The tips of his fingers wrapped around the straps of her heels, and he quickly attempted to slide them off. With one down, he moved onto the other, eyes focused, and he had to remind himself to not be too ardent. To slow. To enjoy it. He looked up as she called for his attention, soft, and he found her eyes with something considerate and, initially, concerned. His lips fell slightly agape as he breathed, and he half blinked, lethargic. She was beautiful and she had all his attention, and what a power that was. His fingers slowed on her foot, digits resting on the top, where her ankle curved, and her request was met with a growing smirk, “Do you?” The male teased, his answer evident in the corner of his mouth and within the sultry mirth that flooded his light, pooling eyes. Immediately he began working on her heel once more, using both hands efficiently to remove the shoe before he dropped it. It made a hollow clunk as it hit the floor, and he leaned forward, panter-like, slow, his gaze raking up and down her torso as he leaned down to kiss her. His smirk bled through the action, passionate, his mouth found hers, open, and he parted after a moment with a wettened noise. He could taste her on his tongue. His hands found the sides of her underwear, hooking it and pulling it off her slender legs, remaining bent as he promptly removed his pants; pushing his briefs down along with it. She had him going now. Reeling. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, savoring her as he looked her up and down, bare and hardened, ready for her. 

· · · · · · · · · ·His head turned with hers as he watched an unfamiliar expression suddenly drift over her expression. And then he realized she was crying. His brows furrowed and something mildly serious found his own as he deftly lifted his hand once more to her jaw, “I didn’t upset you, did I?” He asked softly, the touch was light. Indescribably delicate as his thumb pressed into the soft skin of her cheek and turned her face back to his. ‘I’m sorry’–– he shook his head minutely in a way that would resemble a meek ‘no don’t be’, and he wanted to apologize immediately, for it was never in a million years his intention to make her cry. He listened keenly then to what she was saying and everything felt entirely observable, his eyes picking up on the most minor of details that addressed her pretty, forlorn face: how she wet her lips, how her mouth curved, how a tear dissipated in the corner of her eyes before it could even really form. The room felt rather secondary, and they could’ve either been in the middle of a city sidewalk or the in-between busy gates at an airport and he still would’ve only been able to mind her. He could see her blue hues on anything but him while she spoke; while she admitted warmth and happiness, and his head straightened at the confession, his hand smoothly rubbing down her arm and finding its place at her waist again.

· · · · · · · · · ·Her laugh was reassuring and it made him smile, his shoulders loosening subtly, though his expression found focus once more as she explained no one had ever·been there. He wondered what that meant; if she had parents that treated her right–– friends that gave her the reverence she deserved, and he wanted to ask, he wanted to know all about her at once but he knew it would be for another time. How he knew so little about her in retrospect, but how he’d already do anything for her. If he was a smarter man, perhaps he would’ve felt ashamed. There was something dangerous than being devout to someone whose full name couldn’t be recollected. But he wasn’t a smarter man, and he would’ve done absolutely anything, for the girl in the red dress before him. Her touch on his arms made him smile, and he wet his lips expectantly, his eyes looking down at hers, and he felt kissing her at this point would say more than his words ever could. He smiled finely, focusing on her touch; how her lithe fingers felt, and at the thought that any of this had actually gone perfectly. A nervous ball of energy he’d been; the mad dash to four different stores to get what he needed because they were all out of one thing, or they didn’t actually sell it. The way he found a scratch on his car before driving over which briefly dampened him, or how the cleaning had taken over an hour. But she didn’t need to know about the tribulations. As long as she thought it was perfect. As long as she had her movie moment.

· · · · · · · · · ·Her hand on the back of his neck was enough of a cue. He wanted her desperately and foolishly, and he leaned in after a few moments of inspecting her lips. He was ardent, but he managed to slow, feeling her through and through. The print of her rosebud lips was warm, and as he parted, turning his head, his eyes briefly opened, looking at her. She wanted him; she was waiting for him. His hands brushed down as he pressed his mouth to hers again, now a little more fervent, with his slightly agape lips. It was becoming physical, but by this point, he knew that was how they communicated best. His fingers hooked around the bottom of her dress and began to pull upwards, and he felt her hands slide off of him and raise for a moment while he pulled away from her and lifted it over her head. The male smirked, eyes falling to her frame, hooked on her bare breasts for a moment, he bit his bottom lip in attempted contentment of his mirth. Something carnal was creeping up on him fast, his gaze roughly scanning the front of her thinly clad underwear. He met her eyes with boyish elation, growing more excited to see her by the second. He felt himself already tightening to a pressured mount below the belt and she hadn’t even touched him yet. His lips pressed to hers again, needy as he began to remove his own top, the buttons underneath his eager fingers suddenly feeling like puzzles. He gave up, letting her do it seeing as she was working at a quicker and frankly more adroit pace, the male scoffing as he leaned back and watched, his attention going to her.

· · · · · · · · · ·His hands roamed up her sides, and under her arms they slid smoothly, finding her chest. He held her breasts in his palms, pulling his greedy eyes from them momentarily to watch her hands. He removed the button up after she finished, ·pulling whatever was left of the once tucked shirt out of his slacks and letting the fabric slide off. He immediately reached for the back of his undershirt and removed it, swiftly, and smiled, leaning in as he dropped it, his mouth finding hers once more. Garrett began to back her up towards the bed, expeditiously, his arousal now visible against the fly of his pants, pressing into her stomach as he moved her towards the duvet. She looked angelic laying there, her blonde hair amongst the roses, what was left of the red lipstick on her lips plumpening them. He placed a hand beside her on the mattress, his bare chest hovering over her as his mouth found her collar. The defined muscles of his shoulder tensed as he made his way down, over her sternum, down to her stomach and as he reached her navel he looked up at her with torrid eyes. Her soft skin would never be something he’d get over; it’d never be something he’d get enough of. He lowered his lips brushing the thin waistband of her underwear, but he stood up again then, back up so he could promptly remove her heels. ·

The emotions that she had begun to express had been fleeting, washing over her like a wave then quickly getting pulled back in with the tide. She noticed that’s how it was when she was around him, she’d feel something strongly take over her being then it would promptly make it’s exit and she wasn’t exactly sure what it meant. Her natural reaction would be to run the other way, pull the reigns in a bit, but right now in his dimly lit bedroom she felt the need to chase the feeling and face it head-on. His hand on her waist continued to soften her and as she spoke, she knew he was listening. His cerulean eyes bore comfort into her, and although he wouldn’t have much to say back to her, she knew that he’d remember every word she told him. Her ramblings were culminated by his lips on hers, the perfect end to an even more perfect night, and while her right hand was already around his neck, her other slowly began to follow. The pace was slow and as they both came up for air, she couldn’t take her eyes off his lips, wet and crimsoned from his blood flowing. Her mouth explored his again and as he got a little eager, so did she, pushing into him substantially. The thin layer of fabric between her chest and his body heeded no protection and she felt her nipples harden from the friction, undoubtedly noticeable through the silk.··

His hands were now at the bottom of her dress, his fingers brushing lightly against her upper thigh and she felt a slight shiver roam through her body. As he started to lift the dress, she pulled from him to extend her arms. He was dawdling with his movements and she watched him as he took in her frame, inch by inch as the raised garment exposed her bare skin. The February breeze made its way through the open window and it danced across her arms to her chest while he discarded her previously worn attire to the floor. As she stood before him almost completely nude, she never felt more wanted in her life. His gaze ate her up and as it lingered on her nude panties she half thought to remove them herself, but decided she wanted him with less clothing on first. Her eyes found his, practically begging to close the gap, his lips now on hers, this time with more ardent behind it. Her breathing increased, dragging her mouth to his corner, briefly looking down to assist him with the buttons on his shirt. Her digits fiddled on the way down and she became increasingly restive while his own hands roamed her chest, and as she got to the last closure she practically pulling it off of it’s cotton thread.·

@chcndlcrs

                    The night, leading up to now had been timorous and convivial. He’d enjoyed it, reticent in his manner, he’d listened to her talk over dinner. He’d been enjoying her presence, a melomaniac to a symphony and he didn’t dare ever silence her. Beautiful and wondrous was how she looked in her dress, and even more so while thoroughly enjoying her dinner (he in fact, liked a girl that could eat), and as the night lingered he couldn’t help but feel the desire to show her off as he should. He happily opened doors and pulled out her chair upon being seated and helped her take off her coat. He did it again now, again, with roughened but docile hands as they arrived back to his apartment, fingers brushing over her arm. He hung it up on the wobbly coat rack, his own coat placed next as he swiftly removed it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her beelining towards his bedroom door, “You aren’t tired, are you?” He asked with a smile, capering, beaconing her to glance over her shoulder; he wanted to see her face again, even if it had only been a matter of thirty seconds without. Garrett moved then towards his room, swiftly, stepping around her before she could suitably get to the door, and he found her eyes before he opened it, suddenly playfully expectant as he was boyishly fevered. 

                    He opened it, to reveal a dimmed room, recently lit with a few candles–– thanks to one of the friendlier of his roommates who’d obliged–– before they had arrived. But that was only the beginning of the details that could be picked apart. Petals were scattered on top of his duvet, dark red roses, and the room had clearly been polished to a higher standard than she was likely used to seeing. An old and soft song lulled from a speaker, but a good one, loud enough to hear but low enough to where it wasn’t the forefront. A window was cracked; he realized he had forgotten to close it but somehow the soft ambiance that floated in from the night produced a whimsical tone: the elusive illusion that it was a hot summer night. He’d spent a few hours putting it all together, the cleaning, obviously the most time-consuming part, but he had taken relative care in where to place the candles and the petals. He’d never wanted something to be as perfect as he had wanted it to be tonight. He watched her expression as she walked in, studying it and admiring it and he wanted to remember it for times when she wasn’t around, like a trinket to keep in his pocket.

                    He closed the door gently, the knob turned first, and his hands found his pockets nervously as he watched her inspect his transformative bedroom. Her back to him and his eyes took her in, from the long blonde curls that fell over her shoulders to the bare skin barely exposed by her dress. He lingered on the inside of her thighs. Baby It’s You by The Beatles–– he could recognize the tune now, briefly, and he could tell his mind was trying to grapple onto anything. He wasn’t wary of what was physically to come but of what he wanted to say to her before. He knew it wasn’t anything necessarily groundbreaking, but the weight latched to his chest. Garrett had been working on it: trying to say what he meant in a way that sounded decent. He’d never be good with words, he had never been in the past, he knew this, but he could at least try. Chandler made him want to try. He got closer to her, step by step, and as she turned to meet his predominance he met her with a small smile, “I hope this is okay for you,” He told her, steady, and as he got closer he kept his hands where they were: at bay a restrained. He looked as if he were about to kiss her but he stalled, remaining a few inches away from her face. If his hands weren’t tied down he knew he’d be fidgeting with his tie, revealing his true composition, which could only be described as on the cusp of shambles. As his eyes looked over her earnestly he managed to cool against her Prussian blue gaze, and the boy leaned in slowly finally, finding her lips tenderly. He breathed in lightly through his nose, his hands ultimately lifting from his pockets to reach her smooth jaw, deepening the embrace, and he could’ve sworn the February breeze must’ve trickled in at that moment and left him with goosebumps trailing up his arms.

                    The moment was softened as it was slow and silent. The music lulled. He could feel her touch against him, and gradually he was cooled by it, no longer growing ardent but instead content, as he usually was. He pulled back, his forehead brushing over hers before he turned his head a fraction to the side to look at her, his eyes landing on the corner of her mouth. He watched it twitch, and the brunette minutely smiled before his expression once more settled into something more collected, his brows slightly knotting with attention, “… I know the other week you said I make you really happy,” He began, looking down, “Well, you make me really happy,” Garrett’s gaze lifted then, as did a corner of his lips, his defined features face warmed against the tender yellow glow the room hummed, “I’ve never…” The male discreetly shrugged, “–– I haven’t ever felt like this with just anyone,” He turned his head and he remained, sinking into her presence just a little more, “–and I wanna be there. I always wanna be there. That’s the commitment I made when I asked you to be with me,” He told her, starting to smile, “to protect you and care for you, and that’s a promise I wanna keep.” His hands had slid down to her waist, considerately and softly rubbing against them, sizing them up with his palms, “I’m not gonna let anything hurt you. Ever. As long as we’re together.” 

The night Garrett had planned for the two had exceeded all expectations that Chandler had. Never in her twenty-one years did she expect to be wined and dined on a day she would typically refer to as a ‘Hallmark holiday,’ but there she was nervously fiddling with the silk hem on her lust-red dress in a secluded window seat at The Mill. The cuisine was impressive but her main focus was on her company sitting across from her looking as handsome as ever; and though  she held most of the conversation, she never for one second felt snubbed or mundane in her words. He listened and they laughed, and not one thing felt forced. From the beginning of the date to end he had remained a complete gentleman— pulling out her chair to opening doors and taking off her jacket. That wasn’t much of a surprise, though, she knew from her last date with Garrett that he was chivalrous and knew how to treat a lady. The muscles in her cheeks began to ache mid-meal from grinning so much and by the end the throbbing had turned numb. 

They made it back to his place where he continued his gallant acts and as he removed her long pea-coat she felt goosebumps rise on her bare shoulders from his fingers brushing against them. Her nude heels clicked against the oak floors as she mindlessly headed towards his bedroom until his voice made her halt. The corners of her lips curled up and she turned her head to look back at him, her chin resting on her shoulder and eyes sizing up the boy walking towards her,  “  No, of course not.  ”  The night they just had had her riding high and the only thing she was thinking about was getting out of her clothes and into the bed with him. She watched him languidly as he made his way in front of her, now inches from his bedroom door and as he paused in front of it her head slanted to the side, her expression reading something between playful and impatient. As he opened the clad threshold her countenance quickly shifted to something softer and she stepped in front of him as she started to scan the room.

The room smelled of vetiver and cardamom and the amber hue that flickered on the walls overwhelmed her with a sense of placidity and romance.  “  Gare...  ”  She trailed as she continued to a few more steps into the room, taking in every detail that must’ve been meticulously planned by the boy she cared for so much. She felt like she was in a dream, that this couldn’t possibly be happening to her, that she wouldn’t dare be this lucky to have someone in her life who’d take their time to try and make her as special as she did right now. A familiar early nineties song strummed in the background and while her eyes found the rose petals spread across the contrasted duvet and she felt him near so she turned, eyes meeting his.  “  This is more than okay...  ”  she paused looking behind her again, taking in a few small details before turning back to him,  “  This is perfect.  ”  Her expression read genuine and if his hands weren’t in his pockets she would have reached to hold them. She watched him and as a comfortable silence fell between them she felt soothed, as a child would feel when they held their favorite blanket. 

His lips were now on hers, slow and intimate, and as his digits grazed against her smooth jaw she turned her head slightly allowing the kiss to deepen. Her hands adhered to his wrists lightly as they intensified her mouth moving rhythmic with his before it grew stagnant again and broke. As his hands lowered her’s followed, her fingers lingering on his skin before finding their resting spot at her side. There was a break in the music and the only thing to be heard was the sporadic February breeze shifting through the window’s curtain and quite possibly her heartbeat that felt as though it was coming out of her chest. He began to speak and she watched his lips as they moved, her sole focus being on what he was going to say next. The moment was thick and as he explained how happy she made him she couldn’t help but notice a variety of emotions flowing through her.  ‘  I haven’t ever felt like this with just anyone.  ’  A smile lifted on her countenance, a modest one, but it was present and she knew that she reciprocated that feeling. 

                  Her capered response in return left him feeling winded, no words present. Only settling dust, left after his train of thought had seemingly taken off without him: an unpronounced feeling. He hadn’t been joking, but he kind-of had been, but now she was joking, completely and unadulterated, and he felt the sting of wishing regretfully that he could’ve been completely trivial. That his feelings could’ve been completely trivial on the matter, but the matter of fact was that he’d been thinking so adamantly about asking her to be his the past few days, it had slipped out in a lapse. He was left stranded. Stuck between a clause and a phrase, and he suddenly felt a little gawky, which he never felt. He was, for a few seconds, minimized and reversed back to the fourteen-year-old boy asking out the junior he became, and along with the brief and suppressed feeling came ornaments of distress that he’d ruined it all. It showed on his face, the minor self-disappointment, as he looked down and as his brows knotted. His lips moved as if he were about to say something but nothing came. Lamely, the connotation of her words left him feeling like he was balancing along a tightrope, one side rejection, the other praise. The flowers in his hands lightly limped as he thought of a response that didn’t deepen the fumbling any more than it needed to.

                   Her hand on his arm spoke in large measures, and he looked up as she touched him to see that her normally light cheeks at turned pink; her top row of teeth, straight and ivory had found a resting place in her bottom lip. She looked like she was about to apologize, and he tilted his head to the side, still close enough to her to easily and readily count the lashes on her eyes. He expected to have her tell him it was too soon, and he was ready to agree, and though he’d never exactly been faced with this level of rebuff he was more than willing to wait for her. But that wasn’t what happened. She grew earnest, perhaps even solemn, but closer, her hues lifted, her rounded eyes accentuated with the seventy-degree tilt of her head. If he weren’t so hung up on what she was about to say about the ineptness of the past forty-five seconds he would’ve inspected her lips with care only an artist had while composing his craft. Her smile. ‘Your girlfriend’. She meant it but she didn’t seem appeased, but he was. Enough so to sigh and glance away complacently, a smirk forming on his lips, “Sorry.” He apologized, half-lamely, and it would be the last pitiful move he’d make, “I really wanted this to be more special,” He admitted, finding her eyes again, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight, “I mean, this sounds kinda sappy but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. How I was gonna ask you tonight, but now, I guess–…” He glanced around to see no one in sight, his plans obviously foiled but he wasn’t deterred, “… Will you,” The male’s head slightly cocked to the side, and he paused, inspecting her face, realizing the groundwork he felt was laying didn’t feel quite in tune. He began to grin, slow and comfortable, “––do you wanna be my girlfriend, Chandler?”

                   He felt punch-drunk and alive and he realized then he was nervous. A first for him, or at least since he’d turned eighteen and moved away and become a new person–– a better person. A grown person. A man. And he felt no shame at discovering a woman could make him weak at the knees, as long as it was the right one, and she felt just right. Garrett got closer, his eyes falling over her body, languidly before they scraped back up. Her eyes, a sweet demise, she had his attention. And he watched, just as her expression began to change and brighten and he wanted to kiss her now, again. Deeply and profoundly and he could not wait to see what the late evening would have in store; what she would have in store for him.

She watched his expression change in concourse as she spoke, at first it seemed to be unclear how he was taking her words and then she saw the disappointment settle in, but only briefly. In the time she knew the brunette she learned his eyes were a window to his emotions and when the feelings were unpleasant they showed solely through his azure hues, but you had to catch the evocative display quick because as soon as he realized it was showing it was gone. She redeemed herself, though, with her touch and her statement that followed. Girlfriend. The word left her lips burning as if it was something she was keeping a secret and shouldn’t had said out loud. His countenance softened to silk and she had the urge to move her hand up to it, she wanted to watch him melt more from her touch, her fingers wanted to touch his lips as if to remember exactly how they felt in this exact moment, but then he started to apologized and she pushed the impulse back. Her brows furrowed in confusion, she wasn’t sure why he was apologizing, she didn’t want him to. As he continued her face relaxed into more of an understanding, into a realization; He was nervous. He had been thinking about how to ask her. She found it endearing. He was continuing to make her feel special in a way that she had never felt before, in a way that no one had ever even got close to doing. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling but she knew it had to be close to pure and utter bliss, something you’d only feel when you were at complete peace and in heaven.

                   Over the moon, he was, just anticipating her reaction. Valentine’s Day had been any other day for the past three years. It hadn’t mattered, and the events that transpired over the day hadn’t held any interest. Cliché as it sounded, the day was unconventional this year and he felt it. Not only did he feel like he had to act on the holiday, but he wanted to. It was a day where you made someone else you cared about feel significant. He had someone this year he wanted to make feel significant every day, but at least on the fourteenth of February he valid excuse to go marginally overboard with the whole gratitude card. He didn’t want to be soapy and he didn’t want to be sappy, but he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. All inspiration had been drawn by the faint remembrance of movies his younger sister, Olivia, had tended to make the family watch on Valentine’s Day in previous years. It was when he was still living at home, and younger, and he’d only really obliged to hang around just for the scenes in The Notebook when Rachel McAdams was in the buff. But he could remember. A surprise situation? Check. A bouquet of flowers? Check. A choice selection of sentimental words? Half-check. He was still working on the latter and had been for the past few days, but having spent most of those days with her he hadn’t been available for planning. ‘I wish my life was like the movies’–– he’d remembered Olivia saying that at some point, amidst her yearly rewatchings in the den. She must’ve only been thirteen, but it had still meant something, and Garrett, an assuming man, had an epiphany. All girls felt that way too. They wanted the fairytale, even his sister, who was anything but half the time. He realized it was still true, it had to be, and he figured, feeling as though he’d cracked part of the code that was women: why not try to give it to the one he wanted on the day they probably desired it the most?

                   He pushed his way through Hillyer Hall, through the doors, watching and hearing the hoard of oncoming traffic heading his way. Maybe he looked ridiculous, with his dozen red roses and his small heart-shaped box. He could feel eyes on him as he pushed against the crowd, walking his way towards the classroom he knew Chandler would be in. He’d asked to see her schedule, and unaware to her had made a mental note of where she’d be during this time. It was a colder day and many were stalling in the hall either putting on their winter wear or talking to someone else, or both, and so he weaved until he got to the great lecture hall. The double doors were stilled and he peeked in to realize the class was still in session. He smothered a nervous-excited smile by pursing his lips inward and he made a turn away from the door. He pictured her face. Just her face. He hadn’t seen her since last night, but he could picture her smile already, or at least some distorted memory of it. Just as he took his third step away and off to the side he heard the door being shoved open behind him, eager people trying to storm their way out. It was a late class; it ended at five in the afternoon, and he immediately began searching the trickling crowd for her. He leaned against the brown brick wall, and he began to smile. Unfamiliar faces passed, most he didn’t recognize, although one or two seemed to recognize him. And then there she was, seemingly last but certainly not least. 

                   His lips pulled apart and instantly he was scanning her, “Wow,” He said softly, and though she wasn’t wearing anything but a jacket and jeans and had her hair pulled up he thought she was beautiful. Garrett stood up straight, his smile relaxing, “Sorry. I couldn’t wait–” He glanced down at the flowers and then back to her when their proximity closed to nearly nothing. He held them a little lower, so they weren’t in her face and his gaze rested on her blue eyes. He wanted to kiss her, but he merely watched her tuck a strand of her blonde hair behind her own ear and then glanced at her lips. He smiled, again, brows furrowing for a second at the redundancy of her question, “Yeah, they’re for you, silly,” The brunette began to smirk and the words that came out of his mouth were ill-advised but telling, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t bring you something?”–– and that word, ‘boyfriend’, he only really realized the meaning behind it after he’d said it. He felt the ‘oh shit what did I do’ feeling sink, but his facade only faltered for a second, briefly held by mild hindrance. His smile minutely sunk and he looked down at the roses, deciding to wait for her reaction: to see if she either played it as something lighter or not. He wasn’t even sure, in that moment, if he meant it.

The sight of Garrett was easily the best part of her day and although she wasn’t expecting to see him until a few hours after, the surprise was one that brought an immediate smile to her face. The actuality that she was this elated to see him so soon after their last stay together was telling. Typically she didn’t want to think about, let alone be around someone as much as she was Garrett, but she found herself subconsciously wondering how his day was going or wanting to recollect how it felt to be held in his arms. He made her feel special in small, but big ways that no other guy had ever done before, and him standing before her with flowers and chocolates was just another way to prove that.  “  I’m glad you couldn’t wait.  ”  Her response was short but direct and honest. She enjoyed surprises and spontaneity and it was nice when she wasn’t the one initiating it. Her eyes quickly looked him over and he wasn’t in anything more than his normal attire, but she found him more attractive than ever, and the need to touch him grew to warm her as she stood in the bitter February air.

The grin was still on her face as she listened to him talk. She knew that he was aware of how happy he made her, but she had made it a goal to either verbally or physically show him every day. Chandler wasn’t good with expressing her emotions or how she was feeling, she knew that, and she was trying to work on that. Her eyes found his lips as he confirmed her suspicion of the themed gifts in his hands and she moved closer, readying herself to pull him into a kiss, but was promptly stopped in her tracks by one word. Boyfriend. She was frozen in place, train of thought was wiped,  “  Boyfriend? Is that what I’m supposed to call you now?  ”  As soon as the words left her mouth she had mentally face-palmed. Her joking demeanor was a result of the nerves that had overcome her, and not in any way a reflection of how she was actually feeling. She wanted to decipher exactly what was going on between them and she wanted even more for them to be exclusive. She wanted to be his. 

Her top row of teeth grazed over her bottom lip and she felt her cheeks burning a scarlet red, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the weather or her embarrassment. Her hand extended up to his arm as she tried to read his expression but it was unclear how he was feeling. Her thumb pressed through the fabric of his jacket, rubbing lightly,  “  Well...  ”  She was softer this time, the corner of her mouth curling up timidly,  “  Your girlfriend loves the flowers and chocolates and the fact that you’re here right now.  ”  Her blues locked in on his as she finished and she hoped that he read her correctly, in no way did she want him to feel like his grand gesture was being undermined. 

It was the second week of February, a Friday, the fourteenth to be exact. Typically Chandler would dread even going on social media on this day, let alone go out in public, even the thought of seeing happy couples and their extravagant demonstrations of affection caused her stomach to turn. Maybe it was the cynic in her or maybe it was jealousy. Either way, the day would usually end with a handle of vodka passed around the single Zeta’s and a very inebriated Chandler. This year, though, it was different. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t anticipating Valentine’s Day. It was the first time she could experience it in all it’s glory with someone who she truly cared about and even though she wasn’t sure where Garrett and her stood on the relationship front, what she did know is that they had plans to see each other later in the evening— and that said all it needed to. The days prior she had gone back and forth on if she should even get him anything, they were new, so would it be too much? She finally settled on doing what she did best, writing him a note. It wasn’t very comprehensive but it was an explanation of her feelings and things about him that she enjoyed. She also included her own journal entry detailing the first night they met, the October prior, and while the thought of him reading something intimate to her made her slightly cringe, she believed he would find it endearing and humorous.

                   “I’ll keep that in mind.” He managed to mumble, noting after her brief stunt in explaining her zeal for pickles, and his expression said it all. His entertained grin, adorned, his brightened eyes: he loved listening to her talk. And he loved documenting the little things, like bookmarks in a never-ending chapter book, he didn’t know the importance of them now exactly but he wanted to be able to turn back to them. The tomato soup and the grilled cheese–– he wanted to make that soon for her, but how could he incorporate pickles now too? No bread and butter. He was pulled back by her hand snaking up his arm, brushing with smooth friction, “My dad’s got a boat,” Her nails against his bicep, it nearly knocked him out from saying any more, his idea trailing as he glanced down at her lips and as his voice simmered into something a little more hush, “…I could uh–” He shifted, inhaling, pulling his gaze from her lips, “–we could try water skiing sometime. It might be easier to start with that.” The brunette assured, and another note found his mental notebook: she thinks she’s clumsy. His fingers, brushing down from under her shirt, grazed over her stomach while it became graced with her own lithe fingers. Surely his knuckles had never been touched in a way, not in one he could remember anyway, so carefully, so pleasantly. He sunk into her eyes, and his face neared closer as he listened to her speak, and suddenly he began to look somewhere between adjusted and lethargic.

                   He eased, a smile once more finding his lips, joined by a small laugh this time as she spoke of dog videos and his shoewear, and he remembered, back in Alabama, two things: she had mentioned she was a dog person and she had nearly lost her mind when he’d slipped on his Crocs one afternoon. He sunk into something reminiscent and amused, “It’s called Crocs n’ socks, it’s a fashion trend, look it up–” He mumbled in a faux defense, “‘cause it’s not funny, it’s serious.” But it was funny, and he liked that he did something that made her laugh, even if it didn’t make him. Her squeezing his hand and brushing her foot along his leg kindled the fire within, and he wanted to touch her now. Brazenly. Perhaps a little too inappropriately for the current mood of the conversation. But he unquestionably still wanted to talk to her at the same time. Talking to her was a different kind of high. He half-laughed when she said she couldn’t dance, glancing down at the duvet, “But that’s not true.” The boy faintly protested, “You can dance. I remember you dancing, at the house party off of Andover. The one last November,” He paused, “I mean– I was kinda drunk, but I wasn’t drunk enough to not be able to determine if you could dance or not.” The brunette insisted, and if there was one thing he was gifted in it was a sharper memory than most.

                   Her sizing her own hand up against his own–– he glanced down, an ear steadied on her shift in tone. Something quieter and more monotonous, an inking of deep consideration and pensiveness, and he couldn’t help but feel it was a harder question for her than the others. Her answer caused his head to turn back to her, to look at her, and he half expected a joke but he did not get one. She was earnest. ‘I guess I haven’t found that person yet.’. He closed his hand around hers and looked at her, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t planned for that answer, in fact, he half-expected the conversation to spiral into a clump of short stories. He had wanted to know who she’d dated, what they were like, what she didn’t like about them, but he had not expected the list to be vacant. He still sat there, not having responded, holding her hand, looking down at it, and he could start to feel the urgency pressing in on him, threatening ineptness. Was he that person, or was he merely a stepping stone? The thought hadn’t crossed his mind until now, and in the moment of not having anything to say, he acted. He squeezed her hand a little tighter before pulling it from her and leaned over, his palm finding the sheets on the other side of her. A lock of his dark hair fell over his forehead and his eyes looked for hers before they closed faintly. He kissed her then, delicately, his hips against her, and as he rolled back his hand hooked around the side of her pressed to the bed, bringing her with him; pulling her her to shift to be on top of him.

Her eyes lit up at the mention of his father’s boat and the idea of her possibly getting an invite back to his hometown. Was this an informal invite? She wasn’t sure but she imagined it to be. She had only seen a glimpse into his life at home and she wanted more, she wanted to learn more, wanted to be more; not just the girl back at college that he saw on-and-off during semester, but the girl he’d continue to bring back to Alabama. As his words trailed she watched his gaze move down her face and she slowed her touch on his arm, nails still light against his skin barely touching. He was distracted, she was distracting him, but was it her finger’s contact or her mouth that was the stimulant to his aberration?  “  I’m all for water skiing but you have to promise not to laugh if I somehow face plant in the Tennessee River or wherever we end up, okay? ”  Her gaze stayed on his countenance but bounced between his eyes and lips and she swore in that moment she could watch him talk for hours. A modest laugh spilled from her as he defended his choice in shoe-wear, but where she found the humor was him attempting to be stern with her. Her foot continued to slide up his calf in a leisurely but mundane pattern, her bare skin like silk warring with the coarse hair on his,  “  I guess I’ll take your word for it, but if it were up to me I’d say you were just being nice.  ”  It was a quick retort to his complimenting of her dancing skills not really warranting an extra response but she was typically the type to have the last word.

                   The way ‘love’ folded off her lips, like calligraphy, he couldn’t help but notice how she’d accentuated the word, and it felt how dew looked when it accumulated and rolled off of the hanging leaf from where it landed. He looked at her–– looked at her mouth, and he paired the sudden parting growth on her lips. Two smiles, inches apart; he lay comfortable next to her, slightly curved in, spurred. His answer remained on his lips, as his eyes communicated the rest. He’d cook for her sometime, and sometime soon, and he didn’t know how she felt about surprises yet but he figured this would be the way to learn. He examined her again, for perhaps the hundredth time since he’d met her, her fingers now on the grey fabric of his shirt, her sensation on his side; he wanted to remember what she looked like, even when she was gone. Her hair, her eyes, her nose, her lips, her skin. His hand that was on her own slightly nudged to extend her fingers, and exposed, his thumb brushed down the lines of the smooth skin like a palm reader would. Except his eyes were on her, “–It’ll make me upset if you do, alright? So don’t do it.” He assured though he knew she wasn’t convinced, and so then he turned onto his side with his cool blue eyes on her, releasing her, “See, I see you right now, you’re already planning something, but don’t, O.K.– just don’t.” His widening smile interfered with his coherence, his playful and light pleading for her to simply not do a thing for the likes of him.

                   As her finger slid down his abdomen, his hand deftly lifted to her hip, and he exhaled through his nose, shifting his head in his hand. He felt the waistband of his own briefs, and middle fingers found the friction to dip under the elastic as he rubbed her skin. He looked up at her mild protest–– ‘you’re putting me on the spot’. Was he? The male hadn’t seen it that way, but she was a book he wanted open; one he wanted to read, and much like a fragile text he knew he had to be careful with it. Did she trust him enough? He wondered. But his eyes bore curiosity and recognition as they scanned her own. He recognized her at that moment, wide-smiled, the waning of the possibility of being vulnerable, and he listened, his middle finger rubbing small circles now. He smiled as she spoke, too visibly enamored for his own good; too physically drawn, and he managed a small, breathy, intimate laugh when she finished, “So what, even a pickle-green is something you like? Just straight pickle,” The male laughed then, “Or uh–… Is Kermit-green more your go-to?” He looked at her with an expression that expected a reaction. He was teasing her, “And I thought you were from the north, how haven’t you been skiing? Come on now.” Garrett continued, impish and amused. Their language.

                   “Oh, now you’re putting me on the spot, huh? I see how it is–” He responded then to her switching of the roles, glancing down at his hand on her hip. It began to snake up to her lithe waist, under his her shirt. It was his turn to talk. The boy let out a small sigh and rubbed his forehead, thinking, before setting his head back down on his palm. His hips rolled in closer to her, and he smiled, looking for words, “Okay.” His eyes met hers again, and he lightly cleared his throat, “What makes you laugh the most?” He paused for a moment, “What did you wanna be when you were a kid, and…” He wet his lips, and his eyes slightly narrowed, and he felt unsure but at the same time very sure about his last question, his voice lowering, becoming a little more gravelly in the process, but his small smile remained, “… You ever had a boyfriend before?”

He seemed adamant on the fact that he didn’t want her to do anything for him but if he knew one thing about Chandler it would have be that she is incredibly stubborn— a characteristic that someone could pick up on in an hour of spending time with her. She stayed silent, though, she didn’t want to give a promise to something that she knew she wouldn’t be able to uphold, and so she just mirrored the grin on his face, one that she couldn’t seem to get enough of. It was infectious and as her gaze fell to his mouth she noticed how when he did smile his jaw crooked ever so slightly to the right causing the left corner of his lips to rise marginally higher than the inverse. Flawed but perfect at the same time. An image that she wanted to hold onto, file in her brain, for a day when she wasn’t feeling her best or in case she were to disappoint him and never see it again. 

 As his fingers dipped beneath the elastic of the briefs, her stomach twitched sensitively to his touch and she took a quick breath through her nose. She could tell he was listening as she spoke, it was energizing and new, the way his eyes focused on her and his attention was at a stand still. He wanted to know her and even though she felt that her conversation and inklings about herself were dull, he made them seem the opposite. The blonde wasn’t the type to just sit there and talk about herself, she was one to keep most parts of her life private and only reveal the things she wanted people to know. She was careful, one of the mere things in her life that she was measured with. With her free hand she rubbed her chin and narrowed her eyes as if she were in deep thought, her mouth pushed to the side,  “  That’s a very hard question cause both pickles and Kermit are pretty cool,  ”  She paused for dramatic effect,  “  but I’m going to have to go with pickle-green. Mainly because of my addiction to the cousin of the cucumber, I could literally eat jars of them.  ”  Moving her hand from her chin she slid it down to find his hand, fingers dragging up his arm lightly,  “  But only dill, I don’t fuck with that bread and butter crap.  ”  Her expression scrunched into a look of brief disgust before she softened again.  “  You know, just because I’m from the north doesn’t mean I’m characteristically everything I’m stereotyped to be.  ”  She held back a grin as she playfully rolled her eyes,  “  I’m just... a big wimp. I’m scared I’m going to break something, I’m not the most coordinated human.  ”  Her truth broke as a laugh escaped her and she knew it would be something he understood, as there was already a handful of times that she wasn’t at her ‘peak of elegance’ around him. 

                 As she spoke he listened, not daring to speak a word, all he focused on was what she was saying, and how smooth her wrist felt under the soft brushing of his thumb. He found himself smiling, small, and complacent as if the world had stilled and found its ease. Perhaps it had. His gaze had lowered to the working of his own touch against her, and he evidently watched her slender hand as though he had plans to take it. But he sputtered out a small laugh instead once she’d finished speaking and attempting to conceal his sudden smugness his jaw cocked to the side and he began to nod before turning his head and glancing at her, diverted, his eyes gleaming mirth from the blue of the television in the darkened room, “I mean… It’s a shame you got so modest all of a sudden about the grilled cheese, ‘cause–” He shrugged, lowering his hand out from underneath his head, it lowering flat to his own stomach, and he looked at her, properly and fully, “… I happen to make a killer tomato soup.” His smile slowly widened, his playfulness brimming, and when he looked at her he felt like he was looking at the sky on a idyllic day. She was something worthy of swooning over, and he did, his next words a weighed muffle,  “I think this is really gonna work out–” His free hand gestured between the two of them as he said it, the boy trailing off with sudden admiration. He admired her. He believed in them. He was saying he thought they would work out, blithely, confidently–– neverrmind how it was wrapped in a caper. The subliminal aspect was spoken with his eyes grazing down her features, assimilating her in, and not letting her go.

                 His smirk widened as he took her hand and brought it up to his own stomach, his other finding her wrist as he held onto her softly, merely inspecting her digits now with his own fingertips, “No, but, uh– you hit the nail on the head, my mom did not leave me completely useless with an oven. But you’ve met her–– you tell me if she seemed like the type who would’ve allowed me to go without.” He quipped playfully, keeping it demure. He began to smile more so at the thought of what he could do with it, and once more his attention found her lithe hand, “… Would you like that though? If I made you something sometime?” Garrett still asked though he figured: what girl didn’t like being fed? Maybe he just wanted to hear her say yes; to tell him what she wanted so he could know without having to directly ask, because while he wasn’t a genius he was smart enough to know women were impressed by remembered detail. His hand slightly tightened around her arm as he looked back at her, but then brought his attention right back to her palm, “But I don’t want you doing anything for me right now, alright? No surprises, no nothing, don’t get any ideas.“ Mentally, he twinged, the thought of everything that happened in the past week and the thought of her doing something out of the kindness of her heart did not mix. It didn’t feel deserved. He switched gears; his mind began to wonder, “Tell me…” He smiled, slow and loved and adorned with appreciation, “–something about you that I don’t know.”

It felt like the smile was glued on her face. She was enjoying their banter, it was refreshing to be able to just talk with someone without feeling the need to prove anything or constantly force the conversation along. She listened as he continued to talk, her mind still stuck on his remark about him thinking they were going to work out, even if it was meant in a playful or comical manner. She wasn’t sure exactly what they were doing but she knew she only wanted to be with him and he made it pretty clear that he only had eyes for her. She wanted it to work out too. Her eyes went to his hand as he pulled hers, fitting perfectly, to his stomach and watched as his semi-calloused fingers traced up and down her own digits. She shifted her weight, moving in a little closer to him, but still propped up on her elbow,  “  I would love if you cooked for me sometime.  ”  Her voice was light and direct followed by the ever growing grin on her closed lips. His confirmation of being good in the kitchen was something Chandler found extremely attractive and the thought of him making something exclusively for her felt romantic. Slightly moving her arm arm that held her propped up, she extended her index finger rubbing against his side,  “  You don’t want me doing anything for you at all?  ”  She pressed her digit into his skin lightly, raising a brow,  “  I don’t know if I can agree to that set of rules.  ”  She smirked with just a little tease in her tone. 

                   Her playfulness, it radiated like a light in a dark room, and she could’ve easily convinced him of anything now, in this state of living. Nothing she could say would put him off from her; not trait or habit could make him see her as anything less, and he wanted to know it all. Every last part of her. That was a bold feeling, he admitted to himself to feel, but he’d be a fool not to latch on. When would he ever meet another Chandler Wolfe? He wouldn’t. He smiled softly at her words, looking down at her, his head in his hand as he lay propped up on his elbow. He liked her goofy, and the sentiment of just that gleamed softly in his light eyes. Her own gaze met his. He liked her, full stop. His lips parted, curling, and he glanced her up and down, “Only to us then.” He agreed, his tone growing a little sterner but with caper, “––Executive order, from the king of the bedroom himself,” And he watched as she shifted in place, hooking her his pants around her thumbs while swiftly sliding it off her legs. He’d almost forgotten she had borrowed a full outfit from him, underwear included, and the fact made him smirk as he looked down at her thighs, the t-shirt she’d borrowed as well, commodious around her waist.

                   He wanted to take a picture of this; he wanted to remember this moment and so distracted he became, lost in something harmonious and sentimental, and he liked her, he liked her, he liked her. So much. He heard the crinkle of plastic paper. He looked up at her, just in time to catch her question, and after doing so he inhaled, shifting in his place and rolling over to his back. He lay pressed to her, his hand softly and gently finding her wrist before his pointer finger extended just enough to find the soft cotton of her shirt, “Well…” His digit lightly rubbed against her side, his other extremities modestly resting on her forearm, “I gotta go with my boy Drew here, I mean he’s got the determination,” The male capered, and as he said it he smiled, bringing his free hand up, to rest on his nape. Garrett looked down at her. Her now enjoying her chocolate, her hair down, wavy and blonde and beautiful, and though he could see the reflection of the screen in her eyes he found her true blue with ease. He was curious when he began to speak, “… What about you though?” His thumb began to rub up and down her porcelain skin, feeling her, “You know how to cook or bake at all?”

His serene to her spirited, paradoxical but balanced at the same time. In the little time they’d known each other he always seemed to bring her down a notch. She needed someone like him in her life, someone to pull her back in when she went a little too far. As they did something as simple as lay on the bed and watch some humdrum show, that played more as background music than anything else, his touch was what had reeled her back in and completely nullified her train of  thought. His touch. She watched his lips as they moved, his bottom fuller than the other but the same shade of cerise. Her attention wasn’t on his words, though, the focus was on the brush of his fingers; One over cotton fabric, the other on her bare skin. His movements were light and airy, enough to evoke goosebumps on her forearm, enough to make her feel at ease, and suddenly she felt relaxed— the burst of energy she just displayed being pulled from her body. Her eyes languidly moved from his mouth to his eyes and they hooked into him still mindlessly tuned into his movements until her attention broke when his questioning turned to her.