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After getting your chores done, you made your way to the record store. Which is just a couple of blocks away from your apartment building. Your path wasn't as crowded as usual. Which you took as another sign for a good day. Then you bumped into your co-worker, Bob, who seemed deep in thought with his earphones on. You tapped his shoulder and that’s when he noticed you, showing you a crooked smile afterwards. It was cute.

“Morning, Bob.” You smiled, too bright for a Monday morning. And Bob almost kissed a wall, taken a back, if it wasn't for you maneuvering him to the side. The action actually sent goosebumps on his arms. And it’s not like it was cold. It was the middle of the summer. It was scorching hot! So, it was obviously you and Bob’s—recently discovered—attraction over being manhandled around.

Hey, happens to the best of us, right?

You helped him open the record store and Bob immediately got to the task of unboxing the new arrivals. While you tidied up the shelves.

It was only 9:50 in the morning.

Bob sees your silhouette between the spaces of the beaded curtain, separating the storage room and the counter. It’s only been three weeks since you started working here at the record store. Bob heard that you’re a friend of the owner’s daughter, and that you’re working here only for the summer. But you already had him tripping on his own feet and stumbling over his words. He wasn’t usually so clumsy. But every time he tries to act cool with you, it backfires on him. Still, that doesn’t stop him from making small talks with you.

Like that one time he asked if you liked Green Day. When you said yes, he immediately paused your conversation and went to change the song—playing on the speakers—to Last Night on Earth. And you thought that was actually sweet.

He might not be the most interesting person. But you were stuck with him this whole summer, and the last thing he wanted was to make this a bad experience for you. Not that he was this hospitable with his last co-worker. But it was you. And that made a difference.

Bob clears his throat when he hears the doors open. Someone had entered the store. You straighten your back, phone hidden under the counter and you chuck it in one of the shelves to greet the customer with a smile. Meanwhile, he snaps out of his trance and realizes that he dropped the box cutter on the table. Bob picks it up to tear one of the boxes open. He gets into a familiar routine of opening boxes, picking up the records and sorting them out, alphabetically and by their genres. Then, he’d either give the boxes to you—when you switch—or he’d have the time to put them on the shelves. Though, when the both of you were free—and no customers were coming in—you’d do it together. And Bob really likes when that happens.

But right now, you seem as occupied as he was, chatting up the customer who’d just come in.

Oh, well. It was only 10 in the morning.

“Hey, Mai.” You greet the pink-haired girl coming into the store with a smile. She’s the said store owner’s daughter. But you know her better as one of your longest friends in this forsaken town. You say that because the only thing you can do here is either play on the swings of the old playground, or shop at the very outdated mall. Oh and by the way, it was the one and only mall.

“Well, you look awfully happy for someone working a summer job.” She says, placing her hands down on the counter with a smile. You can see the playful glint in her eyes and let out a chuckle. “I’m just having a good day.” You respond, a genuine look on your face. Mai raises a brow at that, suspicious, but then steps back to take a good look at you and doesn't say anything else. “Sure. Let’s say that.” You shrug, she does the same, eyeing the storage room behind the counter.

“I actually need to pick up something on the back–”

“Oh, you’re here.” A new voice chimes in, Bob, you both turn your heads to see him carrying a box. He blinks once or twice, before stepping aside. “Your dad’s phone?” He asks, you share a glance with Mai before she nods her head, heading inside the storage room. “How’d you know?” You ask Bob, amused, he shrugs with another crooked smile. It’s a staple. “Her dad usually forgets when he goes here to lock up. It’s kind of becoming a bad habit.” You chuckle, he rambles. “Not– Not that I’m talking bad about him. It’s just ..” He motions with his other hand, trying to make sense.

“An observation?” You back him up, he nods his head with pursed lips. “Yes. An observation.” See! You really do have him stumbling over his words! Bob clears his throat, looks away before he remembers what he’s here for. The new records. He needs to restock the shelves. Right. Got it. “I have to g–” You cut him off. “Do you want me to help? I don't see any customers coming in. Is there another box?” There’s too many things inside Bob’s mind, making him buffer as he registers your words. He really needs to lock in. By the time he’s formulated a response, Mai walks in between you both, excusing herself with her dad’s phone in hand.

“Leaving now.” She waves her hand, already rushing to the door, with an expression that could only mean she’s up to no good. You’re already expecting your phone to blow up later with messages from your group chat.

Mai: @everyone they talked again.

Trevor: don’t they have to? i’d be concerned if they didn't interact once.

Finn: they’re basically married now.

Trevor: what the hell, sure.

That’s how it would probably go.

“I do need your help.” Bob cuts through the silence, you smile at him, pushing yourself away from the counter. “Oh, uh, you can take this. The other one’s much heavier.” He gives you the box he’s carrying before you can step inside the storage room. You take it from him. “Thanks, Bob. I’ll get started.” He nods his head, his heartbeat going fast. Holy shit, that actually took a lot out of him. He feels like he’s in a hurricane with all these emotions. “Okay, uh, I’ll just pick up the other one.. yeah..” Bob side steps through the beaded curtain, disappearing back inside.

It’s only around 10:13 in the morning.

Make It With You by Bread is playing on the speakers while you and Bob are stocking the soft rock section. It’s a cute coincidence, you think, grabbing another record to put on the shelf. Bob spent a few of his time last night making a new playlist with songs that he thinks you might like. So he can play it for the next few days, and watch you gush about the songs you do like. It’s nothing too special, it makes him feel like he’s finally doing something to impress you.

“Where do you find these playlists? Or do you make them?” Bob looks up at you, kneeling down on the floor, his box already half-empty. Woah, he was fast. Makes you feel a little competitive. You grab two records this time. “I actually make them. This one playing right now is new, though.” He says, really happy you asked, as he shifts his attention back to the rest of the records.

Bob didn't like taking his earphones off when he’s at work. Even if he only keeps one bud in, and its not even connected to his phone. It helps him concentrate and blocks out any unnecessary noise. But when you started working here, his earphones quickly found their place in his pocket.

“Really? That’s cool, I like your music taste, Bob.” He pauses, a hand hovering above the box. You like his music taste. You like his music taste. You like his music– Okay, get a grip, Bob. You heard them the first time. “Great. oh, uhm, I mean that’s nice.” Bob lets out an awkward chuckle, looking back up at you. Your eyebrows are scrunched together, trying to stifle your own chuckle, with a record in hand. One of his favorite ones too. Bob opens his mouth to say something else, to add something quirky and cool to impress you again. Or something funny to hear you laugh. But then the doors open and it ruins his momentum.

“Excuse me?” A voice of an old woman cuts through the music, your head pops up from behind one of the shelves. “I’ll be back, there’s a customer.” You give Bob’s shoulder a pat, walking away to help the old lady.

It’s 10:27 in the morning. Huh, time flies by fast when he’s with you.

There weren't much customers today. And if you were working any other job, maybe you would’ve been bored out of your mind. But Bob was here and he was great company. You even managed to play a couple rounds of Uno during the one hour interval between customers. Which was pretty weird. But you and Bob timed it, and there was definitely a one hour difference each time.

Oh, and the Uno cards came from the lost and found box. But Bob told you it had been there for almost a year. Nobody really came back for it.

By the time you got an even score again, Mai’s dad had already come by to take over for the rest of the evening.

It was already 8.

Bob didn't even get to watch the sun set like he usually did. Back when the most interesting thing he could do was daydream while working. But now he’s got you and his life has certainly turned upside down. Bob knows that his plan was supposed to be him welcoming you. But this was a pretty nice turn of events.

He checks the time once again. It’s 8:13 pm. By this time he was usually speed walking home to binge watch some movies or shows until midnight. And fall asleep with his laptop still on. However, you offered to take him to a nice Chinese restaurant—that sells the best crab rangoons in town—and he couldn't say no.

“Are you serious? You haven't had fried rice in months?” Dinner was a blast. In fact, you enjoyed it too much that Bob went teary eyed after having a spoonful of fried rice. And that’s when you found out that he hasn't had one this good in a long time. “Yeah.. I haven’t eaten that good in a while, honestly.” He tries to make it sound light-hearted, but you know the weight in his words.

Money was tight. And you were well aware of that. That’s why you took up this summer job in the first place. And you can excuse many things, but when it comes to food? Now that’s something serious. “Here, how about we both start a shared meal prep?” You turn around, walking back now. And Bob’s senses are working overtime, making sure you don't bump into anything or anyone. Or, shit, making sure he didn't bump into anything or anyone. “Meal prep? You don't have to bother–” You tut, shaking your head at him. Bob reaches out to move you to the left, so he was near the main road instead. Since you seem to be stressing him out.

And the pot holes, the cars, the honking..

You ended up changing locations. And taking a detour to the old playground with the rusty swingsets, and even rustier slides.

“Think about it, okay? I promise it’s worth it.” You take the next swing next to him, and he smiles. Bob never really had anyone care this much about him. Let alone offer a solution to his problem. He was used to just pushing it aside and dealing with it like how he knows best, which was pretending it didn't exist. But like you, he knows this wasn't going to help him in the long run.

“Thanks. You're really cool, you know?” It’s your turn to smile, bashfully, now. Holding onto the swing, pushing and pulling yourself just slightly. “Don't think I’ve ever been this shy from being called cool before. But thank you, Bob.” You lean towards him, he stays on his spot, looking at you.

Bob had plenty of scenarios in mind as to how this night would go. And none of them ever happened. Instead, you were here sitting with him in some playground, just chatting, and already making his night a little better. And he wonders if it was the same for you.

And maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't just Bob’s wishful thinking for once.

“So.. Do you have the time? Because I kind of know a spot that has some good soft serve ice cream.” You offer, trying to stretch this evening out as much as you can. Bob checks the time. 9 pm. For the first time, in a while, he didn't want to go home just yet. Bob actually wanted to stay out for a little longer. You stand up, dusting the bottom of your pants. Then he offers you his arm, finding the confidence somewhere in the middle of it all. You took it, interlacing it with yours.

“Look at you going out. I promise you’ll enjoy yourself with me.”

“Never really doubted that."

It was 9:05 in the evening. And Bob was right exactly where he wanted to be.

And now you’re here. Sitting beside Peter, staring at your half eaten waffle, and debating whether you should keep going or not. You’ve lost your appetite long ago. But you don't want to waste food.

“I can eat it for you.” Before you can protest, Peter swaps your plates. He’s smiling at you when you’re eyes meet, obviously trying to lighten the mood. But you can see he’s also slightly tense.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to.”You say as he takes a bite. Peter only shrugs in response, a silent understanding shared between you.

Becca and Eli weren't always like this. Before they dated, everything was fine in your friend group. Although, there was still that playful bickering, the arguments were less, almost rare. But now, it’s like someone flipped a switch.

After that, you started growing closer with Peter. And eventually every hang out involved just the both of you.

This 3-day-weekend-getaway was supposed to bring you four closer again. But it feels like you’re off to a rough start.

“Is something wrong?”Peter asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. You realize you’ve been spaced out, and he’s finished eating your last waffle.

“I don't know if this trip is the right idea, Peter.”You say and he hears the doubt in your voice. Peter wishes he can just toss it away and have it dissipate in the wind, never to be seen again. You deserve a break. After all, you’re the glue holding this friend group together. He knows it. Everybody does.

“If you’re worried about Becca and Eli. I’ll talk to them.”

“No, that’s.. fine. You don't have to.”

“I want to. It’s for the best. And you need to stop stressing that pretty mind of yours.” He props an elbow down on the table, his other hand reaching to cup your cheek. A warmth blossoms in your chest from his sudden touch, causing you to pause right on the spot, just staring at Peter’s eyes. Which seem to appear brighter than usual against the afternoon light.

“You say that like it’s easy.”You mumble, your words contradicting with the way you seem to melt right into the palm of his hand.

Peter seems to love it though, smiling when you lean further into his touch.

He’s not blind. He knows something's changed between the both of you. And maybe he’s been hoping for this day to come ever since high school. Which is funny, since you’re both graduating from college now. Which means it’s been almost a decade.

But it’s about time all this longing came to an end. So if happens in some diner, or at the lake house, Peter wouldn't complain.

“Ready to get back on the road? I’ll drive this time. And you’re riding shotgun.”He says, giving your cheek one last squeeze before pulling away.

“You know me so well, Peter."

“In my defense, you’re pretty hard to forget.” And he takes your hand before leaving the payment on the table.

The rest of the ride to the lake house went a lot smoother with Peter driving. Becca and Eli went quiet as well, after apologizing to each other and making up—out—at the back seat of the car. While you fell asleep, with Peter’s sweater covering you like a makeshift blanket.

When you arrived at the lake house the sun was setting. And everyone agreed on hanging out by the dock to watch the sun go down by the horizon.

“I’m sorry about earlier this morning.” You’re sitting by the edge of the dock, when you feel warm hands on your shoulders, along with a small peck on the top of your head. It was Becca, coming to apologize.

“You made up with Eli?” She hums, moving to sit down beside you, the tip of her feet grazing the water. And you notice that she’s wearing Eli’s flannel.

“I know we’re both a mess.”

“Can't say I disagree.” You quip, Becca laughs.

“We’re gonna try arguing less around you and Peter.”She says, leaning her head on your shoulder. And you let out a deep breath. You can't remember the last time you’ve had a moment of peace like this. It feels almost sacred.

“I’m gonna count you on that.”

The moment is interrupted when you hear Eli calling out both your names. she’s already in the water, arms out, waiting for Becca to jump in.

“I’ll catch you, come here.” She smiles, and Becca pulls away to take her flannel off.

“You coming?” She turns to you, smiling.

“Maybe later.” Becca nods her head before jumping in the lake, and Eli catching her just like she promised.

You stay back, sitting on the dock, watching them splash each other. Maybe this was going to work out after all.

Peter waves at boats. Eli pointed it out after a couple of boats passed by the lake house, and he never once failed to greet each one with a wave of his hand. Becca teased him about it and everyone laughed about it.

But now you’re at the shore still thinking about it.

“I’ve always had a feeling you were the type to wave at boats.”You blurt out, just as Peter makes his way by your side.

“Is that a good thing?” He raises a brow, amused.

“Yeah, don't worry.” You laugh, Peter nods his head with a big smile.

The sun was long gone, and darkness scattered all over the lake. The only light was coming from the moon, and the lake house from behind you.

“What else have you had a feeling about?” Peter asks, out of the blue. You turn to him and he’s already looking at you. His gaze holds so many unspoken things from years of holding himself back. But now it seems like he’s on the edge of a precipice, wanting to spill them all out.

“A lot of things.”

“What about us?”His question makes your heart skip a beat. You can feel the weight from it, like he’s been looking forward to this opportunity for so long. But he wasn't the only one.

That night at the home coming back in high school. When you asked him to dance, after he refused everyone else because he was waiting for you. You had been jittery prior to that, asking yourself why were you so nervous about asking a friend to dance.

Then there was Becca’s house party years after. When everyone was in the pool, the speakers blasted with music, and drinks were being poured. You sat on the porch with Peter, drunk and giggly. You found everything he said funny. And he found himself falling way too deep for his own good. He definitely didn't need a drink to know you that you still make his heart beat the same.

You almost kissed him that night. But Peter knew better, and he stopped you before you could.

Though, he still plays your conversation inside his mind from to time. When it’s late at night and all he can think about is you.

“Peter, we’ve waited for too long.”

“I know. But I prefer if you kissed me and still remembered it the next day.”

And then there was now. Years later, both all grown. Yet you’re still just as nervous as you were back in the homecoming. And Peter was still the same boy waiting for you.

“I think I’ve always been sure.” You say, moving closer to him. Peter grabs your hand, lifting it up to press your knuckles against his lips. He doesn't keep his eyes off you, even when they turn glossy with tears. Your heart stutters.

“You’re crying.”Just as you say that, a tear escapes and slides down his cheek. You reach out with your other hand, wiping it away.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just–” Peter laughs, but more tears come out and he can't help but pull you into an embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck immediately, pulling him closer.

“You don't have to apologize." You whisper, kissing him on his temple, which seems to undo him even more.

“I’m just happy.” He says, hiding his face on your neck for a while, before pulling away to face you again.

“I know I look like a mess but can I kiss you?”You chuckle at his question. Because why wouldn't you say no?

“I had a feeling you would ask that.”You quip and Peter laughs.

“Yeah, well, I feel a lot of things about you.”

　He was trying not to seem like a creep about it, but he couldn't just surprise you and ruin whatever flow state you were in, so he watched in the shadows until he decided to quit overthinking it.

　You had been nice to him, thankfully, and he ended up staying a couple more minutes chatting you up and, accidentally, distracting you from your work. Eventually duty called and he had to leave, but not without promising he’d come by again.

　On the night that he did, he saw you working on an almost finished painting of him. You said it wasn't anything special, described it as just another anatomy practice, but he’s never been illustrated in such an intricate way before. And the way your hands slowly brought his form to life, on the canvas, almost left him breathless.

　It felt like a glimpse of him in your eyes. The closest he could ever get to actually seeing his own self, and not from a mirror’s reflection.

　He’d told you that you were amazing. You took it like any other fleeting, and half-hearted, compliment. But he meant it, in that raw and vulnerable way, that only came when he was all alone in his apartment late in the night. When he’s stitching his own wounds and patching his bruises. When his mind was too loud for his quiet apartment.

　That’s when Dick’s visit became more frequent. Sometimes he doesn't even see you. And it would just be him, on the other side of your window, staring at your finished artwork. And your muse? Him.

　Now he lands, quietly, on your balcony. Your back is turned to him but he can see you working, dipping your brush on a particular shade of blue. You’d told him the name of it some night before, but he wasn't really good with remembering hues. You’re the expert here, so he likes leaving it up to you.

　Dick knocks on the glass, your head turns in surprise and your eyes meet. He leans on the wall beside your window, arms crossed snd staying composed despite the blooming heat coming from his chest.

　Your windows open, and he can see the smile on your face forming. Fuck, you’re adorable. “Hey” He says, attempting to be casual, although you probably won't notice how he’s almost breathless. And it’s definitely not because he’s been going from building to building.

　“Hey, yourself. Been working on something new tonight.” You’re talking as you open your window wider, an invitation to let him in. Sometimes you feel like a teenager letting her secret fling sneak inside her home. Which totally isn't far off from your situation. You’ve definitely started sharing some anticipating moments with Dick the last few weeks.

　“I can see that.” He lets himself in, ducking his head down to avoid bumping his head on the lock, which was getting so much easier each visit. Dick is already staring at your unfinished painting like a moth drawn to a flame.

　“It's like you've got magic in those hands of yours.” He hears your snort behind him, followed by the sound of your footsteps, faint and soft.

　“Well, it’s not finished yet. I’m only just starting out on the base colors.” Your hand touches his shoulder, briefly, as you stand beside him. Now that you've gotten a good look at your canvas, something feels off.

　Dick turns to you when he notices you shift, watching your eyebrows knit together while you contemplate. Then you’re looking at him.

　“Can you turn around? I just need to see something.” His back faces you without any question. And a thought occurs to him. You can tell Dick to do whatever you want and he’d do it in a heartbeat. You say you want him on his knees? He’s already on them. You want to paint him nude? Fuck, you don't have to tell him twice. He’s already thought about that plenty of times before.

　But the presence of your hands on his back brings him back to reality.

　“You don't mind if I touch you, right?” The question is practical. You’re just asking to get his anatomy right. But it falls differently in his ears, and suddenly all he can think about is your hands all over him. He swallows.

　“Sure, getting a litle handsy now, are you?” You scoff, Dick grins. Even though his heart beat’s picking up when your thumb begins to trace a downward path his spine. Dick wonders if you know what you’re doing to him. And if you like the way his muscles feel beneath your palms, or if your mind wanders off whenever you paint him. Because his certainly does. And he doesn't even have to see you for his imaginations to work.

　“It’s your waist..” Dick hears you think out loud, your hand settling on his lower back. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re lost in concentration as you map the entirety of his back. He can’t help but arch his back, however.

　“Sorry, you okay?”

　“No– I mean, fuck, yes I am.” He breathes out, relaxing his tense jaw. You’re really not making it easy for him to maintain his composure.

　“I’m done.” You say, pulling your hands away. And Dick has never let out such a big sigh of relief. He follows you back to your canvas, standing behind you, as you make a quick fix of his body on the canvas. And his eyes drift down to your hands, and the way they expertly navigate around the canvas.

　“I gotta say. I’m very honored to be your muse.” He leans down a little closer to your ear, which makes you pause. Dick doesn't miss it and stays at his position just to mesd with you.

　“Well, I haven't been this motivated to make art before..” You trail off, facing him now, cutting off the distance between the both of you. With your proximity, Dick can’t help his gaze from flickering down to your lips. The undeniable tension surrounding the two of you burning even brighter.

　“If anything I should be grateful.”

　“Nah, you don't have to thank me, beautiful.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the pet name. And then he’s reaching out to wipe some dried paint off of your jaw, using his thumb. Suddenly, you can't look away from his lips either.

　“If I kiss you right now, would you let me?” He asks, his thumb hovering just an inch away from your bottom lip. And your heart clenches as if its been waiting for him to ask that for long.

　“Yeah, only if you let me paint how it feels afterwards." Whatever noise or groan that comes out of Dick gets muffled as your lips finally meet. You tilt your head to the side and the way he perfectly fits against you almost makes you drop your brush and palette.

　“You don’t gotta ask. I’ll let you touch and memorize my entire body..” His hand moves to the back of your head, combing through your hair and making you gasp, as he continues to whisper in between your kisses.

　“..If it means you won't paint anyone else other than me.” You let your paint brush clutter on the ground, rolling towards the wall below the very window you allow Dick to get in. His hands make their descent, holding the back of your thighs and lifting you up with ease.

　“Promise me?” He breaks the kiss just to ask, his forehead pressed against yours. Dick knows he’s on the verge of revealing his identity to you, but he’s never been in a position in his life where his heart and mind were screaming the same thing. And it’s to trust you.

　“I promise.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck like you’re already claiming him yours. And your lips meet again, this time it feels more meaningful.