KD6-3.7

 “That’s a very relevant breakthrough for both science and history. I mean, the observation was performed by the English scientist Robert Hooke in 1665, when he observed plant cells in a dead piece of cork. Which was, quite frankly, revolutionary for the world of science. Even though many people argue that Antoine van Leeuwenhoek was technically the more important breakthrough since he was the one who discovered living cells.” He held up both hands in a shrugging motion before he turned back to his coffee. “But that was only nine years after Hooke, so, technically you could say both were important. Kids should definitely be learning about that in your class at some point, though, since cells literally make up every living thing.”

“Please. That’s all science stuff, buddy.” The history teacher scoffed, clearly offended. But Ryland didn’t bat an eye. No, he just turned with his coffee and walked right out, passing you while muttering something under his breath about uneducated adults.

You always had a thing for smart guys, but hearing him finally knock that history teacher down a peg? 

Oh, you were done for. 

So, naturally, pushing Ryland Grace into science explaining territory was slowly becoming one of your favorite pastimes.

Especially because he looked so cute when he started going off, listing every possible fact that he remembered on the topic. Ryland’s eyebrows would scrunch up before he’d straighten his glasses, roll his shoulders back, and start talking about how wrong you were. You knew he never meant it in a mean way, especially towards you, so it was attractive to see him go off.

His hands would get a mind of their own, gesturing as if you could physically see what he was talking about. His eyes would light up with that spark behind his glasses as he spouted scientific jargon about the fact that you were teasing him with.

“So like…y’know how some people think the Earth is flat? Get this,” You leaned across the break room table, a half eaten sandwich clutched in your hand as you spoke loudly enough for him to hear across the room. “It could be a square. How come every flat-earther thinks that the Earth is an oval? I mean, maps are square.” You gestured with the sandwich still in your hand, talking to one of your teacher friends. “I feel like I’m on the cusp of a scientific breakthrough right now.”

“Wait, what?” Ryland asked from across the room, and coughed on the water he was drinking. “The Earth is—the Earth is a sphere. There’s literal topographical data for this kind of thing.” He sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Or so they say,” You turn to him, smiling as he straightens up and fixes his glasses. 

Right into your trap, straight into science nerd mode.

“It’s actually not a perfect circle, it’s an irregularly shaped ellipsoid. So it’s not flat, and it’s not a rectangle. It’s like a lopsided marble,” He gestured, creating a round shape with his hands. “The diameter bulges at the equator. It’s from the centrifugal forces, since our planet constantly rotates. Not to mention that sea levels are constantly changing too, which contributes to the lumpy shape.” He rambles out, his eyes flicking from his hands to your eyes, making sure you’re paying full attention to his explanation. You have to suppress a grin behind your sandwich.

“Ohhh, okay, okay.” You nod, taking another bite of the sandwich. You know that the Earth isn’t flat. “I gotcha.”

But you can’t help but poke at him again.

It happened in the hallway. You taught the classroom across from him, and in between classes, you couldn’t help but hover near your door, just to catch a glimpse of his focused face. When he finally came out to lean on the doorway, his arms crossed in that way that showed off his biceps, you had some trouble finding the right words.

“Dr. Grace? Quick thought…” You smoothed out your clothes, holding back a smile. 

He fixed you with the look. The one where he looked over his frames at you, both of his eyebrows raised in annoyed anticipation. The one where it made you feel like you were in a classroom all over again.

You felt a blush spread from your neck to your cheekbones at the intense look. With all of his focus on you, it made you feel like he was studying you under a microscope.

“Stop staring at me like that,” You said, waving your hand between you two like you could clear the air of nerves around you.

“I’m just listening. Go on, shoot,” Ryland nodded to you, his blue eyes still trained on your face.

“Pluto is still a planet.” You held back a smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, you’re doing this on purpose,” He said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smile. 

“I’m not! I’m not, I’m serious,” You protested, holding your hands up in a look of fake surrender. “I just don’t know why we kicked it out. It’s very rude, if you ask me.”

“Pluto is still a planet, it’s just a dwarf planet now,” He stood up straighter, and you stifled a laugh behind your hand. 

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing! Nothing, go on,” You gestured to him, and he sighed.

“We didn’t kick it out of the solar system or anything, it’s simply too small to generate its own gravity. There are three rules that make a planet a planet.” Ryland held up three fingers, ticking them off as he talked. “It needs to be round, orbit the sun, and clear its neighborhood of objects. That basically means that it needs to use its own gravity...”

You sort of zoned out after that, nodding along to the conversation even though you weren’t really listening. You were too focused on the way his eyes stayed on yours, the way his voice took on that specific cadence when he went into teaching mode.

“So Pluto is still a planet,” He finished talking just as the bell rang, snapping you out of your blatant staring. “Don’t be so offended about its status, alright?”

You stood there for a second, blinking to ground yourself back to Earth. Your cheeks heated up again when he quirked his brows at you, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Right…” You nodded, finally glancing away from his face. “Okay, yeah. That…that makes sense. Guess I should uh, go. Class, you know?” You laughed while awkwardly making your way back into your classroom.

“Class. Yeah.” Ryland nodded too, though he seemed a little confused at your reaction. “Have a good one!”

You darted into your classroom before you could make a bigger fool of yourself.

“It’s not that obvious, is it?” You asked one of your friends one day. She worked as the Computer Science teacher down the hall from you, and was currently sitting across from you in the teacher’s lounge. 

It was early in the morning, long before most of the other teachers arrived. 

“Well…” She said, and you groaned, covering your burning face with your hands. “You’re about as subtle as the kids I teach.” 

“Great, just great,” You said, peeking out from behind your fingers. “How bad is it?”

“You look like you’re about to make heart eyes every time he starts talking.” She grinned at your embarrassment. “Oh come on, he’s not bad looking.”

“He’s definitely not bad looking, and those glasses, ugh.” You complained, and you could feel your face heating up more. “And he’s one of the few guys that can make sweaters look good. It’s unfair.”

“Maybe you should ask him out?” She offers, and that stops you immediately.

“Are you insane?” You raise both of your brows at her.

“What? I’m just saying,” She shrugged as you collapsed onto the table dramatically. “You could do a lot worse than the science extraordinaire with great arms and cute hair. Plus, you can’t stop talking about him.”

“He does have cute hair, ugh. It’s just, I could listen to him explain science all day. He gets this—this look and—fine! I’ll give it a go,” You relented when she raised a brow at you. “After school today, I’ll ask him out. Okay? Fair?” You huffed as you ran a hand through your hair. 

True to your word, you delayed your usual hasty departure from your classroom. You gathered your things as the students filed out, patiently waiting for the perfect opportunity to get Dr. Grace alone.

Soon enough the hallway was empty of students, and you made your way across the hall into the 8th grade science classroom.

Ryland didn’t notice you right away, since his back was turned to you while he wiped down the whiteboard. You watched him for a minute, steeling your nerves before walking through the doorway.

“Dr. Grace?” You said, smiling convincingly and hoping your face didn’t show your nerves. 

He turned around with a smile you’d only seen a handful of times. Looks like he had a good day today.

“Oh, hello. Are you about to debate another scientific fact with me?” He chuckled, setting the whiteboard eraser down. You had to physically make yourself look away from the way his sleeves were rolled up. 

“Something like that,” You said as you fidgeted with your car keys. You already felt your cheeks heating up in the way they always did around him.

The silence stretched long and awkward as you both stared at each other. You were trying to find the right words, but you felt like you were back in middle school, working up the nerve to ask your crush out.

“You know,” He said, leaning his hip on his desk. “Blushing is just a physiological response to emotions. Your adrenaline starts running high…” He raises a hand, tapping a finger on your reddened cheeks. “That widens your capillaries, which allows blood to appear closer to the surface.” 

You were so stunned by the sudden touch that your mouth parted. 

“Really?” You said, though you could feel your palms beginning to sweat already.

“Oh yeah,” He nodded. “Yeah. So the question is…what’s got your adrenaline going?” He asks, tilting his head subtly at you. “Are you feeling alright?” A flash of concern crossed his face, and before you knew it, he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead.

“I’m feeling fine. I just…” You gaped for a minute, still searching your brain for the answer as he lowered his hand. Instead of your prepared question, you blurted out:

 “Go on a date with me?” 

You wanted to melt into the floorboards.

It was his turn to blush now. He huffed out a laugh and smiled, scratching the back of his neck. “Well that was uh…very straightforward.”

You nodded awkwardly, wiping your sweaty hands on your pants. 

“For an English teacher, you sure have a way with words,” He said, and you swore you would evaporate from how hot your face felt.

“Don’t be mean,” You mumbled.

“I’m not being mean, I think it’s cute.” He chuckled, reaching up and brushing a stray hair out of your face. 

“Is that a yes?” You asked, feeling your heart hammer against your chest so hard you swore he could hear it. 

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you,” He said, and you thought you would start floating from the light feeling in your chest. “Took you long enough, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You huffed out another laugh. 

“It means that I’ve noticed you. It means…this.” He said right before he closed the gap between you. His lips were unexpectedly soft and warm against yours. You let out a small, startled sound before you returned it, your hands fisting in his sweater to tug him closer.

Both of his larger hands settled on your waist, turning you slowly to press your lower back against the edge of the desk. You tilted your head just enough to deepen the kiss, and you heard him make a gentle noise of surprise.

When you finally parted, you were both breathing shallower than before. His lips and face were flushed red, and you felt his heart pounding in his chest where it was pressed against yours.

“Definitely yes,” He breathed out, leaving you both smiling and feeling like teenagers again. “Although…I might’ve overheard that you have a thing for my sweaters?” Ryland teased. “Or was it my hair?”

“Oh my god, stop.” 

“No no, I’ve got it.” He grinned. “It was the look, wasn’t it?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” You let out a nervous laugh as he gives you a disbelieving look.

“Oh really?” He said, right before he rolled his shoulders back, and looked over his frames at you with his eyebrows raised. “Are you sure?” He asked, the smile leaving his face for a minute as he gave you the look.

“You can’t—you can’t do that. That’s illegal.” You stammer out as he grins.

“Yeah, I knew it.” Ryland teased again, leaning close enough that you could feel his warm breath on your lips. “I just can’t believe you’ve been doing it on purpose. I’m almost offended.”

“Almost?” You whispered, and he nodded.

“Almost. Because I’d explain anything to you, honestly.” He shrugged, smiling down at you before he gave you another quick kiss. “Besides, I can’t be too offended at my date.”

“Right,” You agreed, grinning so hard your face hurt. “The date. Tonight? At the diner downtown?” 

“Sounds perfect to me,” He said, matching your smile as he finally stepped back. “Go on. I wouldn’t want to make you late.”

Last you heard from Karin, his girlfriend had passed away—Bianca, the sex-doll turned town treasure. You didn’t know Lars well, but there’d been a dull ache in your chest when she called to tell you she and Gus had spent a few solid hours in the hospital sleep-deprived, and Lars was devastated. You grieved for him, the stranger that he was.

Karin’s still beaming. “It’s perfect. The crib is in our room, and Lars is in the pink room. The garage is still set up like a studio, minus Gus’ workout gear, but it really is a nice setup. And if you’re staying with us, I could talk with the front-desk ladies at the elementary school, see if they have room for you.” You can already see it in her eyes; she’s formulating plans for you in her head—when she’s going to get you newer sheets, the best restaurants to take you to in town. 

Most important of all, though she won’t say it to you until you move in, you’re going to make a very good Plan-C babysitter. After all, you are one of two godparents. Karin made sure you knew that at the baby shower, too. You and Lars are the backups. The thought of that kills you, too. Your hands come up to rub your eyes, trying to take in the offer in totality. Is even this a good idea? Karin’s painting it out to be, but she’s also got a bit of a plague-like optimism about her. “I don’t know, Karin. You should probably have a deeper conversation with Gus about this kind of thing—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, would you just say yes?” Karin cries out. She’s grabbing for mitts to pick up the large pot of pasta. “It’s not like we haven’t all roomed together before, and this house is way bigger than our old apartment.” Karin sleeves the mitts over her hands, before picking the pot off the red-hot burners. Once she’s pouring it out into a strainer in the sink, you can see her peer at you over her shoulder. The steam rises up out of the metal basin in wisps past her short, brown hair. “Won’t you just accept the favor and move in for a little while?”

“Karin Lindstrom, you are an unconventionally kind person,” you start. She tosses the pasta from the strainer back into the emptied pot, before whipping around to get a good look at you. “I’ll live with you, okay? You win.”

Karin squeals with delight, throwing her mitts onto the counter and jumping to give you a clambering hug. She’s squeezing your shoulders so tightly you think you might bruise. You can hear a handful of loud footsteps, creaking along the ceiling over your heads. She doesn’t pay it any mind, so you decide not to either. That is, until Gus comes stepping down the staircase. His voice is stuck between this delicate balance between whispering and shouting. “Hon, is there a fire? What’s going on?”

Bless his soul. He has a little blankie over his left shoulder, and the same thick, stern brow as usual. Little Elinor Bianca is tucked to his chest, bleary eyed. They named her after Gus and Lars’ mother and Lars’ girlfriend who you’d known for such a short time. She looks, really, so much like Karin. Especially her eyes. You can hardly believe it—your old friends as fully-functional parents. Gus is trying to cradle her soft despite the quick burst of movement. You really don’t remember him looking so fatherly.

Karin lowers her voice into the same, quieter shout. “It’s going to be just like college all over again!” She pulls away from you to take your hands into her own. Her thin, warm fingers wrap around your palms. It doesn’t seem so outrageous to Gus, seeing as he’s giving you a tight-lipped smile and letting his shoulders relax. Not a fire.

“I was telling Karin it might be best if you both agree on this. I’m not trying to move in on a whim,” you try to tell Gus, ladened with sheepishness.

He’s already jumping back up the stairs, to return to that critical process of putting baby Beth down for her nap in the crib upstairs. “You won’t hear me complaining,” he murmurs, halfway up the staircase, “It takes a village.”

—

Both you and Karin talk through the rest of the afternoon about your move-in. You still have to get your affairs in order—close up your current sublease, pack your things into a reasonable amount of moving boxes, ship over to the small town Karin now calls home. In the meantime, she thinks it’s best for you all to have one of those Lindstrom family dinners (these happen every other week, she assures you), so the four of you can chat it over. They still have to run it through Lars, which she assures you should be fine. And now, Karin has you worrying over the mushroom risotto, wondering if you should’ve told her “no” more stubbornly. You’re not necessarily high-wired, but you do think it’s a little intrusive to start living out in the garage. It means you’re going to be around a lot more often.

You can feel your shoulders tense at the sound of tires rolling over the dirt road outside a couple good hours later; the grating sound floats in through the kitchen window, and makes your grip on the wooden spoon stutter slightly. Karin jumps into action, while you’re feeling yourself sweat. “Oh! He’s here, he’s here! One sec—” She jogs over to the back door, opening it on its rickety hinges and watching as Lars gets out of his low-to-the-ground Toyota. He’s bundled in a beanie and a puffer, briefcase held tight in his hand. Karin shouts, “Lars! I just took the chicken out of the oven, and the table’s all set.”

He seems to squint at her from across the yard, just over the hood of his car, letting out a soft, ragged breath. The far-and-wide announcement is a little more ostentatious than he’d like it to be. He approaches in wide steps, snatching his beanie off his head and running his hand through his slicked hair, tidying it as best as he can. Karin, watching him with soft eyes, seems to be nearly buzzing with excitement seeing him approach the back porch. You crack a soft, shy grin. “Lars! We met—”

“—at the baby shower. I remember.” He brings his mitted hand up in front of you, and you have to take a quick moment of confusion and recovery to shake it. He’s still warmed up, having been tucked into the car for the entirety of the ride back, heater fighting to stay on amidst the evening chill. So, Lars remembers you. You don’t know why you thought he wouldn’t. He has a grin playing softly on his face, eyes blinking as he looks down to your shoes. “You’re a librarian in the city.”

“Well,” you purse your lips, “Until the end of next month.” You did really like this job, rolling your book rack down the aisles and seeing who was checking out what. Bummer to lose a gig like that.

“Which is why we’re having dinner tonight,” Karin says, tugging you aside by the sleeve of your sweater so Lars can shuffle inside past the both of you. You can feel your back brush against the wall of the entryway just slightly, straightening out your back.

You feel a bit flushed seeing how Lars shuffles through the threshold of the door, shoulder nearly brushing with your chest. You’d forgotten how tall and how burly he was at the baby shower—and right now, he seems to tower over you. You’re trying your best to keep a steady smile, but you’re becoming acutely aware that you’re still quite attracted to him. Gus’ brother. Karin’s brother-in-law. You have to remind yourself two or three times over just looking at him. It’s just too close. You wish he was a stranger.

Lars peeks up the staircase, then down at you. You have to swallow down that flustered feeling you get when he turns his gaze down to you, his well-kept mustache curving as he shoots you a few blinks and a polite smile. “It’s poor management,” he assures you, “Their loss.” You nod shyly, trying your best to peel your gaze away from him and towards the open front door. Karin’s still holding it open, letting in the draft—just staring at you both. She seems to shut it in a hurry, before shooing you both towards the dining room. She makes the both of you sit down while she calls for Gus to bring baby Elinor downstairs.

So, all five of you are sitting at the table.  The high-chair is right between Karin and Gus at the head of the table, and you and Lars are placed conveniently across from one another. They seem to fall into the usual motions—Gus is making miniature portions for his daughter from each of the serving plates, using a small, plastic spoon to scoop it into Elinor’s bowl. Karin serves Gus’ plate, and then her own. There’s a small exchange between Karin and Lars in passing serving bowls. You only realize a moment or so later that Lars is looking down at your plate.

“Potatoes?” he murmurs. You let yourself glance over at Karin and Gus, who are still well-occupied by the baby and their own plates. You offer Lars a polite, “Yes, please.” He hurries to finish scooping his own portion onto the ceramic plate in front of him, before reaching to offer the bowl over to you.

“So, I would’ve called you earlier, Lars, but I know you had that busy day today at the office,” Karin eases in. “We’re wondering if you’d mind a new addition to the house.”

Lars’ eyebrows seem to raise incredulously. He lets out a hushed whisper to Karin, “You’re pregnant?” Gus nearly flubs the tiny baby-spoon in his hands, Elinor babbling mindlessly as her father lets out a loud and unabashed snort. Karin’s just about to protest, when you let out a soft, attention-calling cough.

“They want me to move in,” you wince, taking the bowl of mashed potatoes off of his hands. You’re hovering it awkwardly over your own plate now, a little too anxious to pull the spoon out and start serving yourself. Lars is quiet. You’re trying to gauge the kind of reaction he’s having to the proposition, and he’s not giving much.

“In the garage?” he asks, attention pulled to Karin and Gus. “We should buy a couple fresh blankets. Maybe a heater.” So, it’s a yes. Lars is completely fine with you moving in—even hospitable about the whole ordeal. There’s something sort of endearing about his lack of a solid “yes.” To Lars, it goes without question. Already, he seems to be going through the mental math of getting you settled in.

But you have to protest: “No! I mean—you don’t have to go buying anything nice. I have a lot of sweaters in my place that I’ll bring over. The heater’s overkill.”

“Well, he’s kinda right. I can probably drive out to the hardware store in town. They sell them for cheap,” Gus admits, taking another generous scoop of pea-mush and floating it towards Elinor’s mouth. Karin gives him a firm nod of agreement, arms crossed over the table. You could practically melt at how sweet all three of them are about the whole move-in. Finally, you can carry out those gentle motions of serving your own plate, eyes softened as you stare down at the pretty lace trim of your placemat, the stark-white of the glossy plate placed above it. It might not be so bad with the Lindstroms.

—

You wouldn’t have expected for Lars to call off sick on your move-in day. But somehow, while you’re pulling up to the driveway after that long drive from the city—he’s there. With a creme-gridded flannel and a pair of black work boots. You swear under your breath at the sight. You pull slowly into the driveway, braking right beside him. As soon as you’re out of the car, Lars is shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Karin, Gus, and Elinor are at the supermarket. Buying for a big dinner,” he tells you, “Probably not the welcoming band you were wanting.”

“No, this is perfect! I’d rather move the stuff when it’s quieter, anyways. Less of a bother.” You round your car, clicking the little latch-button on your trunk and pulling up the lid. Inside the back, there’s a generous lot of your belongings packed into moving boxes and luggage bags. He sweeps up one of your bigger boxes with one arm. “Oh, Lars, you don’t—”

“I wanna. You’re a guest,” Lars says, adjusting the cardboard underneath his arm. Then, he digs into the front pocket of his puffer and drops a keyring into your hand. “Gold is for the garage, silver’s for the house.” Before you know it, he’s grabbing your suitcase, too—and nodding for you to walk ahead of him down the driveway.

He lets you unlock the door for the both of you. It takes a lot of effort for you not to fumble with the keys. You can hear Lars shuffling in slowly behind you, then peeling off to place your box and luggage down in the corner. As soon as he straightens back up, he’s already turning towards the door. Lars mumbles, “I’ll be back.” He doesn’t wait for an answer from you, just pivots on the soles of his boots and walks out of the garage. You peek with a tilted head outside the door. He’s already jogging back out to the trunk again.

You explore the place on your own while he takes in your things from the car. He’s having minimal trouble lifting everything and stacking it up in the corner. It makes you bashful; you’d struggled even bringing them out the door of your old place. The garage is stocked with everything you could need—laid out similarly to a studio you’d see being leased in the city. There’s a small dining table with a sixties, diner-style metal rim—two chairs to match. A kitchenette and a small bathroom. A twin-bed in the corner. You can picture Lars here—and even feel that there’s a lingering aroma of oak and cinnamon clinging to corners of the studio. It used to be his.

He comes in with your last two boxes stacked one atop the other, placing them carefully atop the kitchen counters.  “The sheets are new,” Lars points. “Karin told me you’d like the color.” You do, though you’d also take literally anything they offered to you. “Everything should be set up fine. Only thing’s the bathroom. If the water doesn’t get hot, just give me a call. With the pipes, it’s—” Iffy, he wants to say.

You shoot out a soft “okay,” hands wringing together. You don’t mean to cut him off, but Lars is really chipping away at your ability to keep cool. The thought of Lars kneeling down with a wrench and working away at the bathroom pipes sends a tight feeling to your abdomen.

Lars grabs for the knob of the front door, eyes crinkling. “I’m gonna go. You probably want to settle in.”

“Oh. Thanks,” you murmur. You have to make up for your silence. “Thank you, Lars. Really,” you say again, more earnestly. Though you keep your hands glued to your sides, you can feel yourself pushing down that unforgivable desire to squeeze his hand. He gives you a curt nod, before making his way out. He makes sure to shut the door as gently as he can behind him; you can hardly hear it click closed. Past the translucent film of the white curtains, you can see Lars hurrying across the yard and into the house, boots plodding against the short grass. You have to pinch yourself for letting your lips quirk up into a smile.

— You’re grateful for the way Karin has fought to get you an entry-level desk job. A little higher than minimum wage, generally simple. You answer the sick calls, sort the staff mail. What you aren’t so keen on is Karin’s idea of getting you acquainted with the rest of the school staff. The very-small PTA has a bake sale going on in the evening. So, the Lindstroms have to attend—for your sake.

The gymnasium has been fitted with a few rows of tables, identical black tablecloths laid out over the top. It’s a good mix of staff who you’ve only shaken the hands of once or twice, more who you’ve never even seen before, and the families of current students. All across the gym, there’s a good mix of baked goods. Gus is acting like he’s struck gold, and in the meantime, Karin has swept you away and started parading you around the room.

It seems a little targeted the way she walks you over to this particular corner of the bake sale, where there’s a taller guy around your age, dressed in a windbreaker and joggers. You already don’t like the look of it as-is. “Coach T,” Karin says, hand hovering over his right shoulder. “Travis. Sorry—we are off the clock. This is my best friend from college.” She murmurs your name to him, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. It’s a setup, clearly. This Coach Travis takes your hand quickly into his own with one tight-squeeze. You can barely call it a handshake.

“You’re at the desk, right? Think I saw Lynn teaching you how to pick up the phones,” he nods. Polite, you remind yourself, be polite. Karin’s watching you with a tight, toothy grin on her face. So, maybe you would’ve liked this Travis guy in college, when you were nineteen. She’s not wrong in that sense, but you’re not exactly nineteen anymore. Now, he lacks appeal and you’re utterly bored being dragged through the small talk. You stick to it only for Karin’ sake—though you need to make sure she doesn’t hear the end of it later.

What you do find your mind drifting to is Lars. Sweet, attentive Lars who you’ve sometimes seen peeking towards the garage from the kitchen windows before ducking behind the frame. Lars, who always seems to want to serve you at those Lindstrom family dinners. And Lars, who’s across the gymnasium now, rolling little Elinor back and forth while Gus buys a couple of saran wrapped brownies. He seems to be zeroed in on your conversation—only looking away when you try to give him a little wave from the side.

Lars murmurs a couple words to Gus, before wheeling up to the three of you, stroller handles still clutched. You can see his eyebrows knit together, all pensive and brooding. Karin chuckles. “You remember my brother-in-law Lars?”

“Of course,” Travis leans down. “And this is Elinor, obviously. Just adorable.” Karin is about to give him another little laugh when she sees Gus flagging her down on the other side of the gym. He’s holding a couple of cookies now, balanced in one hand, and brownies in the other. Clearly indecisive.

“Jeez. I’ll be back,” she huffs to you—barely Lars and Travis—before making it over to her husband in a hurry. With just the three of you, there’s a little bit of a stall in the conversation. You can tell this elementary school PE teacher wants to talk to you, but there’s still Lars and Elinor babbling in her seat. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Lars so effervescently annoyed. He’s deadpanned just looking at Travis, on the near-verge of sizing him up. He picks up Elinor with both of his hands, bringing her into a soft cradle just over his shoulder. She cooes softly. All the while, you’re trying to keep a normal stream of thought about how stern he looks. Lars shrugs with his free shoulder. “We’re the godparents.”

You can’t swallow up that heat coming off your face. Travis nods, “Oh. That’s… cool, man.” It couldn’t get any worse than this. We. As in you and Lars. It almost sounds like you should be partnered up—a whole married couple waiting in line to care for this baby girl. That concept alone threatens to send you into a downward spiral. You try to let out an obligatory laugh, but it comes out more like a gentle wheeze.

—

After a good couple months living out in the garage, this is the very first time you’ve had to look over baby Elinor. Karin and Gus have this elaborate date night planned out for the both of them—something about a candlelit dinner and a splurge on some wine tasting. It leaves you and Lars in charge, which should be okay considering the circumstances. You’re essentially roommates. You’d like to call him a friend. After the way he spoke to that PE teacher at the bake sale, all pouty and inflexible, you’re not sure how to pin down the relationship. Odd, for starters.

This sounds more appropriate: you’re a couple of godparents babysitting. While your friends take a little evening out for some quality time, you don’t mind hanging out in the living room. While you’re seated on the floor with her on one end of the couch, Lars sits on the other. Elinor is grabbing at your finger and squeezing nightly around the nail of your index finger. She’s absolutely adorable.

She also has the grip of an infant. The second you seem a little bit dismayed by the way Elinor is holding onto you, Lars is taking up one of her plush rabbits and sweeping one of its paws softly over her nose. Elinor giggles. It’s a good enough distraction for her to let go of your pointer and surrender her attention over to Lars. You let out a quiet sigh and Lars is still very focused on putting on a good puppet show with the stuffed animal. Elinor’s big, brown eyes wonder at the sight of the rabbit doing what appears to be an Irish jig on the cushions of the couch.

While she squirms in your lap watching the performance, you’ve got a trained eye on Lars’ canines. He’s got a shy smile—one that’d maybe be wider if it were just him and the baby. You lift Elinor up and join Lars on the couch, seating her on your lap. She’s still trying to reach for that plush rabbit. “You’re really good with her, you know. You’re careful.”

Lars’ hold on the stuffed animal’s arms loosens and tightens up again. “Thank you.” You want to tell him that you think he’d be a good dad, but for fear of saying too much, you settle for a well-mannered, “You’re welcome.”

You have to apologize mentally to Karin and Gus for thinking what you are now. That you could picture yourself beyond the play-pretend of this living room—how it’d be to live in a house with Lars. To wear wedding bands. To have a newborn, a bunch of toys, a house. It’s not difficult for you to picture. He looks perfect on the couch in his button-up and patterned sweater, pulling Elinor off your lap politely and cradling her with a gentle support to the back of her head. What really makes you flushed is how he’s making Elinor look ten times tinier by comparison; it’s just so cute.

“I think she’s hungry,” Lars murmurs under his breath. He doesn’t happen to notice the dazed look his words shake you out of—attention trained down only on the baby.

“I can go cut her up some of those strawberries from the farmer’s market. Maybe a little bit of cereal,” you ponder. You’d seen Karin settle on that combination of snacks before. While Elinor isn’t a picky eater, you think she’ll probably enjoy it the most. She’s gibbering away as you get up off the couch and, padding across the wood floors, you hear Lars go, “You’re good, too.”

You give him a quick smile, before turning on your heels and making your way to the kitchen. Through the doorway, you can see him thud his balled hand onto his forehead. Elinor plants one of her small hands on the wool fabric over his chest, and he cooes quietly, “Well, I didn’t know what to say.” You dip your head down grabbing the box of fresh strawberries from the fridge, trying to wipe the grin off your face.

—

You’re just about to sneak into the main house with a basket of laundry when the two of you come face-to-face on the opposite sides of the back door. Lars is looking at you through the window, looking down at you with wide eyes. You take one step down. He holds the door open, stepping aside so you can shuffle inside. Once again, that sensation of his chest brushing up against your arm makes your stomach flip. “I was about to go for a walk,” Lars says to you.

You stammer, “I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” You know you’ve got to heave this laundry down into the basement where the washer and dryer reside. It’s going to be a pain, and Lars is still watching you with his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his puffer.

He’s taking his time, you think, in asking if you’d like to accompany him. Finally, he takes his gloved hands out of his pockets and tilts his head. With hands gripped at his sides, he asks,  “You could—?”

“Yeah,” you nod briskly, placing your laundry basket down at your side. “Okay. I could use a little outdoors.”

A softened grin peeks onto his face. “I thought you would be at the school all day,” Lars tells you. “There’s Little League in the evening.”

“I’d rather walk with you,” you admit. You don’t much care for baseball right now. At least, not the baseball going on down at the elementary school. Lars smiles, waiting for you to deposit your laundry into the washer and set it up before joining him out on the back porch.

The walk is short and sweet—a little bumpy. Lars is humming some oldies jazz song as the two of you descend down the path. You swear you can see his hands flinch upwards the second you stumble over a braided lock of branches. You only give him a breathy laugh, which you’re pleased to see gets returned with one of Lars’ own. It isn’t often that you get to see him laugh like that. You want more of it, you think.

When you arrive at the lakeside, Lars is unzipping his puffer jacket and laying it down neatly on the ground in front of you. He blinks tight, waiting patiently for you to sit down. Though you’re tempted to insist that you don't mind sitting on the ground, Lars seems really keen on covering it up for you. You crouch down soft and lean back onto the puffer with a murmured “thanks.” Lars plants himself down beside you.

The sun won’t be down for at least an hour, and there’s a quiet perfection to the way the sun blurs over the lakewater. It’s always slightly overcast in town, but out here, it’s nicer than usual. Cleared-up. Lars winces, slightly, hands curling together on his lap. You can see the wisp of warm air billowing out of his mouth against the cold. “I haven’t been here since…”

“Bianca?” His eyes look a little glossy, but Lars still smiles. Yes, Bianca. God rest her soul. “It’s a really nice spot.”

“I used to watch Gus make mudpies here. In the summer, he’d mix it all up with a branch, and feed them to his GI Joes,” Lars says, gloved hand pointing over to some larger shrubs by the water. You grimace at the thought of those old, plastic soldiers face-down in the wet soil.

You murmur, “That’s kinda gross.” 

“Yeah. It was,” he shrugs, looking down at the grass between you both. It’s dry and crisp, green blades leaned to one wind-brushed side. He reaches one hand to pull at the puffer below you, adjusting it neater at the corners.

“And you…?” You can’t picture Lars acting along with his brother. He’d play gentler, kinder.

“Watched the water. I liked to imagine I was fishing, but we weren’t allowed to touch the gear. Anyways, there were only ever minnows. Maybe a turtle, once…” Lars pulls at the ties of his boots, next. You tilt your head at Lars, trying to picture him with that younger version of Gus. Two boys on the lakeside, Lars’ brownish-blonde hair against his older brother’s pitch black. You've seen pictures before; he resembles his mother more. “Now,” he says, “I come here if the house gets a little bit loud.”

“A lot, then?” you wonder.

“It’s a good loud,” Lars smiles. He’d never think to speak against little Elinor or Karin or his brother, but you know there’s an inkling of truth to your suggestion. You’d deduced it easily within that evening of your first visit, and all those glimpses in the house afterwards. It’s no dig to anyone, just the way of the world.

You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, staring at the water ripple out in motion with the breeze. This—being outside, near the water—is an ideal source of calm. There’s so little expectation to it all. You, him, and the view. It’s dream-like. You’re not exactly sure how you end up kissing Lars in that gap of time. If he leans in, or you do. You’re simply aware of the fact that you’re leaned far too close together, and that your lips slide gently against one another in a soft peck. It’s over before you can even process it—hands cupped over your mouth with a gasp. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lars!” 

Once you’ve started apologizing, you can’t stop. It comes out in a ranted and unending string. You know touch isn’t his favorite thing in the world, that it hurts. And now, you’re wracked with the terrible guilt that you’ve overstepped. His soft cheeks are burning a bright pink, seeming nearly startled by your outburst.

“No, no. It was good,” he starts. Then, a whispered correction: “—great.” You watch as Lars scruffs his gloved hand over the back of his neck. “Could you do it again?” 

Suddenly, your apologies catch in your throat. You have to slow down for a minute, try to make sense of Lars’ request. “I don’t… you want me to?” you clarify. It’s really quite the opposite of what you’d expect from him. Still, he looks at you with his brows knitted together and his eyes fixed down at your lips.

“Would you let me…?” Lards tugs his wool gloves off his hands and stuffs them gently into his back pocket. Then, Lars reaches both of his hands out tentatively, fingers coming up to cup your jaw. He moves at his own speed, and you find your eyes fluttering closed with his touch. The second his lips come up against yours, you’re inhaling that woody scent raising off his knit sweater. His mustache tickles at your upper lip. You can hear the gentle laps of the lake, the beating of swallows’ wings far off on the other end. And it’s quiet. It’s the kind of calm that you could’ve only dreamed of experiencing when you were living in your apartment in the city. And you’re there together.

You’re taken out of the second he pulls back, a quiet, satisfied hum rising from his throat. Lars places a few polite pats on your knee, before drawing back and resting his elbows on his tucked-up knees. You do the same, face still flushed and lips slightly swollen from the way Lars  just tried to snog you. You don’t know how he can be so at ease after a kiss like that; he practically sucked your breath out of your chest, and now he’s taking in the scenery.

“I want Elinor to take the pink room. She’s gonna get bigger soon,” Lars says. “Told Gus and Karin I’d move back into the garage.”

“So, we’re gonna cram in there together?” you chuckle softly. It’s roomy, sure, but you don’t think it’s roomy enough. And you won’t be working at that small town elementary school forever.

Lars blinks. “Sure. Or… wherever.” It’s an easy insinuation to make. He’ll move out, maybe even follow you wherever you end up heading next. The thought of him being around indefinitely makes your chest tighten. A good, slow life with Lars is more than you could ask for. You stick your hand out for him to take; ungloved, his big hand wraps around your own—soft palms warming up your fingertips.

꩜. though the flirty side of your guys' friendship had petered out when colt met jody on a set that he had been hired on, and she was the camera operator.

꩜. and you could tell he was much more interested in her and would fawn over her whenever the topic of your guys' love lives came into conversation after the job had wrapped (you had noticed over time that when he was filming, the volume of texts you got from him were sliced in half).

꩜. but you were still a supportive friend (despite your growing feelings for the man).

꩜. and you couldn't bring yourself to dislike jody because you understand why colt liked her in the first place, when you eventually got to work with her on set (hell, you'd be crushing on her if colt wasn't in the picture).

꩜. she was effortlessly funny, incredibly intelligent in anything film or camera related, which made her a real visionary, ambitious, and had the quick british wit that could sweep you off your feet (maybe you did have a crush on her).

꩜. anyway, so you kept your distance as the connection between jody and colt grew.

꩜. but you sucked it up and continued on with your life, and pretending that your heart wasn't slowly breaking because you were pining after colt.

꩜. but the day you (formally) met driver, that's when everything shifted.

꩜. you were already not in the best of moods because you had accidentally caught jody in colt's trailer after you were sent to retrieve him for the stunt coordinator (they were sitting very closely as they were talking).

꩜. you sucked it up and played the good friend and teased him about it (even though it killed you inside) as you guys walked to set, you had wrapped earlier, but you were sticking around to help colt out (it was his first job as a stunt coordinator).

꩜. then you were pulled away by the director, saying that the lead actress was complaining about the stunt you just did and had to do it over again (they were lucky that you hadn't changed out of the costume yet).

꩜. which made you huff silently but nodded stiffly (you were surprised the AD was allowing it).

꩜. you stalked up to the platform for the stunt and waited to get hooked in so you could swing across a 20-foot gap in the sky to the other platform about 25 feet in the air (it was scary for the average person, but you loved the rush).

꩜. you let yourself be hooked in by some of the stunt crew, but one in particular caught your eye.

"you're not ben." you addressed the blonde who was adjusting the harness, and your breath got stuck in your throat as his pale blue eyes slowly met yours. his gaze flicked over your face before he replied. "he got called away—family emergency." his voice was low, a hint of an accent in it that you couldn't place. if you had to hazard a guess you would assume it was from the east coast.

꩜. you had seen him around the set, from what you remember from the safety meetings, he was the technician/mechanic for the stunt team and vehicles, and you heard some talk about how quiet he was.

꩜. you nodded, not wanting to give him a verbal response. but he didn't seem to mind. you saw a toothpick nestled right behind his ear and smirked.

"kicking a habit?" you asked after a beat, gesturing to the toothpick. he stared at you for a second, neither of you breaking eye contact before paul's—another crew member—walkie went off asking if you guys were ready. the guy in front of you quickly finished up and nodded at paul who responded on the walkie.

꩜. the crew members dispersed, and you mentally prepared for the stunt, taking deep, calming breaths.

꩜. before they called action, you glanced down, and you could see colt's nearly dirty blonde hair right next to the camera jody was operating, and something ugly grew in your chest.

꩜. you ripped your gaze away and tried to focus on the stunt.

꩜. you heard action, and you started running. the camera that was rigged behind and above you started to follow.

꩜. though that moment of distraction threw you off and you jumped earlier than you meant, meaning that you almost missed the platform that you were supposed to land safely on.

꩜. a cacophony of gasps echoed through the set, but you ignored them as you managed to catch yourself on the ledge and pulled yourself up before continuing running.

꩜. cut was immediately yelled as soon as you hit your last mark and you could hear everyone around you start to buzz around the set.

꩜. you made you way down to the ground floor and everyone from the director, jody, colt, and the medic was surrounding you but you waved them off.

"oh my god, i'm fine! i don't see what's so surprising? i was on a wire and caught myself." you said once you shushed them all. colt said your name in a concerned tone. "one of the wires snapped and no one had set up the mat. if you fell, you could have—" colt shut his mouth, cutting himself off as his jaw clenched. "well, luckily i caught myself then." you could help but snap at him before turning to the director, "did we get the shot?" "well, yes—" you cut him off. "great, do you need another take?" the director sighed. "no." "then i'm off for the day." you said curtly before weaving through the crowd of people surrounding you and off set, passing by the new guy who had adjusted your harness, you barely caught the look of concern in his eyes before you stalked towards your trailer.

꩜. but then you changed direction, walking in the opposite direction of your trailer, knowing that you'd be cornered by anyone who wanted to talk to you (colt).

꩜. so you went to the edge of the lot and leaned on one of the picture cars that they were going to use for the next day. you took a long breath as you let the fading adrenaline leave your system and the fatigue from the day settle in.

꩜. you set your eyes on the horizon, the sun was getting lower, but it was nowhere near sunset, and wrap was at 8 pm, so you had a couple of more hours until you could leave.

꩜. you didn't realize your eyes had fallen shut until they snapped open at the sound of footsteps approaching. it was the guy from earlier.

꩜. he stopped a couple of feet away from you once your eyes had met. you took the time of silence to study him for a moment. he was was dressed in a plain white t-shirt, a lanyard for the production hung around his neck, some jeans, his walkie clipped to the waistband, sturdy work boots, and you could see some leather gloves peaking out from his front pocket.

you snapped out of your staring when you realized where you were. "oh, sorry, did you need to drive the car over to set?" you apologized as you stopped leaning on the car.

꩜. he shook his head. he continued to stare at you, eyes roaming over your tired figure.

꩜. you looked away from him and his imploring gaze. you should have been uncomfortable with how quiet he was as he just stared at you, but you weren't. you only looked away because you weren't sure if you could stare back at him.

"wanna go on a drive?" his voice cut through the silence that had settled between the two of you. your eyes landed on him again, a small smirk pulling on your lips. "aren't you still on the clock?" he shrugged, and you could see the beginnings of a smile form on his face. you noticed that the toothpick was in his mouth now. you laughed through your nose and stood up straighter. "sure. why not?" there was a slight smile on his face, and you followed after him. he led you to his car and even opened the passenger door for you, making you shake your head at his chivalry.

꩜. he drove smoothly, a stark contrast from the driving you were used to from colt, which was reckless, but it could be fun if he was being safe.

꩜. you couldn't help but stare at how the car seemed to act like an extension of his body as he drove through the streets near the lot (he didn't want to stray far from the studio just in case he was needed, but his walkie never went off).

꩜. you guys drove in silence, but it was nice. you never felt the need to fill the dead air with conversation (besides he didn't seem like the chatty type), and you guys had the windows down, letting the wind blow through your hair and onto your skin.

after about an hour, he pulled back into the lot and into a parking spot. but neither of you moved to leave the car. you sank into the seat and glanced at him to find him already looking at you. "do you have a name, or do i just call you by the name i have for you in my head?" you asked with a playful smile on your lips. there was a slight furrow in his brow. "what have you been calling me?" he sounded amused. you smirked. "the guy who did my harness today, or driver." the corner of his lips pulled up. "driver?" "you asked me to go on a drive, what else was i suppose to call you by?" you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "my name." he pointed out. "i don't know your name, that's why im asking." he looked thoroughly amused, but stayed silent, making you cock a brow at him. "you're gonna make me work for it, aren't you? he nodded, which made you shake your head. you stared at him for a moment before you got out of the car and poked your head into the open window of the passenger side. "by the way—" you gave him your name, "—i'll see you around driver." you teased before patting the car and headed back into the lot the slowly setting sun casted your form in a other-worldly glow as you left, driver was entranced by the sight.

꩜. there was a relaxed smile on your face as you walked farther into your trailer to change and head out for the day, but you were intercepted by colt as soon as you reached your door.

he called your name, making your smile drop. you turned around to see a slightly stressed and disheveled colt. "where have you been?" "around." you said vaguely before entering your trailer, colt following close behind and entering after you. "you weren't answering your walkie, i needed you talk to you after what happened earlier." colt frowned at you. you took a deep breath, holding back a snarky retort. "i left it in here." you gestured to the walkie on the counter. he looked at it. "oh." colt looked back at you. "where did you go? i wanted to make sure you were okay." you couldn't help but soften slightly hearing the concern in his tone. "i just needed a breather, but i'm fine, okay? nothing hurts and i didn't fall. we're all good." colt's gaze swept over you for a second before nodding. "okay. okay, but could you go to the medic at least?" you couldn't help the groan that escaped your mouth. "colt. i'm fine." you stressed. colt's hard stare unnerved you, and you groaned again. "okay, fine! i'll go now."

꩜. colt smirked and led you out of your trailer, followed you out, and guided you to the med tent (which you rolled your eyes at him following you).

꩜. once you got a clean bill of health from the on-set medic, you and colt walked back to your trailer and you saw driver walk by.

"hey driver." you waved at him. he acknowledged you with a nod and kept walking past you and colt. "driver? that's not his name." colt said with a growing frown on his face. "i know." you shrugged. you guys had made it back to your trailer. "then why do you call him that?" colt asked as you climbed the stairs and opened your door. he stayed at the base of the stairs, looking up at you. you shrugged again."because. anyway, night colt, i'll see you tomorrow." you said to him before closing your trailer door. "…goodnight." colt was left confused at the sudden dismissal and stood there for about a minute before leaving.

꩜. since that day, you had been unintentionally gravitating towards driver whenever you had free time or in between takes. he always seemed to be there wherever you were, and you welcomed it. most of the time, you guys just sat in each other's company, not talking, but if you were, you were talking for both of you, which you didn't mind.

꩜. colt obviously noticed your absence around him, which confused him as to where you would disappear to, because before, if you had any free time, you'd spend it with him. colt went to jody about this and laughed at him for how oblivious he was.

꩜. it was clear to jody that you thought colt and her were an item (even though they weren't colt would only talk about you when they hung out and tried to get advice from her). she explained it to him, making colt frown.

꩜. colt was determined to show you that he didn't like jody, and actually fell for you.

꩜. so, he was on a mission to be the first person you saw in between takes, giving you 'notes' (but not really), be by your side during lunch, and if you guys had any spare time to hang out on and off set.

꩜. little did colt know, driver had always noticed you as soon as he stepped onto this set. he was content with just observing from afar, just watching you as you interacted with everyone on set (and noticed how close you were with colt, which stirred something inside of him). he kept his distance, though, until the day that ben had to leave, and he stepped in for him.

꩜. driver liked spending time with you—he saw how kind you were to everyone (even if you were frustrated), and you didn't force any kind of conversation onto him. you were also content to just exist with him. he realized he was in trouble when driver took you out on a drive once after wrap, and he took you to one of his favorite spots in LA.

it was late, and he took you to a spot that overlooked the city. you guys sat on the hood of his car, just watching the city. but he wasn't looking at the view—he was looking at you and how the lights of the city illuminated your features. something shifted in his chest, and he realized that he'd do anything for you if it meant he could steal moments like this with you all of the time.

꩜. after this night, driver was determined to also stick by your side, even if it meant doing it from a distance a lot of the time.

꩜. now with you, on the other hand, you had noticed the shift of behavior from both men, and not that it was unwelcome (jody had come up to you at some point and emphasized that her and colt were just friends), but it built a conflict within you.

꩜. you knew that you had liked colt (and for a handful of time), but spending time with driver had made space in your heart for him, and you had no idea what you were going to do.