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If there’s anything you’ve gotten used to since moving to San Diego, it’s definitely the sound of the waves outside your window. They’re especially loud at night, but you’ve discovered some comfort in the thunderous crashes and the way they lull you to sleep every night. It’s like that now; your eyes droop with sleep but you’re determined to get through a few more quick chapters of the book you’ve been dying to finish for the past month. Curled up on your couch, you disregard the noise, letting it blur and sink to the back of your mind as your eyes move along the pages.

Despite your eyes begging for rest, you manage to finish one chapter and then suddenly you think of your bed and how warm and cozy it must be right now. You think about the wind outside, how in the morning it’ll still be a bit breezy but you’ll be able to sleep in and stay warm under the covers. You close your book, eager to sink into your mattress but the thought halts the second you set it aside, something suddenly off about the usual noise from outside.

Waves, wind, somebody talking.

A car door slamming.

It’s just past midnight and somebody’s outside. Your eyes widen at the realization, your guard going up.

Tip-toeing to the window, you suck in a breath and carefully pry one of the bottom blinds open, peering out at the noise. Your eyes light up at the sight of Goose’s Bronco, but then you’re confused as you watch him fumble with something in the passenger seat. His back to you, you squint at the sight of his lanky frame bent over the lowered window, and when he finally moves to get the door open, you realize he isn’t alone.

You watch as he helps Maverick off his car, the shorter man’s arm awkwardly around his best friend’s neck as he staggers towards the steps to your porch.

Is there something wrong with him?

You let go of your blinds, nearly tripping as you rush to the door. Swinging it open, the cool wind immediately nips your skin as they both look up; Maverick looks hazy.. a faint, crooked smile on his face, and Goose is just relieved to see you.

“Oh, hey, you.” He flashes you a cheeky grin. “Can you believe he couldn’t get his own seatbelt off just now?”

Mav looks dumbfounded as he looks at you, and, with a slightly hoarse voice, says, “Hey.”

He’s drunk.

A gentle laugh escapes you. “You guys scared me.”

“Sorry. I know it’s late,” Goose says, his free hand scratching the back of his head as the other holds onto Mav’s shoulder. “..D’ya mind if I leave him here tonight? I’ll make it up to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, a smile tugging at your lips as warmth envelops your cheeks.

Goose happens to notice and cocks an eyebrow, but his playful smile remains. “He kept mentioning you at the bar—” he says, guiding Mav up the four steps to your deck. Mav is on his left side, the side closest to you, and his lazy smile gets a tad bit wider at the sight of you suddenly so near him. “—and then I remembered he likes your couch.”

Your smile widens this time.

It’s not the first time Goose drops Maverick off at your door late at night, and it’s certainly not the first time he hints at Maverick’s very obvious crush on you. 

You think back to the look on Mav’s face the first time Goose cracked a joke—a few weeks prior at the bar, the night he'd decided to bring his polaroid camera. You’d brought a friend from school, and you remember giggling with them when Goose demanded to take your picture after a couple of drinks. With your friend on one side and Mav on the other, you posed happily, only to snicker like little kids when someone bumped into the photographer, seemingly ruining the picture. You remember Goose turning to yell asshole! at the passerby, but then smiling at the sight of the polaroid. It was a bit blurry, but it’d managed to capture your laugh and Mav looking absolutely captivated next to you. 

It’d been Goose’s turn to snicker. “It’s perfect. Mav’ll wanna hang it up in his locker so he can finally look at you all day.”

What seemed like one of Goose’s nonchalant jokes instantly turned Mav’s face bright red. 

You thought you’d known Mav pretty well by then, but there never came a witty reply and he didn’t glance your way for the rest of the night. You were confused. Did he really like you? And if he did.. was he embarrassed about it? He could get anybody he wanted—he certainly had the charm and experience for it… yet there he had been beside you, avoiding your eyes as if unsure of himself. It was the first time you’d seen him like that.

A few nights later came the second time. He had been drunk then too—not as badly as tonight, you thought—but Goose’s son had gotten sick in the middle of the night, and your house was a faster drive from the bar. Mav had spoken to you about his father, his eyes glossy, and then ended up curled up on your couch. 

Looking at him tonight, your eyes soften. “Wanna come in?”

He nods and you lead him inside, but remain by the door.

Goose steps forward and leans an arm against your doorframe, a mischievous look on his face as Mav wanders into your home. The stupid smile on Mav’s face makes Goose snicker, and you’re playfully shaking your head at the both of them.

“If you could just let him crash on your couch,” he says, his hand coming up to softly pat your cheek. “I’d appreciate it.” You cock your eyebrow at him as his hand drops, and suddenly his eyes widen, hands going up in defense. “Not playing matchmaker this time,” he insists, glancing at Mav over your shoulder. “He really is drunk.. and I know he’ll be safe here tonight.”

You laugh. “You’re protective of him. It’s cute.”

“Yeah, well..” He shrugs, and then looks straight into your eyes. “I know him too well. Know what’s good for him.”

You can’t help yourself. “And you mean.. me?” 

Goose thinks for a second. “I mean.. you’re the first person he likes that I’ve ever seen him get nervous around,” he says. “He must really like you if he’s not trying to—”

“GOOSE!” Mav’s sudden yell from inside makes the both of you flinch.

“Yeah, buddy?” Goose’s face is instantly wiped with innocence, his eyebrows raised and his lips sucked in.

A short pause. “...My—where's my bike?”

Goose turns to you, his voice hushed. “Already went through this with him. Just tell him I took care of it.” He starts taking a few steps back. “I gotta go. I miss my wife.”

You nod, suddenly remembering how cold you’d gotten. “..‘Night Nick. Say hi to Carole for me!”

You watch as he jogs back to his car—“Will do!”—before you step back into the comfort of your home—a hand on the door as you wait to see him drive off. 

The waves seem to be quieter the second you’re alone with Maverick. All you hear is his incoherent mumbling coming from the living room, and you start to wonder how much he could have possibly drank. 

He’s standing in front of the wall, squinting at your picture frames. Exhaling, you walk past him to gather the book you’d left there, and the glass of water you’d had on the coffee table. You refill it in the kitchen and add a straw, and he turns to look at you when he hears your steps again.

“Here, Pete. You need to drink water.”

He looks at the glass, and then back at you. You realize he should probably sit when he starts to take it. 

“Wait—” you stop him. “Can you sit? Couch is right there.” You place a hand on the TomCat patch on his arm, gently nudging him towards it.

He doesn’t stumble, but his steps are awkward as he walks. A smirk paints his face when he sits back against the cushions. “You’re taking care of me?”

You offer him the glass. “Well.. you’re drunk again.” 

He’s staring at it again before he takes it. “..‘m not that drunk.”

“You’re not?”

He shakes his head. “Goose j–..just thinks he’s funny,” he says matter-of-factly, sticking the straw in his mouth. 

You giggle at him. “You don’t think Goose is funny?”

“Nope.”

You watch him as he sips and he looks.. almost delicate. His cheeks are tinted pink, and his eyes, despite looking heavy on his lids, seem bigger and rounder than usual. His lips look wet and puffy when they let go of the straw, and you swallow hard at the sudden thought of kissing him. What it would feel like.

God, you wanna kiss him so bad right now.

You shake your thoughts with a tired sigh as you reach for the glass. “Give it to me,” you tell him softly and he hands it to you. “Let me take your boots off.”

You have to move the coffee table just a bit for room, and after placing the glass on it, you sink to your knees beside his legs. Maverick just watches as you lift the bottom of his Levi’s, your hands gentle as you scoot the material up past his boot. When your fingers reach his skin, it’s almost like he flinches, and then suddenly he’s unable to sit still, his legs fidgeting as you wrap a hand around the back of his heel. The boots are a snug fit—you wonder if his feet ever get tired of them. You pull, but the boot doesn’t budge. Maybe it’s the angle, you think. Maverick’s still watching, his two front teeth visible from his slightly opened mouth. You’re smiling as you tug again, but his boot refuses to come off. It’s definitely the angle, so you move.

You’re in between his legs now.

And he’s fidgeting even more.

“Pete, can you.. try pulling your foot out as I tug your boot forward?” you wonder, hand around the back of his heel again. 

He gives you a faint nod. So you tug again, and though the boot still doesn’t come off, it does move. 

“C’mon, Pete, just a little more. Just pull your foot out.”

He suddenly thinks it’s funny; a smile spreads on his lips and he starts giggling. If he wasn’t so cute, you’d almost get impatient. 

It takes two more tugs to finally get the boot off, and you take a quick second to regain your strength. He watches as you hold the boot in your hand, inspecting the design for the first time, and his breath visibly catches in his throat when you finally set it aside and look up at him. 

“Same thing for the other one, okay?”

He’s fidgeting again, his lips suddenly dry. You watch his fingers grasp around a loose part of the material of his jeans on his upper thigh, and he squeezes. “Y–.. you look so pretty.. right there.”

Oh.

Warmth fills your cheeks again, and you have to look away. You hope he doesn’t notice how flustered you’ve suddenly become, but then again you don’t think he’s in any condition to tell.

“You think so?” You try to act nonchalant as you grab his other boot, your stomach doing flips.

“Mmhm.” 

A big tug. He’s distracted, still just looking at you, and the boot doesn’t move. “Remember to pull your foot out,” you remind him.

The second tug gets it out. 

He said you looked pretty… right there.

Cheeks still warm, a smile tugs at your lips as you gather both boots and set them by the coffee table. Maverick’s eyes never leave your frame, even as he reaches for the glass of water again.

“Wait, actually.” You stop him. “Take your jacket off.”

Dropping his arms, he’s giggling again, and your knees go weak at the crinkles that form beside his eyes. “Yes… ma’am.” He leans forward as he reaches for the back of the jacket. Trying not to laugh, you watch as he pulls the end of it, even with his arms still in the sleeves. Oh, he can’t possibly be this drunk.

When his method doesn’t seem to work, he leans back again and shrugs, a teasing glint in his eye. With a dramatic sigh, he mumbles, “I.. can’tgetmyjacketoff.”

You realize what he’s doing, and you can’t help but let him.

“Let me see.” You playfully roll your eyes as he grins at your response, and he scoots forward again. He looks almost excited for you to touch him—his eyes follow your hands as one reaches inside and the other grips the end of his sleeve. Grabbing his tricep, you pull his arm out of the sleeve, and you swear your face starts to hurt from how wide you’ve been smiling at his absurdity. You grab the now empty sleeve and easily (but gently) pull off the rest, revealing his usual white tee. 

You hope his jeans aren’t too uncomfortable to leave on. You consider joking that he should bring some of his sleepwear next time, but only bite your lip as he grabs the glass again for more water. His mouth easily finds the straw, and you’re staring at his lips again. 

He starts sipping, his lips stretched into a smile as he stares back. 

Your thumb smoothes over the material of the jacket. 

There’s a small, nearly empty closet in the living room, and you decide to hang his jacket in there. Mav’s straw is making noise now that he’s nearly finished with his water. You wonder if he’s tired; you’d forgotten how heavy your eyes had felt earlier. Closing the closet, you move to the one in the hallway to retrieve a blanket for him—the same one you’d given him the last time he was here. He suddenly pops up behind you, quietly somehow, and slurs something about needing to use the bathroom.

Stepping aside, you let him stagger down the hall.

“You need help in there too?” you tease.

He reaches the door and swings it open, his hand slapping against the wall to look for a light switch. “Yeah.” 

Chuckling in amusement, you retrieve the blanket and move back to the living room. 

The light switch clicks on after a couple of seconds, and you focus on moving the cushions around so that he’s comfortable when he returns. The scent of his cologne lingers where he’d been sitting, and you silently hope it remains even after he leaves tomorrow. You lay the blanket over where he’d lay, and then run past the slightly cracked open bathroom door to your room for the spare pillow you had. You’re setting it at the head of the couch when he makes it back.

He looks cute in just his socks. His hair is somehow a bit disheveled—you assume he ran a hand through it, and his eyes are red now. He’s obviously exhausted.

You pat the couch. “Lay. You need to rest so you can feel better quicker tomorrow.”

He listens, his face still flushed, and you give him room to lay down. “Can I get a g’night kiss?” he mumbles as he passes you, and your face feels hot again. 

Trying not to make a fool of yourself, you rush to the kitchen to refill his glass of water, and when you return he’s plopped himself down on his back, on top of the blanket.

“You need to sleep on your side, okay?” you tell him, gently pulling the blanket out from underneath his legs, and then over them. 

He seems nearly out of it now, but nods faintly again. When he switches positions, his eyes are closed but he buries his nose into the pillow and breathes in. You decide to be brave and lean in to kiss his cheek. Just because he asked. 

His skin is warm against your lips and his scent fills your nostrils, and you almost wanna give him a second one. His eyes are still closed, however, and you step back to let him finally rest. Gathering a few of your things to head to bed, you stare at his face. You’re glad he’s relaxed.

Just as you begin to walk out, he stops you. 

“Pillow smells like you,” he murmurs, and his eyes open again after a few seconds. He buries his nose into the pillow again, and then lifts his head just a bit, proceeding to say something completely incoherent. 

“What?”

For a split second, you see a twinge of sadness in his eyes. 

It’s the third time you've seen that look.

And then he says it so clearly: “Stay with me.” 

You blink. “Stay with you here?”

He nods, and then pats the couch. “J–st.. here.” He rests his head back on the pillow, his voice quiet. “I.. wannabewithyou.”

You could cry. You nearly do as he closes his eyes once more, and then you’re thinking of his lips again. Why you hadn’t thrown yourself at him before tonight was beyond you. You think of what Goose had said earlier—nobody had ever made Mav nervous the way you do. Maybe, just maybe.. you had been subconsciously convincing yourself that it was too good to be true. And you’re suddenly so glad he got shitfaced tonight.

“Mav?” The nickname feels a little more personal; you speak it softly.

He opens his eyes. 

“C’mon,” you say, your tone still gentle. “Come sleep with me.”

“Hm?”

You walk over, his eyes looking up at you as you extend your hand for him to take. “In my room. Couch isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

Though the exhaustion is still visible on his face, he suddenly smiles, taking your hand. His palm feels soft, just like his cheek did, and you can’t wait to feel the rest of him. Sleepily, he grabs the pillow and follows as you lead him down the hall and into your room.

He stands there for a moment as you fix the bed, making it as comfortable as possible the way you did the couch.

“You.. gave me a kiss,” he states, looking dumbfounded again.

“Mmhm.” 

You crawl onto your mattress, kneeling towards the end of it to reach his hand. He lets you pull him close to you, and you give him a peck on the lips. A goodnight kiss.

He leans in for a second one.

All of him is softer than you ever imagined. Maverick instantly wraps his arms around you the second you get him into your bed, his strong arms firmly around your waist. Your back to his chest, you lean your head back into the crook of his shoulder, and you feel him press his face into your hair, breathing in again. It’s the most you’ve ever touched each other, but somehow it feels natural.

Moonlight seeps in through the window, blanketing over the both of you. You suddenly hear the waves again, and place a hand on his arm.

“You know I like you too, right?”

He doesn’t respond for a few seconds. It’s sinking in, maybe? 

He sniffs. “I like you more.”