Work Text:
bob paused when he heard the track abruptly ended.
he listens to his vinyls often, puts much more wear and tear on them than the average person might. but most of his collection is relatively new, having only been in the past few years that he's branched out from hand-me-downs from him parents. tracks skip a bit, some of them. the ones his parents listened to the most, the ones you can hear how old they are. even those don't give him to much trouble usually.
he jumps when you pop around the corner, disrupting his train of thought, entirely.
tension pulls at his shoulders when you pull him by the arm, grip loosening when you notice. he wishes it didn't. he's not really sure how to say that he didn't tense up because he doesn't like when you tug him around - he does. it's not because he's surprised, either. not anymore. he's just not used to how comfortable you are touching him. bob's not sure it'd be very appropriate to say that he'd like to be, though. someday.
or that he likes those rough hands on his, when you're leading him. likes the extra beats of his heart when he hears you hum along to his vinyls. and how "come dance with me," sounds in your voice, and how natural it is with you. you don't really stop moving. he learned that when you first became roommates. you used to keep headphones in, rarely idle while you did chores or cooked, or did anything really. there's always a roll to your shoulders or a swagger in your hip.
eventually, the headphones disappeared. maybe you lost them, bob thinks passively. you seemed just as content moving along to the record player, tugging him along whenever you saw him.
bob appreciates that you don't mind hearing the same few records over and over. that sometimes you'll pick which one to play. and that you're mindful about how finicky he is about which ones can be played when you do. because it's not a small collection, but not all of them are for listening. bob can't think about how you took it upon yourself to learn which ones are which for too long without getting flustered.
he's having a hard time not getting flustered now.
lost in thought and fixated on your back, focused on your hand on his wrist and how close it was to his own - he doesn't notice when the music starts. barely noticed that you'd dragged him to the record player so you could place the stylus. he only starts to notice when you drop his wrist
and he must have a look on his face when you turn back towards him, gently pushing him back. something that makes you say "'song can't be that bad."
it's new. relatively speaking, it's still an older record, but nothing from his collection.
"it's not."
which could be true. it's hard to focus on it. on anything other than you.
you move so slow. with him.
he just stares at your chest, hands hesitantly coming to your shoulders. bob's not entirely sure what to do with himself.
it's much more steady than it usually is. you're usually dragging him along to join you, do whatever your doing. but it's never like this. he doesn't really dance. just helps with whatever you're doing, stiffly tries to follow your movements, occasionally.
this is simpler. slower. a pattern he can follow. just four little steps and an arm around his waist.
"figured this might be more your speed." he didn't ask, never would have. "we don't have to keep going, if you don't..." the sentence trails off into nothing. it's not quite abrupt, it ends like the question it isn't.
he nods along. stays put, following the one, and two, and three, and four.
words don't come to him yet.
not the right ones.
it is more of an answer than most would take it for, despite bob not responding verbally. he wouldn't try to keep up with you if he couldn't stand it. wouldn't nod again when you ask if he needs you drop the pace, just a little more.
he wouldn't be struggling to say anything. anything other than you're it for him. you're all there ever will be, and he didn't know until now. he can't ask if you knew, or if you're also figuring it out.
bob's never been good at reading the room, but he knows that doesn't feel right for this moment. that it's a little too big for such a soft little moment, in this pretty track.