Possessed and Obsessed

“I wish!” he exploded, gesticulating wildly. 

“So what did you do then?” you asked.

“I didn’t know what to do!” he said. “I think I said something super intelligent like, Oh, okay, and then we stood there awkwardly for a second and they were like, Okay, I’m gonna go in now, and I said, Okay, and then they just…left.”

You pressed your hand to your lips to stifle your giggles. “Is it safe to assume that they haven’t called you back?”

“Yes, y/n,” said Rooster flatly, turning and fixing you with a dull stare. “They obviously haven’t called me back.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said, your stifled giggles descending into embarrassing snorts. You stopped on the sidewalk, one hand covering your mouth and one clutching your knee as you bent at the waist, trying to recover from your fit of the giggles.

“Okay, okay,” said Rooster. You could tell by his tone that he was also fighting back a laugh. “Get it all out now.”

Your friendship with Rooster was a delightfully unexpected bonus of moving into your new apartment. He rented the room across the hall, and you’d met him on your very first day, when he graciously offered to help you carry some boxes up the stairs since the elevator was broken. After you’d moved in, he’d offered to take you for a walk down by the waterfront and show you around your new area. Pretty soon after that, nightly walks by the reservoir had become your new normal. 

Conversation came easily with you and Rooster, in no small part because of his endless catalog of dating fiasco stories. It seemed like every single week he had a new story about how some date of his had ended with a crying waiter, red wine on a white dress, or a decidedly unsexy scraped knee. You’d never met someone with such a talent for being bad at dating.

This new story really took the cake, though.

“I’m sorry,” you said, finally catching your breath and leaning against the fence looking over the water below. “I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“I would have been offended if you hadn’t,” said Rooster, which just made you laugh again. He stood next to you, just close enough that your shoulders would occasionally brush, and loosely laced his fingers together, draping his forearms across the railing. He sighed. “Is it me? Am I losing it? I used to be good at this.”

“It’s not you,” you said sincerely. “Honestly, if someone thinks asking for consent ‘ruins the mood’ or whatever…that’s a red flag.”

“That’s what I thought!” he blurted. “I think it’s kind of hot if someone asks before they kiss you.”

“Me too,” you agreed, determinedly not looking at him when you said it. The day Rooster realized that you were silently wishing that you’d be the one he asked out on a disastrous date was the day you’d probably move to a different state.

It was quiet for a moment, and you began to feel nervous, worrying that you’d said the wrong thing. But then Rooster asked, “How do you usually do it?”

“Wh-what?” you asked, turning to look at him in alarm.

He winced. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be weird. I’m trying to gather information. You know? You don’t have to answer, that’s awkward.”

“No, it’s okay,” you said quickly, choosing to focus on the starlight dancing on the water instead of the warmth of Rooster’s shoulder pressing against you. “I mean…it’s been a while, I won’t lie. But usually I wait for some kind of signal—like the look you mentioned. Then, if I’m feeling bold, I go for the ol’ lean-in. Kind of like asking without asking, you know?” Your cheeks grew warm. “This one time, I was feeling really confident, and I just said, I really want to kiss you.”

“Whoa,” said Rooster. “How’d that go?”

“It worked.”

“Yeah, I bet. That’s hot.”

“Um. Thanks.”

“Oh—shit, I didn’t mean to—sorry, that was weird. I shouldn’t have said that.” Rooster took half a step away from you, and you immediately missed his warmth.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you said, hoping he couldn’t hear how your heart was racing. “I don’t mind. Really.” You sucked in a deep breath, bracing yourself for what you were about to say. “The main line is, asking permission is cool. It’s hot. It is sexy. So you shouldn’t think it’s a problem on your side. Just…keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll find the right person.”

“Hm,” said Rooster, but that was it. He stepped back next to you, and when you glanced over, he was staring at your face with a furrowed brow, like he was thinking really hard. That scared you a little. Had you said the wrong thing? Had you given yourself away? Shit, you totally had. You’d totally just blown this whole thing.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Oh, god. You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away from him. “O-of course.”

His mustache twitched as the corner of his mouth pulled into half a cheeky smile. “Would you count this as a date?”

All the breath left your lungs like you’d just been punched in the gut. “What?” 

He blinked, his smile dropping. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I definitely shouldn’t have said that. That was so stupid of me. I—”

Before he could pull away again, you grabbed his sleeve, holding him in place. Your stare was frighteningly intense as you demanded, “Would you count this as a date, Rooster?”

“Maybe,” he squeaked out.

“Oh, my god,” you gasped, clapping your hands to your cheeks. “I’m an idiot. I’m a moron. This is totally a date, isn't it? Oh, my god.”

“I just ruined this, didn’t I?” he asked, sounding tired. His head sagged on his neck, his broad shoulders deflating.

You grabbed his sleeve again, your grip insistent. “Bradley,” you said sternly, “you didn’t ruin anything. I thought—I thought—I don’t know what I thought.” You paused and then asked softly, “You like me?”

He stared at you then, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Of course I like you,” he breathed.

"Oh," you whispered. "That's nice."

This time when his mouth stretched into a crooked smile, you weren’t as scared. He squared his shoulders, turning to face you fully. His voice was husky and thick with amusement when he asked, “Permission to lean in?”

The laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Your fingers loosened in his sleeve, resting gently on his bicep. “Permission granted,” you answered.

You didn’t mind taking things slow with Bob. In fact, you thought it was pretty sweet. On your first date he had told you earnestly, “I want it to be special,” and you trusted him. With other guys you might have worried that there was some other reason they were holding back, but with Bob you didn’t have to worry about those silly insecurities. It was nice, and it was refreshing.

But you also really, really wanted to kiss him.

Actually, strike that—you really, really, really wanted him to kiss you. 

All these thoughts and more raced through your mind as you left the mini golf course and began to cross the parking lot back to Bob’s car, and you were still lost in thought as he pulled out and merged onto the highway back towards home.

He turned on the radio and reached over, lacing your fingers together, and you smiled. It pulled you back into the present moment, and you were alarmed by how much you liked this man. But then his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you were right back to that same train of thought as before.

When he pulled up outside your apartment, he turned the radio down and said, “I know you have an early morning tomorrow. I had a lot of fun tonight, though.”

“Hm,” you said, distracted.

He squeezed your hand, his smile nervous and curious. “You okay? You’ve seemed a world away since you beat me at mini golf.”

What were you doing? You were in a car with a beautiful boy who cared deeply about you—so deeply about you that he wanted you to have the perfect rom-com moment you’d dreamed of since you were a little kid. And here you were, moping about it.

You squeezed his hand back and smiled reassuringly. “Sorry. Just thinking about tomorrow. I’m sorry I have to go so early, but I’d love to see you this weekend.”

His eyes crinkled when he smiled. You loved that about him. “I’d really like that.”

“Okay. Okay, bye, Bob.” You squeezed his hand again—god, you wanted to kiss him so bad—before opening your passenger door and getting out. You paused there on the sidewalk for a moment.

Oh, what the hell?

You dashed around the hood of Bob’s car, stopping at his driver’s side door and gesturing for him to roll the window down. When he did, you said, “Sorry. I just—I had a lot of fun tonight. I wanted to say thank you.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.”

And his tongue darted out to wet his lips again.

If he was going to do it, now was the moment. You met his eyes, feeling drawn deeply into them. His fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel. Goosebumps prickled your legs.

And he didn’t kiss you.

With a sigh, you reached out to gently cup his cheek. You orchestrated every moment, hoping and praying that you weren’t about to find out that he actually was holding back for those other reasons. But his cheek was warm, and he leaned into your touch as you tipped through the window and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

The words ‘Bye, Bob’ died on your lips as his hand came up to cup your jaw, and as you began to pull away again, he turned his head and captured your mouth with his.

It was fireworks; it was a roller coaster; it was the beach at sunset; it was a run through an airport; it was the special moment you had both been waiting for. It was quite possibly the best kiss ever recorded in history.

He pulled away with a soft gasp and breathed, “I couldn’t wait any more.”

In reply, you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck and kissed him again. He made a soft, happy sound in the back of his throat, drawing a smile onto your face even as your mouth moved against his.

You pulled away, pressing another quick kiss to his cheek before withdrawing from the window, glad to see your own unshakable smile mirrored on his face. Now, finally, you said, “Bye, Bob.”

“Good night,” he whispered.

You forced yourself not to look over your shoulder as you walked up to your apartment, turned the key in the lock, and slipped inside. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pressed your back against the closed front door, letting your eyes fall shut blissfully.

He held up his fingers and began counting items off. “First, we meet up with Natasha at the Shake Shack.”

“We are at the Shake Shack,” you said.

“Yes. The three of us laugh and play nice for a bit, just to break the ice. Second—or maybe third?—you get up to use the restroom. I don’t know, make up some excuse.”

You rolled your eyes but let him keep going.

“Fourth—wait, or are we still on three?—anyways, fourth, while you’re gone I put the moves on Natasha, maybe invite her to officially do something one-on-one. Fifth, you come back and I’ll give you the signal. Remember the signal?”

You recited, “‘Ready to rock and roll?’ means it’s not going good and we have to go. ‘Living the good life’ means it’s going really well and I should buzz off. You picked such corny catchphrases, man.”

“But you remembered them!” Rooster considered things for a moment before adding another finger. “Sixth, seventh, whatever—profit.”

You hummed sarcastically and turned to look back out the window. It was winter, so it was already completely dark over the Shake Shack as you and Rooster waited for his definitely-not-a-date to show up. Other young people on awkward first outings, as well as large groups of friends, milled about on the open-air tables and greater parking lot, swapping ice cream and fries and having a generally great time. Rooster probably couldn’t have picked a better place to stage this “friendship coup” as he called it—in short, an attempt to get out of the friendzone with Natasha Trace.

You’d only met Natasha a handful of times, but you liked her. You weren’t sure how much you liked her for Bradley, but you also weren’t the type to meddle that deeply into your friend’s love life. And Rooster had been single now for nearly four long, painful years; you thought it would be good for him to get out of his head and get back in the dating game.

“Oh, shit, that’s her!” he hissed suddenly, swatting your arm. “Come on, let’s go!”

You quickly climbed out of the Bronco, following Rooster’s lead as he began to make his way towards the sleek Volkswagen that had just pulled into the lot. The headlights in the Volkswagen shut off and the driver’s side door opened to reveal Natasha, graceful and strong as ever. She broke into a smile as soon as she saw Rooster and leaned against the open frame of her door.

“Hey, Rooster,” she said before her eyes slipped past him and landed on you. They lit up with recognition. “Oh, hey!”

“Hi,” you said, feeling incredibly transparent and awkward. 

“Oh, uh—they just wanted to come with, I started talking about Shake Shack and they were like, ‘oh my god, I want to go!’ So I hope that’s okay,” rambled Rooster.

You glared daggers at the back of Rooster’s head, but Natasha just laughed and nodded. “Yeah, no worries. I mean—I’d be kind of a hypocrite if I said no.”

Rooster laughed. “Haha, yeah—wait, what?”

Natasha bent down into the open door and said, “You can come out, you know.”

The passenger door to the Volkswagen swung open and a man stepped out, and you momentarily forgot that you were in the middle of drilling a hole in the back of Bradley’s head with your eyes.

He was tall and lean, with short blonde hair combed back out of his face. He was wearing glasses, but even in the dim light of the parking lot you could make out wide, blue eyes and a shy, kind expression on his face. He glanced nervously around the group: first at Natasha, then at Rooster, then back to Natasha, and then to you, where they stayed.

“This is Bob,” said Natasha. “I figured it’d be okay if he tagged along with us, too.”

Your mind had stuttered to a halt, but if there was one thing to be said about Rooster, he was quick on his feet. “Yeah, definitely! Nice to meet you, Bob. Hey, I just remembered I left my wallet in my car like an idiot.” He pinned you with a sharp look. “Can you come grab it with me?”

You only considered arguing for maybe half a second before tearing your eyes away from Bob and sighing, “Yeah, let’s go. Be right back, guys. Meet you at the shack?”

“Sounds good!” called Natasha as you and Rooster began to jog away.

Rooster yanked open the driver’s side door of the Bronco and bent over the seat for pure formalities, because he knew as well as you did that the outline of his brown leather wallet was prominent and very obvious in his back pocket.

“She brought one too!” he hissed at the gas pedal.

You looked up at the sky, asking anyone listening to please, please, send you help. Then you said, “So?”

“So that throws a bit of a spanner in the works!”

“Does it?”

He straightened up, waving a pad of brown napkins in your direction. “Yes! Is that her way of telling me this is a strictly-friends situation? Is Bob my competition? What message am I meant to receive here?”

“Maybe the message that she felt the same way that you did about this little hang-out and brought along a safety net?” you offered. “Please stop waving those napkins at me, Bradley.”

“Right, sorry.” He tossed them into the backseat, where they scattered like confetti, and you fought back a shiver of disgust. “So what do I do?”

You cocked your head at him. “I don’t know, Rooster. Maybe…go hang out with her? And stop stalling at your car?”

Rooster blinked. “Fuck. You’re right. Let’s roll out.”

When you arrived at the front counter, Bob and Natasha still hadn’t ordered. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the menu, and you took a moment to try and decipher their body language: her arms were folded, his loose and relaxed; she would periodically tap her hip against his, less in a manner that tried to get his attention and more out of casual familiarity; when they spoke to each other, they didn’t turn their heads, just spoke out of the sides of their mouths and trusted the other to catch it.

In all honesty, they reminded you a lot of you and Bradley. The thought made you feel strangely…relieved, but you couldn’t figure out why exactly.

Bob noticed you and Rooster first, turning and smiling. He met your eyes, but then looked away just as quickly.

“Hi,” you said, stepping up next to him and introducing yourself. “Sorry about before. I swear, he’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered,” chuckled Bob before blinking. “Oh, I just mean—Natasha’s told me—I’ve heard that Bradley can be—”

“You’re good,” you interrupted swiftly. “I love him, but he’s an idiot.”

Bob smiled that quick, nervous smile again before turning back to the menu board. “Okay. Do you know what you’re gonna get?”

You nodded. “They do a killer float here.”

Bob glanced at you in surprise. “You don’t get shakes at the Shake Shack?”

“You do?” you countered.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s a Shake Shack.”

You found yourself laughing. “Okay then, wise guy, educate me!”

“I’m gonna change your life,” promised Bob, stepping up to the counter and ordering two peanut-butter fudge milkshakes. When you tried to pull out your own wallet, he put out a hand to stop you. 

“I’m perfectly capable—” you started.

“Please. What kind of teacher would I be if I made my student pay for their own school supplies?”

You snorted with laughter, turning to share an amused look with Rooster before realizing in a panic that you’d been so caught up talking with Bob that you’d lost track of both Natasha and Rooster. You swore under your breath, stepping away from the counter and looking back and forth for where they’d gone. He’d asked you to be his wingman because he was nervous, and you’d already messed it up!

Bob stepped up next to you, two milkshakes in hand. “Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“Where’d they go?” you asked, still looking around the patio and the parking lot.

Bob slurped loudly at one of the shakes for a moment before saying, “She said something about stealing him away to play mini golf across the street. Must be what happened.”

You whirled around to face him. “You guys had a game plan?”

His cheeks colored and he didn’t meet your eyes. “Yeah. She was nervous. That’s why I’m here.” He squinted at you. “Did you guys have a game plan?”

You bit your lip, realizing you’d been caught. “Yes,” you said softly.

“There we go, then,” said Bob, holding out the second shake. “Even Stevens.”

You took it from him and worked your straw up and down, trying to mix it. “Well, then what are we supposed to do while they play mini golf?”

Bob did meet your eyes then, fixating you in place with that impressive cobalt stare. You felt your breath hitch in your throat and a warm flush began to spread out from your throat. You hoped against hope he couldn’t tell in the darkness.

Bob said, “Wait for them to get back, I guess.”

You led the way back to Rooster’s car, where you retrieved the spare key that only you knew about from its spot in the front wheel well. You and Bob worked together to lower the small tailgate of the Bronco, and then Bob helped lift you up onto it. You both sat there, hip to hip: you, swinging your legs over the empty space; him, keeping his calmingly still.

“I can’t believe they ditched us,” you said around the straw wedged between your lips.

Bob moved his straw up and down, just like you’d done before. You tried not to stare at his hands. He said, “I don’t know. This was kind of best-case-scenario for how tonight could have gone.” He smiled. “Imagine the four of us wedged in a cramped diner booth, watching both of them fail to flirt.”

“Ugh, good point,” you said. “Not that it’s any of my business, but—you and Natasha? Just friends, then? She’s here for Bradley?”

Bob made a strangled noise, somewhere between a snort and a raspberry. “No,” he said. “Just friends. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

You took another sip of your shake before setting it down behind you. “I don’t know, that can be kind of romantic sometimes.”

“Natasha and I are not romantically engaged,” he said, enunciating clearly. “She’s here because she wants to see how things go with Bradley.” He paused. “Besides, I’ve heard stories—how do I know you and him aren’t secretly pining for each other?”

You pretended to gag. “Ew, no thanks. He’s practically my brother.”

“See, it’s weird!” laughed Bob. “You’re not allowed to make fun of me!”

“I’m not!” you laughed back. “You made your point. I’m sorry.”

You both smiled, a comfortable silence falling over the backseat of the Bronco. The nerves of the night were starting to wear off, and you found yourself shivering in the cool winter air. When you reached behind you to grab the blanket Rooster kept stashed in the back seat, Bob helped wrap it tight around your shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

“Thanks,” you said, trying to fight back that shy flush of warmth that threatened to overtake you again.

A few more minutes of quiet stretched out in front of the two of you, and you finally sighed, buzzing your lips and trying to fill the silence. “Now what?” you asked, starting to swing your legs again.

“How do you know Bradley?” Bob asked, leaning back and resting his head against the back of the headrest.

You turned, arching an eyebrow. “Twenty questions? Really?”

He laughed. “If you’ve got other ideas on how to kill time, I’m all ears.”

You rolled your eyes again, turning to face forward and letting an amused giggle escape your lips. “Okay, fine. But that’s not how twenty questions works. You have to work up to the deep shit.”

Bob pulled one leg up onto the tailgate, lacing his fingers around his knee. “Okay, wise one,” he teased. “Educate me, then. You go first.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Seven. How do you know Bradley?”

You burst out laughing, grabbing onto his arm to keep yourself upright as he snickered, obviously pleased with himself. When Rooster and Natasha came back, you were both still giggling, but over a different twenty-questions-inspired joke. You didn’t even know how much time had passed—apparently enough for at least one game of mini golf to be completely finished.

“You guys look like you’re having fun,” said Natasha with a smile.

“Hey, guys,” you said. “How was mini golf?”

“Good,” said Rooster, swapping a look with Natasha. “Fun. I lost.”

“No surprise, there,” you teased, and Bob chuckled.

Rooster lifted his eyebrows at you. “Thanks for that. You ready to head out?”

You sat up quickly, letting the blanket fall away from your shoulders. “Oh, yeah, sure. We can head out. Is this a rock-and-roll situation?”

Rooster shook his head but didn’t say anything, so you figured he was withholding a lot of things that he wanted your opinion on. You stifled a sigh and shifted off of the Bronco, stretching your legs as Bob stood up next to you. As he shuffled closer to Natasha—presumably to ask how her date was—you leaned back into the cab and grabbed your mostly-full milkshake, holding it out to Bob.

When he took it, his brow furrowed in confusion and he reached up to adjust his glasses. “You didn’t have any?”

“I had a couple sips,” you said defensively. “You can finish it.”

“But—you—I—”

You grimaced and whispered, “I don’t like peanut butter in my milkshakes. But I can pay you back!”

“This is the most embarrassing moment of my life,” said Bob, and you were only half-sure he was being sarcastic. “Don’t worry about the money. We’ll just have to come back and get floats next time.”

As soon as he realized what he’d said, his whole face lit up bright pink. You saw Natasha and Rooster’s eyebrows fly into their hairlines at the same time. You grinned, unable to stop the quiet laugh that bubbled out of you as you nodded and said, “Yeah, I guess we will. I’ll see you around, Bob.”

“See you,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck and wincing as he and Natasha began to slowly make their way back to her Volkswagen. She grabbed his sleeve, giving him a firm and teasing shake, and you grinned at the sight before turning and closing the tailgate back up and moving to the passenger seat.

“So,” you said as Rooster turned the key in the ignition, “how was it?”

He made a ‘kaputz’ gesture with his hand and blew a raspberry.

Your face fell. “Oh no. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he explained, turning and backing out of his parking spot. “I guess that’s kind of why it’s a no-go. I think we’re just better as friends. And I think I’m actually okay with that.”

You smiled and nudged him on the arm when he paused to shift gears. “I’m proud of you, Bradshaw.”

He scoffed and shook his head. You sat back in your seat, prepared for a nice, quiet drive home, when Rooster suddenly leaned across the center console, shoving his face into your personal space. “How was your night, hmm?”

“Oh my god, go away, you freak!” you giggled, shoving at him. “None of your business!”

He sat up and pulled out of the parking lot, laughing and sending you a knowing look that made you want to explode. “The truth will out,” he said, “and by that I mean I’m gonna text Natasha later and get all the details. So which side of the story do you want me to hear?”

“His,” you said. “Definitely his.”

“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Fanboy asked, holding his cue out towards you.

Across the table, Bob’s eyes flickered towards you before dropping away again. He was sure you’d noticed anyway. No one ever noticed him the way you did. No one ever really noticed him, period. But then you’d showed up, and seemed to notice everything about him. He liked it, but it scared him, too.

Fondness and fear went hand in hand when it came to most of his feelings for you.

“I’m okay,” you said, waving Fanboy away. “We’re busy keeping score. Right, Javy?”

“Right,” said Coyote with a sharp nod, half-smiling.

“Alright,” said Payback. “Who’s winning, then?”

“Bob,” you said without missing a beat. You locked eyes with him briefly and he was sure that everyone could see the red flare in his cheeks before he glanced down.

“You guys obviously aren’t paying attention,” Payback scoffed, exchanging a glance with Fanboy and shaking his head before turning back to the game, leaning over the table to take his next shot.

Bob stepped back to chalk his cue, glancing sideways at you and Coyote when he thought you weren’t looking. You looked so comfortable, so at ease here with everybody. He was honestly jealous. You melded with the group in a way he’d never been able to, and you’d been here half as long. Everyone was drawn to you, Bob included. He knew he wasn’t the only one infatuated by your quick wit and earnest heart; Hangman especially had made his interest clear. But you’d never offered any of your coworkers anything in return.

Why did he think it’d be any different with him?

He puffed his cheeks up and exhaled, shaking himself and realizing that he’d over-chalking his cue. Tapping it against the table, he came around the far side, grateful to turn his back on you but nervous at the idea of you watching him bend over to line up his shot.

At that moment, however, the darts game apparently wrapped up, because Hangman and Phoenix came back to join the group. And as Bob leaned over the table, Hangman said loudly, “How’s there only three playing? Here, I’ll join a team.”

The cue was pulled from Bob’s hands, interrupting his shot. Hangman bumped him with his hip, leaning over and pocketing the ball that Bob had been eyeing. Bob shuffled backwards, invisible once again.

There was nothing unique about this night.

“Hey!”

Bob’s head snapped up. The casual conversation around the table faltered. Even Hangman, who’d been smirking and making some snarky remark at Phoenix, seemed to freeze. Because you’d pushed off the wall, and your normally relaxed posture had straightened into a harsh, tense line.

Hangman glanced sideways at Phoenix, who was looking like Christmas had come early. “Hey?” he said.

“Go get your own cue, Hangman,” you snapped, yanking it out of his hands. “They’re literally all over the walls. It would take you two seconds.”

Slowly, Bob realized what was happening. Hangman seemed to recognize at the same time, because his eyes slid from you to Bob, growing wide. “Seriously?” he said.

You moved the cue to one hand, using the other to wave Hangman off. “Go on, shoo! Get your own if you want to play so bad.” Then you turned and walked over to where Bob was standing with his back pressed to the wall, half hoping it would open and swallow him so everyone would stop staring.

But he kind of liked when you stared at him. Like the way you stared at him now.

You held out the cue. “This is yours, I think.”

“Thanks.” He took it, and his fingers brushed yours, sending a shiver up his arm. “You didn’t need to—I mean, he always—it’s not a—”

“I know that he does it all the time,” you said. “I just think he needs somebody to stand up to him sometimes. He pushes you around too much. They all do.”

He was positive you could see his blush. “Oh,” he said. “Um—thanks. For…yeah. Thank you.” He scratched nervously at the back of his neck. “Can I buy you a…beer or something? As thanks?”

You beamed at him, and he was worried everyone would be able to hear the way his heart started to pound. “One second,” you said. You walked back over to Coyote, who was holding your beer, and took it from him. As Bob watched, you drained the last few gulps of beer from the bottle before turning and walking back over to him with a shy smile.

“Maybe he got tired of losing at pool,” said Hangman with a shit-eating grin, straightening up satisfactorily as he pocketed two balls.

“He beat me last time,” Fanboy pointed out.

“That’s not a competition,” Hangman retorted.

“He’ll be here,” interjected Rooster, taking a sip of his beer. “When’s the last time he didn’t show up to one of these? Calm down.”

“But when’s the last time Bob’s been late?” Phoenix shot back before groaning and pulling her phone away from her ear. She turned to look at you with a pleading expression. “Back me up here. This is weird, right?”

You suddenly realized everyone was staring at you expectantly. The buzzed, warm atmosphere of the Hard Deck suddenly felt a bit stifling. Usually you loved the teasing jibes and snarky retorts traded between the aviators over a few games of pool and a few more beers, but something about tonight felt…off.

Probably for the exact reason everyone was discussing at the moment.

“It is weird for him to flake,” you ceded reluctantly. “He usually at least gives us a text if he knows he’s not gonna make it.”

“Okay, so call him, then,” said Hangman, sounding exasperated. “Make sure he’s not dead.” He nudged Coyote. “It’s your shot. Would you go?”

“We have been calling him, dickhead,” snapped Phoenix. “He’s not picking up.”

“No, make the other one call him,” said Hangman, pointing at you with his cue as if you weren’t right there. “His favorite.”

Your cheeks burned with the knowledge that everyone else had picked up on you and Bob’s close bond. “I am not—”

“Please,” said Hangman arrogantly. “We are not in middle school. Just own it. We’ve all seen the little glances and inside jokes.”

Your mouth flapped open and shut uselessly. The pool game had been forgotten. Everyone was watching you with amused expressions. You stuttered out, “I do that with Phoenix, too!”

Hangman squinted at you disbelievingly before turning back to the game, like you weren’t even worth the effort of arguing with. That more than anything else rubbed you the wrong way.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “I will call him. And he won’t pick up, just like he didn’t pick up when Phoenix and Fanboy called, and we can put this to bed.”

You expected everyone to laugh at you, or shake their heads and go back to their other activities. What you didn’t expect was for everyone—Hangman included—to cluster around you and stare at your screen as you pulled out your phone.

You scrolled through your contacts quickly, wanting to just get it over with, but as you hovered your finger over Bob’s contact to call, Payback said, “Hang on—”

Right on cue, Hangman swiped your phone out of your hand and held it above your head.

“Give it back!” you cried, embarrassment flooding your body. “Seriously? You’re the one who just said we aren’t in middle school!”

“‘B. Bradshaw,’” Hangman read aloud, holding you at bay with his free hand. He was beaming. “‘J. Machado—J. Seresin—N. Trace—M. Garcia—R. Fitch.’ But would you look at this?” He scrolled back up. “‘Bobby.’ With two—count ‘em, two—emojis.”

“Stop it!” you yelped, more than mortified.

“Which emojis?” called Fanboy, who was craning to try and see.

“The nerd with glasses face and a white heart,” said Payback. “Remind me, what does the white heart mean?”

“Marriage, definitely,” said Rooster with a teasing smirk.

“You guys are children,” you yelled, hoping desperately that you looked more confident than you felt. You shot Rooster a frustrated look. “Could you help me, please?”

It was Coyote who swiped your phone out of Hangman’s hand, taking a moment to examine the proof for himself before handing it back to you. You snatched it quickly, sure that everyone could see just how flustered you were. They all watched you with amused, knowing expressions, waiting for you to defend yourself.

But then your phone buzzed in your hand, and everyone looked down.

Incoming call from: Bobby 🤓🤍

Someone snickered. You fought to maintain your dignity and straightened your posture, saying, “Excuse me, I have a call. I’m going to take this outside.”

Everyone whooped and laughed as you pushed in between Fanboy and Phoenix and started to walk towards the back deck. With shaking fingers, you accepted the call. 

You shifted, pushing off the kitchen counter and turning to rest your elbows against the marble. You traced your finger along the grout and ceded, “I get it. It sucks and I’m annoyed, but I get it.” You sighed, rubbing at the crease between your eyebrows. “What’s another Valentine’s Day on my couch, right? I’ve had worse.”

Natasha was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I’m really sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. It’s fine. Go have fun.”

“You sure?”

“Natasha.”

“Okay. Love you. I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

Natasha hung up with a faint beep and you let your phone fall loudly out of your hand, where it clattered to the counter—unharmed. You dropped your head into your hands and muffled a groan with the heel of your palm, digging your nails into your scalp before shaking yourself and straightening up again. You pocketed your phone and came around the corner, leaving the kitchen and re-entering the living room.

It was pathetic to look at now. You’d decorated it with the intent to host a whole slew of your friends for a ‘palentine’s party,’ but one by one they’d bailed on you. Now it was just you and Bob Floyd in your apartment, waiting for a Natasha Trace that wouldn’t be coming.

When Bob saw you, he sat up straighter on the couch. He always sat so rigidly when he came over, like he was scared he’d mess up your cushions just by relaxing on them. You probably shouldn’t have found it as endearing as you did, but oh well. There were a lot of things Bob did that you probably shouldn’t have found as endearing as you did.

“She’s not coming, is she?” Bob asked, his wide blue eyes following your movement as you wound your way around the coffee table towards the far end of the couch. You threw yourself down with a tired sigh and blew a raspberry, shaking your head. Bob winced. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” you said. “I should have known better than to try and make group plans on Valentine’s Day.”

“What now?” he asked, his fingers digging into the folds of his jeans at his knees.

You shrugged as best you could in your horizontal position. “I don’t know. Put on a movie, I guess. Eat a bunch of this chocolate. Drink a bunch of this wine. Procrastinate cleaning everything up.” You flopped your head to the side so that you could look at him and smile wearily. “I know you probably had fun plans with that girl—the one from the bookstore. Go on, get out of here.” You dropped your voice to a teasing whisper. “Save yourself.”

Bob just scrunched up his nose and shook his head.

Surprised, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows. “What—is she busy?”

He looked away from you then, pushing up his glasses and coughing into his fist awkwardly. “No,” he said, his voice sounding weird. “No, she’s, uh—it’s not gonna work out, I think. I haven’t heard from her in a while. And I haven’t reached out to her, either,” he added hastily.

You pushed out your bottom lip, sitting up fully and reaching for one of the bottles of red wine you’d put out on the coffee table. “Aw. I’m sorry to hear that. She sounded nice.”

Bob shrugged, still not looking at you.

“Well,” you said, pulling the cork out of the bottle with a loud pop, “if you don’t have anything to do, I guess you could stay here. God knows I won’t be going anywhere. But you don’t have to.”

“No,” he said quickly, “that sounds—um—that sounds nice. I’d love to. As long as it’s no hassle.”

“No hassle at all.” You smiled to yourself, pouring two glasses of wine and pushing one across the table to him before taking a long drink of yours. Then you pulled open the heart-shaped box of chocolates and plopped it on the sofa between the two of you before turning on the tv and starting to scroll through your movie options.

“You know, you’re allowed to relax,” you said as you reclined back onto the cushions, noticing the way Bob was still sitting so stiffly on the far side.

He laughed a little nervously. “Right. Sorry.” You watched as he awkwardly shimmied out of his coat and draped it over the back of the couch. He settled deeper into the cushions, his eyes trained on the tv screen, absently swirling the wine in his glass.

Your cheeks felt warm as you turned back to the tv. You were oddly touched that Bob wanted to stay and keep you company on your failed Valentine’s Day evening. Clearing your throat, you said, “So what are you in the mood for?”

“Anything’s fine,” he said quietly, but at that exact moment you scrolled past When Harry Met Sally and he gasped softly. 

“I shoulda known you’d love a classic friends-to-lovers,” you chuckled, hitting play. 

When you glanced sideways at him, he was blushing. The opening titles reflected off of his glasses, making his expression hard to read. Embarrassment suddenly flooded you. Why the hell had you said that? 

You turned sharply back to face the screen, determined to only focus on the movie playing.

Had you ever thought of Bob like that? Of course you had. It was hard not to. He was so kind and considerate and endearing and chivalrous. But he was one of Natasha’s closest friends, so by extension, he was one of your closest friends. You weren’t eager to mess that up with things like your inability to distinguish basic kindness from flirting.

The time ticked by, and you kept refilling your wine glass, even if Bob stopped after his second. Pretty soon the box of chocolates was on your lap instead of the cushions, and as you chased a caramel-filled one with a big gulp of wine, the word aphrodisiac sprung to mind.

You decided to ease off the chocolate and wine.

“Are you cold?” Bob asked about halfway through the movie, his voice causing you to jump.

“Um,” you said. The truth was you were cold, but you didn’t want to admit it. 

Unfortunately, Bob was incredibly perceptive. He tugged the blanket off the back of the couch, and you found yourself scooting closer to him almost without meaning to. You held your breath as you gently tucked yourself under his arm and the blanket came around both of you, followed by his arm landing loosely across your covered waist.

He was very warm. His shirt was very soft. He smelled very good. You could feel his heartbeat.

“Is this okay?” he breathed.

“Mm-hmm.”

You’d spent so much time fighting off any feelings you felt for Bob like that that you’d never considered that he might like you like that, too.

The movie pushed onwards as Harry and Sally’s friendship changed and fell apart and became something entirely new. You settled into Bob’s side, almost concerned by how comfortable it felt to cuddle with him on your couch. His arm on your waist was heavy and grounding, and his fingers absently moved across your leg, sending shivers across your whole body.

“…I love that after I spend a day with you I can still smell your perfume on my clothes…”

“Hey, Bob?” you whispered.

“…I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night…”

“Yeah?” he replied, just as quietly, like he was scared to ruin the moment. You thought you could relate to the feeling.

“…And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because it’s New Year’s…”

“Thanks for staying with me tonight,” you said.

“…I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody…”

“My pleasure,” he breathed, and his hand tightened on your leg. Your breath hitched, but then the pressure was gone again.

“…you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible!”

“I’m sorry about bookstore girl,” you said, even as the more sensible you that was still on the other side of the couch tried to wring your neck for bringing her up at all.

“You see, that is just like you, Harry. You say things like that and you make it impossible for me to hate you!”

“That’s okay,” he whispered. “I think she got tired of listening to me go on and on about you.”

You sat up and Bob turned to look at you, his eyebrows pinched in the middle and his mouth drawn into a tight line. He was scared, you realized. The thought almost made you want to laugh at how ridiculous it was.

“Oh,” you said dumbly. Then, again: “Oh.”

You knew that today was busy for him. He’d had brunch with his sisters, and then dinner with his parents across town, and after that he hadn’t been able to get out of going for a few beers with Hangman and the guys, but he’d promised to come over at nine o’clock on the dot. You guys didn’t even have anything particularly extravagant planned; probably just watching a movie and…well….

Anyways, it was nearly nine-fifteen now, and he was nowhere to be seen. An outgoing message sat in your thread, lonely and unread: Are you on your way? 

There was a heart-shaped box of chocolates open on the coffee table. There were chocolate-covered strawberries cooling in the fridge. You’d lit a couple candles. A stuffed teddy bear you intended to give to Mickey was sitting on the sofa next to you. She’s All That was queued up on the tv. Everything was ready. There was just one thing missing.

You checked your phone again even though it hadn’t buzzed. Still nothing.

It wasn’t like Mickey to be late.

As the clock ticked closer and closer towards nine-thirty, you contemplated calling him, decided against it, contemplated calling Natasha, decided against it, contemplated calling Hangman, and ultimately decided you just wanted to call it a night and be alone. You’d hear whatever apology Mickey had in the morning. Right now, you just wanted to go to bed.

You turned off the tv and blew out the candles, and just as you were moving to put the lid back on the chocolates, there was a pounding at your door so loud that you jumped.

You rushed to the foyer and yanked open the front door, an irritated admonishment prepared on your lips, but it fell away as soon as you saw who was there.

Mickey was standing in a nice jacket and jeans, his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He was panting like he’d just ran a marathon, and when you stuck your head farther out the door, you couldn’t see his car parked anywhere in the driveway or on the street.

“Mickey? What—?” you started to say, but then he straightened up and your voice trailed away once more.

“I’m…sorry…” He wheezed. “Hangman…stole…keys…wouldn’t let…me leave…. Ran…all the way…here…. I’m so sorry….”

And in his hand was a cluster of flowers that you recognized as belonging to your neighbor at the end of the street. They were wilted from his run, some snapped in the middle, but the sight of them nearly brought tears to your eyes. 

He looked at them, realized what poor shape they were in, and his face fell. “Oh no,” he sighed. “I wanted to—oof.”

You flung yourself into his arms, holding him close. He was warm from his run, and his chest was still heaving, but he was here. After a moment, you felt him toss the flowers down and wrap his arms around you, cradling you tightly against his chest.

“I thought you forgot,” you admitted quietly.

“Are you kidding?” he asked, his breath finally coming back. “This is all I’ve looked forward to all day.”

You stepped back, shoving his shoulder gently. “Why didn’t you call me when you knew you were gonna be late?”

Mickey blinked dumbly at you like a deer in headlights, and then his lips quirked sideways in an embarrassed smile. “Because…I’m an idiot? And I forgot? And was just focused on running as fast as I could?”

A laugh bubbled out of your chest of its own volition, and as Mickey smiled sheepishly, you grabbed his face in your hands and kissed him deeply. He made a soft, contented noise in the back of his throat, and his hands splayed across your spine, pulling you closer to him. One of your hands threaded through his close-cropped hair, holding his head in place as your mouths moved together, and you arched forward so that your chests were touching from shoulder to sternum.

He tilted his head and groaned, and your mouth fell open for him. One of his hands tightened at your waist, and the relief and affection you felt for him combined into something heady and intense, replacing every anxiety you had with insatiable want. 

You staggered backwards, pulling him with you into the house. He made a soft, surprised noise and broke away, saying, "But the flowers—"

"We'll get another bouquet later," you said, shutting the door. As soon as you did, his mouth was back on yours and his hands were tracing your sides, pressing you gently against the door.

You shoved his shoulders, pushing him deeper into the house without breaking contact. As the two of you careened off the walls and stumbled deeper into the living room, Mickey pulled away to glance around the room and catch his breath. He was already winded, but his eyes were bright and he was smiling as he panted, "Oh, hey, you decorated—”

You kissed him again, swallowing his words, and continued moving across the rug, pulling him by his shirt. He laughed against your lips, fumbling with his coat. When your legs hit the back of the sofa, you tumbled backwards onto the cushions, breaking away long enough for Mickey to finish taking off his jacket. 

You scooted back, giving him room to join you, and moved the teddy bear gingerly onto the table. Mickey’s eyes followed the movement, and he said, “Aw, is that for me?”

“Would you get down here?” you demanded, fighting back a laugh.

“Hold on, hold on, I haven’t taken my shoes off,” he protested, fumbling with the laces.

“Mickey,” you said, your voice stern.

He stood up and gestured around the room. “You set all this up! We had a nice evening planned. What about the movie?”

“Mickey,” you said slowly, leaning forward and enunciating clearly, “forget—the—movie.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyebrows lifting. And then, again: “Ohh.”

“Yes,” you said with a nod, grinning. “Oh.”

He leaned down and kissed you softly, his hand cradling the back of your head, but just as you reached up for the hem of his shirt, he pulled away again. You fought the urge to sigh heavily as he said, “I just ran, like, thirteen blocks. I’m gonna go clean up real quick, but then I promise—we’ll do Valentine’s right. I’ll make it up to you.”

He started down the hall towards the bathroom, already undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“Okay,” you said, dramatically falling back on the couch and watching him go. “I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer. I’ll just find some way to entertain myself.”

Mickey froze and turned to you, his hands stilling halfway through the buttons. When he saw the teasing smile on your face, he pointed an accusatory finger at you and said, “Thirty seconds. Time me.” Then he turned and ran into the hall, skidding into the bathroom and out of sight.

You threw your head back and laughed at his antics, reaching for the remote again as the faucet turned on. As you got comfortable on the sofa and waited for him to come back out, you thought of the flowers on the front stoop. 

“I don’t normally, but I’m filling in for Penny, Mav wanted to take her out for dinner.” You honestly couldn’t tell what you and Mickey Fanboy Garcia were, there was definitely something blooming though. He’d had his eye on you for a while now, as had you. He stood out from the crowd from the first time he’d come up to you at the bar, making a damn fool out of himself as he tried to order from the special board.

“What can I get you?” You asked as casually as you would have asked any laying patron. Fanboy wasn’t expecting anyone besides Penny to be behind the bar.

“Uhh—“ Mickey idled. Stunned, he’d forgotten what he’d even come up to the bar for. “Hi—I uh.”

“How about I circle back?” You smiled, chuckling softly as you shook your head and went over to the man who was also waiting for you to take his order.

“That’s Hyde.” It had been Rooster's voice that snapped Fanboy out of the trance he’d fallen into, watching as you made the man’s order. A White Russian. “As in Jekyll and Hyde.”

“Who’s Jekyll?” Mickey replied as his eyes never left you, watching through love struck eyes as you sauntered around the bar with a gorgeous smile. Leaning on the bar with his forearms resting on the lip.

“Hyde’s Jekyll.” Rooster tried to explain the best he could without spilling your life story, it wasn’t his to tell. “She’s a little bit of a wild card Fanboy, if you’re gonna go for it just hold on for dear life.”

“Bradshaw, as I live and breathe.” You made your way back over to where you’d left the mute Aviator. “You need to shave that god awful ferret off your upper lip.” Taunting the man you’d known since his childhood, you already knew what he wanted. “The usual?”

“Sure thing Hyde, and I’ll get whatever Fanboy here is having.” Rooster slapped Mickey's shoulder, focusing him to speak up.

“Just a rum and coke please.”

“Couldn’t remember such a simple order before? Fanboy?”

“I was too distracted—“ Mickey smiled as you looked up at him as you popped the top off Rooster Budweiser.

“Oh yeah?” You coaxed the rest from Mickey as you slid Rooster his beer, unintentionally leaning forward across the bar to get a little closer to Mickey, he could see the valley in f your chest through your shirt. His eyes only dipped for a second as he felt himself start to heat up. “By what Flyboy?”

“Your hair, s’pretty.” Bradley Bradshaw had never laughed harder in his life, taking his beer and leaving Mickey stranded at the bar. He could climb himself out of the hole he’d fallen into.

“I still don’t understand why you call them Penny and Mav.” Mickey crooned his neck your way as you stood behind him, looking over his shoulder and slightly up at you. His lips were so close to yours you could ever so easily just lean down a little and give him a quick peck. “Why not just mum and dad?”

“Everyone calls Penny and Mav, Penny and Mav, Flyboy.” You smirked, biting your bottom lip as you spun around, now standing in front of him to collect the rest of the empty beer bottles and glasses. Holding the tray up on your shoulder. “Besides, I still hardly know Mav—dad just doesn’t sound right.”

You were Penny Benjamin’s oldest daughter. Her teenage love child with the man who had her heart on a string, Pete Maverick Mitchell. There was never any expectation for Mav to stick around after Penny had found out she was pregnant, after all he was government property. You’d remembered a few weekends here and there, remembered spending Saturday nights and Sunday mornings at the Bradshaw household. But Mav wasn’t all that fatherly and as fate would have it they would find their way back together after years apart.

“Guess you’re right, it still sounds weird coming from your pretty lips though.” Mickey beamed as he watched you try and hide a smirk at his compliment. “You uh, you busy Friday night?” Mickey had tried a handful of times now to get you to go out on a date with him, god he’d give anything up for just one date with you—having fallen over his two left feet the first time he saw you behind the bar. “Because if you’re not? Do you maybe wanna—“ Before Mickey could finish asking you out, Hangman was swooping in, placing his empty on the tray you held as he sent you his signature thousand-watt grin.

“Jekyll, you look awfully casual this evening?”

“Yeah well, it’s peak season for walking military propaganda, you flyboys keep me run off my feet so much I get my damn steps in before I’ve even had a chance to take a five minute smoke break.” You had given up on the work attire. Settling for some blue jean shorts and a black T-shirt haphazardly tucked in at the front. What was your mum gonna do? Sack you?

“You should really give those things up Hyde—“ Jake teased as he licked his bottom lip, it made Mickey's heart drop into his stomach at the thought of losing out to Hangman. He could have any girl he wanted that walked into the Hard Deck, why did he have to have eyes for you too? “Shit’ll kill ya and we don’t want that now do we?”

“People who spend their lives running from death are already dead Hangman.” You were quick to reply, sending Fanboy a gentle smile as your eyes never left his. You could have sworn your heart did a leap in your chest when you saw the rosé colour creep across his cheeks. “Besides, I’m trying, I haven't had a square in three days.”

“Atta girl, I’ll get three more beers and a lemonade for Floyd when you’ve got a chance.”

“Tip me twenty and I’ll put that lemonade in a sippy cup.”

“You think I’m made of money or something?” Although Jake scoffed at your response, he was fishing out his wallet, pulling out a twenty dollar bill and slamming it into your open palm. As you observed the crumpled twenty, you nodded—still standing by your opinion.

“I pay my taxes just so you guys can fly around in your multi million dollar fighter jets, absolutely I do.”

“We’re all just slaves to uncle sam darlin.” Jake winked before he was letting you and Mickey get back to the conversation he had so purposefully interrupted, giving Fanboy a chance to rethink his initial date proposal.

“I uh—I can’t remember what we were even talking about before Hangman came over.” Fanboy grew nervous under the pressure of your gaze, rubbing the back of his neck as he nervously let out a soft chuckle.

“I think you were asking me out on a date.” You reminded the aviator who wore a stunned expression at your forwardness. He’d tried three times already to ask you out on a date and all three times you’d either turned him down ever so politely or asked him to ask you again another day. Today must have been that day. “You were asking me out on a date, Mickey, Friday night?”

“I’d really like to take you out Y/n.” It wasn’t often people used your actual name but it made your heart skip a beat as Mickey stood from his seat, following you back to the bar. “Take you out, just you and me?”

“What did you have in mind Mick?” You asked as you placed the empty glasses in the sink. Mickey could watch you work all day if you’d let him. “Because I’m not going to some fancy restaurant that costs a million bucks.”

“Burgers by the beach? Couple of beers, maybe some caramel slices if you're lucky.” Mickey had never been a ladies man—hell, he wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten this far with you. But when you smiled at him like he’d finally cracked the code, he couldn’t help but wonder how you’d sound screaming his name.

“Sounds like a pretty good idea.” You cooed. Giving all of Mickey your utmost attention. “Maybe I’ll even consider it this time.” You teased the aviator who was just about to lose his mind at your hard to get facade. “If you’re lucky.”

“Hyde.” Mickey fought off the urge to jump over the bar and kiss you right then and there. “I’ll just ask you every day until you say yes.” He was serious, you knew that much. Challenging Mickey as you leaned over the bar and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek. He was hot, so hot you could feel the heat against his cheeks.

“Oh I’m counting on it, Flyboy.”

Soft rumble of tires against the worn asphalt, with the whirring of the old engine and soft hums of you, the beautiful, beautiful you.

Mickey was easily the luckiest man alive to be witnessing such a sight. You in a thin shirt and leggings, the seatbelt that he chivalrously put on for you against your chest and stomach, legs crossed as much as possible given how tight the seat was. The radio was quiet, he had the habit of turning the volume down whenever you talked to him just so he could hear you better— and at some point you got sick of turning the volume back up, but you could still hear the familiar tunes and hum along to it. Right next to you through the window came the endless fields and scattered cattles, and Mickey swore that whenever he slightly glanced at your direction, the picture was so postcard-esque that if it wasn't for your constant "eyes on the road!" orders, he'd snap a little picture each time.

This was the sort of bliss that he missed the most whenever he was away. He had been home for a long while, sure, his hair was even longer now and curling against his forehead in the most perfect way known to humankind— but he couldn't help missing you even when you were only a few feet away. Even in his sleep, his arms always searched for you, encasing you in a warm and tight embrace to push you even deeper into slumber. He often got up before you did, thanks to years of military discipline, but he stayed in bed just to feel your skin against his fingertips and really focus on it, running his hands up and down through your body, through every curve, every ridge, every little beauty spot before resting one against your chest to feel the rise of your breath and the rhythm of your pulse against his palm.

If he could go back in time and meet his younger self who had no idea what love felt like, he'd give him your exact address just so he could feel it for a few years longer.

The car came to a stop later on, a small area hidden between trees and such— which led to a tiny cove, which seemed to be too infested by crabs to swim in, but neither of you could mind. If anything, he was happy to see the cool little dudes safe from fishermen, enjoying their own unfound spot. "They're so cute." you commented, slightly leaning forward to see the water a little better, and with a few quick steps, he was right next to you, nodding along.

"Yeah, almost as cute as you."

"No, you."

He scrunched his nose at that, smiling at your antics before walking back towards the open trunk.

You were easily the luckiest woman alive to be witnessing such a sight.

Your lover, engrossed in the book you bought for yourself and read when he was away, his head comfortable against your thighs as you sat by the grass, only a layer of blanket separating you from the cold ground. You watched his eyes roam through the words, a quick reader he was, and the momentary microexpressions gave away where exactly he was in the plot. Your fingers carded through his hair, a little rough in texture but it felt like clouds of heaven to you nonetheless.

He looked up at you when you heaved a particularly deep sigh, just to find you smiling— which he returned immediately, before reaching for his bookmark and leaving the book aside. "Creep."

"Oh, shut up." you gave his forehead a light flick, earning a soft laugh from Mickey. He slowly pulled himself up then, allowing you to lean forward to meet him halfway in a kiss, the soft plush of skin tender from all the pineapple slices you've been feeding him. His tongue ran through your lower lip, asking for permission like he always did— but you pulled away with a grin, cupping his face between your hands to admire him with his eyes closed in bliss. "You looked pretty, s'all."

"Pretty?" he asked, finding his spot on your thighs right again with a kind smile playing around his lips. "Where did 'handsome' go?"

"You're pretty, and there's nothing you can do about it." you shrugged. "It's terminal, I'm afraid. This beauty."

"Oh no," feigning fear, he looked up at you with wide eyes. "You wouldn't turn down the dying wish of a man, then?"

"And what would that be?"

"Some more apples?"

A soft chuckle left you then, before you reached for the plate of fruits on top of the blanket, grabbing a small slice of apple and giggling at the sight of him with parted lips, all expectant. The soft kiss he left on your fingers after being fed with the fruit was enough to warm up your heart as if it wasn't overheating already, but he seemed unphased, eyes on the clouds with a relaxed sigh. "You know," he breathed out, reaching for your hand again to rest it against his chest. "While everything's in this, um, constant state of change, you're still the only constant in my life and I couldn't be more thankful for that."

"Doesn't that bore you?"

"Bore me?" he chuckled, and then his eyes met yours. A bit squinted, due to the rays of the sun. "Christ, woman, I love you to your subatomic particles. Is getting bored of something I love so passionately even possible?"

"I don't know." your slight shrug brought a sigh out of his lips. "I just worry sometimes."

While one of his hands rested on the one you had against his chest, the other moved up to cup your cheek. "I'm yours and you're mine. As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing we need to be worrying about."

And it was surprising how even the most simple array of words was enough to bring you back to reality and keep you there. You smiled against the pressure of Mickey's palm on your cheek, your own hand moving upward a little to brush against the slight stubble he was starting to grow out. "I'm lucky."

"We both are."

And with that, he smiled up at you, before grabbing his book again and slightly shifting in his position to lay against your thighs a bit more comfortably. You kept on watching him though, kept on carding your fingers through his hair, a ministration that he loved oh so much. Your bedtime routine wouldn't be complete without Mickey laying his head against your chest, his body weight creating a warm pressure on your body, —which you didn't mind at all— soft voice muffled a bit against your t-shirt while telling you about his day, that one article he read earlier about some new scientific advancements, or the recent idiotic actions of the Dagger Squad.

And it was endearing, really, being the only one to see him in that state, to hold him through utter relaxation. Nobody else needed to know that he once cried thinking about how lonely those robots on Mars were, and claimed that if they made copies of you and sent you over to Mars along with them, they wouldn't be as sad— and you could clean their solar panels covered in dust, helping them regain power!

As if he was just thinking about you too, his lips quirked up in a smile, but you knew that it was probably because of what he was reading. That didn't change much for you, considering how beautiful Mickey Garcia was. He deserved all the smiles in the world, no matter the cause.