val 𝜗𝜚

by the time the next friday rolled around, the routine between you and gator had become so natural it barely felt like a routine at all, it felt like something older than that.

you still came for the pastries, technically. you still told yourself that was the reason. but more and more, you found yourself staying after, lingering at the counter with your elbows propped up and your eyes fixed on him while he worked, because the bakery felt warmer when he was there and stranger when he wasn't.

he had started expecting you. that much was obvious now.

the minute the bell rang and you stepped inside, his eyes found you without effort, as if some part of him had been listening for that sound all afternoon. he still looked grumpy, of course. that was just the shape of him. but now there was something else under it, something quieter and more aware.

the tiniest softening in his face when he saw you. the brief pause before he spoke, like he was deciding whether to say something mean or something honest and settling, most days, for a little of both.

this friday, though, you were late enough that the shop had already slipped into its evening quiet by the time you arrived.

the sky outside had gone dusky and blue, the kind of blue that made the streetlamps glow too early. you were halfway through the door when the bell gave its bright little ring and, almost immediately, a sharp curse cut through the bakery from the back room.

you froze.

then you saw him.

gator was behind the counter, bent over a tray, looking thoroughly insulted by whatever had just happened. one hand was braced on the edge of the counter, the other hovering in the air as if he had not quite decided whether to slam it down again. a few pastries had gone tumbling, and now they lay scattered on the floor in a ruined mess of crumbs and frosting.

“shit,” he snapped under his breath. “goddamn it.”

he looked up only long enough to stare at the disaster like it had betrayed him. then, as if it had been the final straw in a day already irritating enough, he let out another low curse and pushed a hand through his hair.

you didn't speak right away. you just stood there in the doorway for a beat, taking him in, noticing the tension through his shoulders and the quick, tight movement of his jaw. not explosive anger, not really, just frustration, hot and immediate and pointed inward in the way you had started to recognise on him. the kind of mood that made him harsher with the world than it deserved to be.

he still hadn't noticed you.

so you crossed the room quietly and, when you were close enough, said softly, “hey.”

he startled just enough to look up, his expression shifting the second he saw you from irritated to caught. “you’re late.”

you arched a brow. “hello to you too.”

he glanced down at the mess on the floor, then back at you, and for one second you could see the embarrassment trying to creep in under the anger. “didn’t know you were here.”

“i gathered that.”

“i got it under control.”

“you sound very convincing.”

he shot you a look, but it had no real heat in it. just fatigue and that stubborn, stubborn pride of his. “it’s fine.”

you nodded toward the pastries on the floor. “that doesn’t look fine.”

he looked away.

that told you enough.

you came closer, your voice gentle now. “what happened?”

he let out a breath through his nose, the kind that said he was trying to decide whether answering was worth the trouble. when he finally did, it came out clipped and annoyed. “tray slipped. i caught the edge, knocked the whole thing down. stupid mistake.”

“okay” you said, simple and calm.

he frowned, like he had expected more of a reaction than that. “that’s it?”

you shrugged. “it happens.”

his mouth tightened slightly. “doesn’t mean i needed to do it.”

“no,” you agreed, and when his shoulders tensed again, you added, quieter, “but it also doesn’t mean you need to bite anyone’s head off over it.”

that got him to look at you properly.

your face was open, easy, not a trace of judgment on it. just concern, mild and steady and annoyingly effective. he seemed to realise that because something in his expression shifted, the frustration not disappearing exactly but losing its edge.

“you’re doin’ that thing” he muttered.

you tipped your head. “what thing?”

“the one where you make me calm down.”

you smiled a little. “am i?”

“yeah.”

“good.”

he narrowed his eyes at you, but there was less force in it now. “that’s not fair.”

“why not?”

“cause i wasn’t even that mad.”

you looked at him with clear disbelief.

he stared back.

then you gave him the softest, most infuriating little smile and said, “gator, you were absolutely that mad.”

for a second he looked like he wanted to argue. then he exhaled, long and slow.

“yeah,” he admitted at last, grudging as anything. “maybe a little.”

“better.”

“don’t start.”

“i’m not starting. i’m helping.”

he gave you a look. “with what exactly?”

you pointed at the mess on the floor. “with cleaning this up before you glare holes into it.”

that got the smallest reluctant twitch of his mouth, so quick it almost vanished before you could be sure it had been there at all. but it was enough.

“you don’t have to” he said, though he didn't sound like he actually wanted you to leave.

you moved toward the broom by the wall. “i know.”

he watched you for a moment, then turned and reached for the dustpan himself.

the two of you fell into the cleanup easily after that, moving around each other with the kind of quiet efficiency that had started to build between you over the past few weeks. you swept. he crouched to gather the broken pastries, muttering under his breath about wasted product and shitty timing. you didn't tease him for it, you just handed him what he needed and moved where he asked without making a fuss.

most of the time, he stayed quiet.

you knew why.

he hated needing help. not in a dramatic way, not in the way some people did for attention or pride. his version of it was more stubborn than that. more private. there was something almost painful in the way he went silent whenever someone stepped in too easily, as though assistance was a language he'd never been taught how to speak without feeling like he owed something in return.

you could feel him fighting that now, even if he was pretending not to.

so you kept things light. easy. no big deal, no overthinking, just the two of you kneeling on the bakery floor at the end of the day, cleaning up a stupid accident like it was the most natural thing in the world.

after a minute, you nudged one of the broken pastries into the dustpan and said, “i think this one might still be salvageable.”

he snorted. “you’re optimistin’ about a pastry on the floor?”

“i’m sentimental.”

“you’re weird.”

“and yet.”

he glanced at you, and this time the look in his eyes was a little softer than usual. not quite smiling, but close enough that you felt it.

when the mess was finally gone and the floor had been swept clean, he stood and set the broom aside, dragging one hand over the back of his neck. you could tell from the way he avoided your eyes for a second that he was winding himself up to say something he did not particularly like saying.

“thanks” he said at last.

your expression softened. “you don’t have to thank me.”

“i do.”

“not for that.”

he shook his head once, then looked at you properly. “and i’m sorry.”

you blinked. “for what?”

“for losin’ my temper.”

you gave him a small, easy smile. “it was a tray.”

“still.”

you folded your arms lightly. “it really does not matter.”

his face stayed serious for a second longer, like he was waiting for the part where you made it a bigger deal than it was. when it didn't come, something in him eased again, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

there was a pause after that, a brief, strange stretch of silence where the two of you just stood there in the warm bakery light, looking at each other like neither of you was entirely sure what came next.

then he said, very mildly and with the faintest bit of awkwardness under it, “you were gonna leave right after you got here?”

you smiled. “maybe.”

“and now?”

you glanced at the clock, then back at him. “now i’m here.”

his expression shifted, and there it was again, that small private softness that seemed to catch him off guard every time it surfaced. he looked at you as if he was trying very hard not to show how much he liked that answer.

then, before either of you could let the moment get too quiet, he said, “you still want your usual?”

“obviously.”

he nodded toward the counter. “go on, then.”

you grabbed your trusty tart and as you were putting it in its to go bag, he spoke up again.

“hey.”

you turned.

he stood there with one hand still resting near the counter and the other hanging at his side, looking like he was about to say something and very much regretting the fact that he had decided to say anything at all. it wasn't his usual posture. there was a hesitation in him now, something almost uncertain, and you felt it immediately. a little pulse of instinct that told you he was standing at the edge of something.

your heart gave a quiet, hopeful kick.

you turned fully toward him and waited, your tone light enough not to scare him off. “yeah?”

he opened his mouth, then closed it.

you could almost see the struggle in him, the effort it took to get the words where he wanted them. that old stubborn reluctance. the way he seemed to hate reaching for anything that might make him look vulnerable, even when he was standing right on the brink of doing exactly that.

so you gave him a way in.

you smiled, just a little, and said, “you wanna come over?”

the look on his face was immediate and unmistakable. not shock, exactly. more like the idea had landed somewhere inside him and was taking a moment to be understood.

“what?”

you laughed softly, because the expression he made was too good not to. “i just mean, if you’re done for the night.”

he blinked once, still processing.

you lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, though your pulse had started to race. “we’re friends by now, right?”

that seemed to help.

his mouth twitched. just slightly.

“yeah,” he said, and there was that tiny smile again, careful and rare and only for you. “guess so.”

you smiled back. “then come over.”

he looked at you for another second, like he was checking whether you were serious, whether the offer was real or some kind of trap he somehow failed to spot. then his shoulders eased and he nodded once.

“sure,” he said quietly. “yeah. okay.”

and then, because you had already started moving toward the door, he added, a little more firmly, “i’ll walk with you.”

you glanced back over your shoulder, amused and warm all at once. “i was counting on it.”

that earned you a brief, disbelieving look, but he was already catching up to you, locking the bakery behind him with practiced motions and stepping out into the evening air beside you.

the walk to your place was easy.

the town was hushed around you, lights glowing in windows, the streets nearly empty.

gator walked a little closer than he had before, though not so close that it felt deliberate. just enough that the distance between your shoulders seemed smaller than usual. you talked a little, not about anything serious. the day. the bakery. some stupid thing one of your coworkers had said. he answered in his usual dry way, but there was less edge in it now. more ease. more of that quiet, almost reluctant comfort you had started to know belonged to him.

by the time you reached your little house, the sky had darkened completely, and the porch light was already on.

gator paused just inside the doorway as if taking the whole thing in, his gaze drifting over the tiny entryway, the narrow hall, the little living room with its mismatched furniture and blanket thrown over the back of the couch.

“it’s small” he said, not unkindly.

you smiled. “that’s the point.”

he gave a faint nod, like he could respect that.

then, because you were suddenly aware of how much you liked having him here and needed to do something with that feeling before it got too obvious, you gestured toward the kitchen. “hot chocolate?”

he smirked. “bet i can make better hot chocolate than you.”

you turned toward him with immediate offense. “absolutely not.”

“absolutely yes.”

“proven facts are not in your favour right now, sweetie boy.”

his expression changed just enough to show that he was trying not to react to the nickname. “don’t call me that in your own house.”

“why not?”

“because i’ll start thinkin’ you mean it.”

the words were out before either of you had a chance to stop them.

the house went quiet.

you looked at him, he looked at the counter. then, after a pause that felt suddenly much more important than it had any right to be, you smiled gently and said, “maybe i do.”

that made him go still in the smallest possible way.

not enough to panic. just enough that you could see him absorbing it.

neither of you said anything about it. not yet. instead you busied yourself pulling out mugs, milk, cocoa, sugar, and the little container of marshmallows you had bought a week ago because you had the ridiculous feeling they might come in handy. gator watched you for a second, then rolled up his sleeves and moved to stand beside you at the stove as if he had done this a hundred times already.

he had not.

but he immediately started giving opinions.

“you’re stirrin’ it wrong.”

“i am not.”

“you are.”

“gator.”

“what.”

“i invited you over. you do not get to insult my hot chocolate.”

“i’m helpin’.”

you shot him a glare that had very little actual heat in it, and he looked at you with something that was definitely amusement and definitely not anything else. but then he reached over, took the spoon from your hand, and stirred the pot himself.

“like this.” he muttered.

you watched him, trying not to smile too hard. “you really do take this personally.”

“it’s an art.”

“it’s cocoa powder.”

“and yet” he said, giving you your own line back with infuriating ease.

you laughed, and the sound made him look at you a little longer than necessary.

when the hot chocolate was finally done, you poured it into the mugs and carried them into the living room. that was when he noticed the board game on the shelf.

his whole posture changed.

it was subtle, but unmistakable. his gaze fixed on the box for a moment, and something bright and unexpectedly eager flickered across his face before he had the chance to hide it. it was gone so quickly you might have missed it if you hadn't already been paying close attention to him.

you turned, following his line of sight.

“monopoly?” you said, half-laughing. “you’re interested in that?”

he looked mildly offended by the accusation. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing. it just wasn’t exactly what i had pictured.”

“what’d you picture?”

you grinned. “i don’t know. chess, maybe. something evil.”

he scoffed, but his eyes were still on the game box. “my mom used to play it with me.”

the sentence was so quiet you almost thought you had imagined it.

you turned to look at him, and his face had gone a little still in the aftermath of saying it, like the words had slipped free before he could catch them. but he did not seem upset. just a little more open than he intended to be.

“yeah?” you asked softly.

he nodded once. “before… shit went down.”

you didn't make him say more than that, you just understood the shape of what he hadn't said. understood enough to let the silence sit gently between you instead of filling it with pity.

your chest tightened anyway because of course it did.

because learning things like that about him made you want to wrap him up in a blanket and sit with him for an hour and tell him that whatever had happened before did not get to claim all the softer parts of him. but you knew better than to dump all that on him now.

so instead you said, lightly, “well then. the game is obviously non negotiable.”

his mouth twitched. “you don’t even know if i wanna play.”

“you looked at it like it was a childhood memory.”

he gave you an unimpressed look. “you read into things too much.”

you set your mug down and crossed your arms. “and yet i’m right.”

he held your gaze for a beat and reluctantly said, “yeah, fine.”

the game took longer than either of you expected.

it turned out gator was absurdly competitive in a way that made him no less annoying and somehow even more endearing. he played like every property was a personal affront and every bad roll of the dice was a moral failure. he had the kind of concentration that made him go quiet in a way that was almost solemn, and when you laughed at something absurd he did he would glance up at you like he was trying very hard not to smile too much.

which, of course, only made you want to tease him more.

“you’re cheating" you accused when he somehow ended up with half the board.

“i’m not cheatin’.”

“you are absolutely cheating.”

“prove it.”

“you’re too smug to be innocent.”

“that’s not proof.”

you threw one of the little plastic tokens at him and he caught it without looking, which somehow made you like him more and also hate him a little.

by the time the game ended, neither of you had really won, but somehow you felt like you had both lost in the best possible way. your hot chocolate had gone lukewarm. the marshmallows were half dissolved. the room had settled into that sleepy, comfortable quiet that only exists after laughter.

gator leaned back on the couch, one arm draped along the backrest, looking more relaxed than you had ever seen him in the bakery.

“you always this competitive?” you asked.

“you always this annoying?”

“only on special occasions.”

he snorted, and then there was silence again, but it was an easy one. not tense. not cautious. just full.

you looked at him from beneath your lashes, warmth still lingering in your chest, and realized with a kind of startling softness that this had been a door opening.

not all at once. not dramatically. just enough to make the air between you feel different now.

gator seemed to feel it too.

he didn't say anything but he did linger a moment longer than necessary when he stood to leave. he picked up his jacket from the chair and glanced toward the door, then back at you.

“thanks for tonight” he said.

you smiled, smaller now and more real. “thanks for coming.”

his eyes held yours for a second.

then he nodded, just once, and headed for the door. you walked him out, and he stepped onto the porch under the soft yellow porch light, looking suddenly all at once like himself again and like someone you were only just beginning to know.

at the steps, he paused.

you stood in the doorway, hands tucked lightly behind your back, watching him with that quiet little smile you had started to reserve for him.

“same time next week?” you asked.

he looked back at you, and the answer was in his face before he said it.

“yeah,” he said, and this time the word sounded easy. like it had always belonged there. “same time next week.”

then he hesitated, one hand on the railing, and glanced back once more before heading down the steps.

not with the heavy awkwardness from the bakery. not with the frustration of that first startled evening. just with something gentler. something that felt like the beginning of him not leaving so quickly.

you stood in the doorway for a long time after, staring out into the quiet street with a smile you couldn't quite get rid of.

because the bakery had been the first place you started to know him.

but now, just barely, it was becoming clear that he existed beyond it too and somehow, that was even better.

-

the thing about gator was that once he got comfortable somewhere, he got comfortable. there was no middle ground. one day he was awkwardly standing in your kitchen looking like he wasn't entirely convinced he belonged there, the next he was letting himself into your house with a knock that barely even counted.

"door's open."

"that's not an invitation."

"yeah it is." and then he'd walk in anyway carrying a white bakery box under one arm like he owned the place.

you'd stopped pretending to be surprised. it happened so often now that you found yourself expecting it.

sometimes he'd show up after work with a bag of pastries. sometimes cookies. sometimes a box of things marcy had made too many of.

every single time he insisted that was the only reason he had come.

he would arrive claiming he was only there because of the food then somehow end up sitting on your couch all evening. or helping you cook, or watching terrible movies while offering increasingly rude commentary, or playing board games, or simply existing in the same room as you.

and every time he left, the house felt just a little emptier than before. which was becoming a problem, because somewhere along the way you'd started really liking him.

not in the vague, harmless way you'd first convinced yourself it was. not in the easy friendship way either.

properly.

the kind that made your stomach do strange things when he smiled, the kind that made you look forward to hearing his knock on the door, the kind that made your heart feel suspiciously warm whenever he did something soft and tried to disguise it as annoyance.

and unfortunately, gator was still gator.

which meant reading him was about as easy as reading a brick wall.

sometimes you thought he liked you, sometimes he looked at you in a way that made your pulse stumble, sometimes he'd remember tiny things you'd mentioned weeks ago, sometimes he'd bring your favourite pastries without asking, sometimes he'd stare at you when he thought you weren't looking.

and then other times he'd just look grumpy.

which was entirely unhelpful.

you couldn't tell if you were special or if this was simply what happened when somebody managed to become important to him.

and honestly, that uncertainty was starting to drive you insane.

-

the answer arrived on a random tuesday night.

you'd finally decided to tackle the pile of unpacked boxes sitting in your spare room.

they had been there for months, actual months, long enough that they'd basically become furniture.

gator had wandered over after work carrying a box of leftover pastries and immediately judged you.

"those still ain't unpacked?"

you looked up from the couch, "don't."

"that's embarrassing."

"don't."

"it's been months."

"gator."

he grinned, actually grinned, which was rare enough that it almost distracted you from the insult. almost.

an hour later the two of you were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the living room floor sorting through boxes.

old books, photographs, random decorations, childhood keepsakes. every so often one of you would find something ridiculous and force the other to look at it.

the conversation drifted easily. family, old schools, stupid childhood stories, nothing particularly deep. just comfortable. the kind of conversation that happened when two people genuinely enjoyed being around each other.

you were halfway through telling him a story about accidentally locking yourself in a supply closet during your first job when he laughed. a real laugh.

head tipped back slightly, eyes crinkling.

the sound made your chest squeeze. "you are not allowed to judge me."

"ya got stuck for three hours."

"i was seventeen."

"you cried."

"i did not."

"you absolutely did."

you shoved his shoulder. he laughed again.

and god, that smile.

you were still staring at it when his expression changed. only slightly, but enough.

the laughter faded.

his eyes stayed on yours.

suddenly the room felt very quiet.

you stopped talking, he stopped smiling. or maybe he didn't, maybe it just softened into something else, something warmer.

for a second neither of you moved.

then gator leaned forward and kissed you.

your brain immediately stopped working.

completely.

because one second you were sitting on your living room floor and the next gator tillman was kissing you. which had definitely not been part of the evening's plans.

when he pulled back, you were still frozen.

he blinked, then immediately looked horrified. "sorry."

the word came out so fast you almost laughed.

so you did.

gator stared.

you laughed harder.

his eyebrows pulled together. "what?"

you shook your head, still smiling, "why are you apologising?"

"cause ya froze on me."

that only made you laugh more. "gator."

"what?"

"you kissed me."

"right."

"and your first response is to apologise?"

he looked genuinely confused. "well yeah."

"why?"

he opened his mouth, closed it, then shrugged. "i dunno."

you stared at him for a second then burst out laughing again. this time even he couldn't stop the smile pulling at his mouth.

when the room went quiet again, this specific silence felt different.

your pulse picked up. his eyes dropped briefly to your mouth then back up.

you leaned forward first, just enough, giving him the choice.

he took it immediately.

the second kiss was different, more certain.

his hand found your jaw, your fingers curled into his shirt, and for a little while the rest of the world simply ceased to matter.

when you finally pulled apart, both of you breathing a little harder than before, the room felt softer somehow.

you ended up half leaning against him without really thinking about it. he didn't seem to mind, in fact he looked suspiciously pleased about it, which was when you noticed he was staring.

not subtly either, just looking at you.

you felt heat immediately crawl into your face. "stop."

his mouth twitched. "what."

"stop looking at me like that."

"like what."

"you know what."

he shook his head, looking entirely too amused.

"don't."

"don't what."

"gator."

he smiled and it hit you all over again just how handsome he was when he let himself be happy. which only made you blush harder.

he seemed delighted by this.

you groaned and buried your face briefly against his shoulder, which only made him laugh.

eventually you lifted your head again, and when you looked at him this time, something settled inside you.

a certainty.

you already knew, so why dance around it?

you nudged his shoulder lightly.

"i really like you."

the smile disappeared.

not because he didn't like hearing it because it genuinely caught him off guard. for a second he simply stared, then slowly, slowly, the biggest smile you'd ever seen spread across his face.

it transformed him completely. suddenly he looked younger, lighter. you almost forgot how to breathe.

"really?" he asked.

you nodded.

"me too."

your heart nearly exploded.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

his voice was quiet, honest, the most honest you'd ever heard him.

you rested your head against his shoulder again. this time he immediately wrapped an arm around you, holding you close without hesitation.

the room settled into comfortable silence.

for a while neither of you spoke, then eventually he cleared his throat. you looked up, he looked deeply uncomfortable.

which instantly amused you. "what?"

he frowned.

thinking.

"things were kinda..." he started.

paused.

"shitty."

you laughed softly. "eloquent."

"shut up."

"continue."

he rolled his eyes but his arm tightened slightly around your shoulders.

"before."

you softened. "okay."

he stared at the floor. "then they weren't."

your heart squeezed because that was such a painfully stubborn attempt at expressing something meaningful. something so very gator.

you smiled. "because of me?"

he looked horrified you'd made him clarify which was answer enough. still, after a second he muttered, "yeah."

you smiled so hard your cheeks hurt.

he pointed at you immediately. "don't."

"i didn't say anything."

"you're thinkin' things."

"i am."

he groaned.

you laughed then leaned your head back onto his shoulder.

and he let you.

after another minute he spoke again. casually, far too casually.

"can i take you out?"

you blinked.

"what?"

he looked away, suddenly fascinated by absolutely anything except your face.

"a date."

you stared then immediately started laughing, not because it was funny, because it was adorable.

his expression turned offended. "why're you laughin'?"

"because you're cute."

"i am not."

"you absolutely are."

"answer the question."

you smiled.

"yes."

his shoulders visibly relaxed.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

after that neither of you seemed particularly interested in moving.

eventually you put a movie on, neither of you paid much attention to it, but somewhere during the second half, your head found his shoulder and before either of you realised it, sleep caught up with you both.

the movie kept playing softly in the background, the unpacked boxes remained half finished, and curled together on the couch, finally done pretending, you both fell asleep knowing that whatever this was now was something real.

------