”

You bury your flushed face in the crook of his neck, whining. “I bet you’ve said that to all your lovers.”

He moves away slightly, tilting his head to the side to face you. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. But just how many lovers do you think I’ve had?”

“I don’t know… twelve?”

“Twelve?” He says, arching an eyebrow.

“Just a guess. One for every month of the year. This month it’s my turn.” You smile up at him to let him know you’re joking (even if you are a little curious about the actual answer to the question).

He looks at you for a moment, mouth quirking up at one corner, then pokes at your cheek with his nose. “Silly. You over - or maybe under? - estimate me, sweetheart,” he croons amusedly, warm breath fanning over your cheek before he presses a soft kiss to the underside of your jaw.

You slide your hands under his shirt as he slides the straps of your dress off your shoulders, and kiss the mole on his neck while he carefully unzips the back. While you busy yourself with his belt, he presses his lips to the skin between your collarbones as he finally pushes the dress down to pool at your hips.

You continue like this for some time, taking each other apart piece by piece until everything becomes an almost indistinguishable blur of sounds and touches and heat, curious hands and mouths and hearts.

---

You wake up the next morning equal parts worn out and energetic, slowly recollecting last night’s events as you stretch out your muscles. The arm laying across your waist shifts, as does its owner, evidently having been roused by your movement. You turn to face him as he lets out a soft groan, rubbing at his eyes. You only start to register that an alarm is ringing once Baxter sits up, reaching over you to grab his phone from the nightstand - once he’s stopped it, he turns to you.

“Good morning.”

Suddenly shy, you press your cheek further into the pillow and watch him out of the corner of your eye as he starts to get dressed. “Good morning.”

“Sorry I can’t stay for longer today. Should I expect you to be here when I get back?”

“Maybe. You’ll just have to wait and see.” You smile when he looks over at you, and he returns it.

“I’ll look forward to finding out, then.” Once he’s fully dressed, he picks up a comb from the shelf and starts to brush through his hair, looking at you via your reflection in the mirror. “One more thing.” He pivots on his heel to look at you directly. “Was last night a one-time thing, or...” he pauses, considering his words carefully, “would you like it to be more than that?”

You extricate yourself from where you’re sandwiched between the pillow and the blanket, and sit up. “What would you want it to be?”

“Well, you already know how I feel about you. It’s completely up to you. Whatever you pick, it’ll be fine with me.” His expression is a kind of forced neutral, blurring at the edges into something a little more vulnerable.

“In that case…”

“You look happier than usual. What did you get up to while I was gone?”

Liz surveys you critically from her position on your sofa, while you, at the dining table, peer up at her from behind your coffee cup.

“I, uh, have a boyfriend now.” Your voice cracks near the end of the sentence so it ends up sounding more like a question, the words feeling unnatural - but not unwelcome - coming from your mouth.

Liz looks stunned, but quickly snaps herself out of it. “Oh really? Well, now you just have to tell me about him.”

“Well,” you smile at her cryptically, “Ever since I saw the way his feet pointed towards me, I knew he was the one.”