note: most works have at least some implications of sex. explicit smut is noted. read at your own discretion. *smut

michael “robby” robinavitch the pitt

Finals Season 1.3k Robby gets you to destress during finals season.

*Beyond the Sunrise 11.4k Robby quickly grows fond of his new next door neighbour, through shared mornings and casual companionship.

Vacation convincing robby to go on vacation with you…

Summer Mornings summer mornings with robby...

sammy bryant southland

Tuscan Home thinking about having a tuscan home with sammy bryant…

Being Sammy Bryant's Girlfriend: You and Nate being sammy bryant’s girlfriend includes hanging around with nate and tagging along for hand-off… Fixer Upper 2.1k being sammy bryant’s girlfriend includes adding a little flair to his house… Those Eyes, I Still Know 3.1k being sammy bryant's girlfriend includes meeting his mother...

andrew "pope" cody animal kingdom

Letters to Andrew Cody: Respectfully, Yours 4.9k Letters to one random Folsom prisoner get you to Andrew, who needed you just as much as you need him. *Halo of the Highest Grade 6.4k Slowly and patiently, you learned more about Andrew as something you'd only fantasized about became a reality. Devil's in the Details 3.7k Being with a mysterious man wasn't hard, if you didn't look too closely.

Pope's Awesome Princess Girlfriend dating pope cody as a stage actor...

misc

Best Friend's Brother - Jack Abbot (The Pitt) young jack abbot who’s your best friend’s older brother…

From the corner of the room, the stereo played some Smashing Pumpkins song he didn’t recognize. The living room was coated in posters, dark cushions, and dim lamps. Everyone fairly had the same look to them— band t-shirt, dyed hair, the eternally-high look. They all seemed to know each other, though still somewhat divided.

At this point, David kinda felt pathetic. He didn’t know Jenny for too long, yet he was harbouring some kind of crush on her— the first girl to actually pay him any attention that year. He figured she’d like him too, but it was guy after guy that “wasn’t good enough” for her and he was there to pick up the pieces.

Standing awkwardly in the kitchen, David had shrugged his way through swaying bodies to end up nursing a sweaty beer. He was leaning against the counter, trying to mind his own business, when you came stomping in. 

The front door swung open and your heeled feet toed into the apartment. You were sinking in a long, thick coat and your legs were covered in colored tights. He watched as you rubbed your nose from the outside chill.

Someone across the room had yelled what David assumed was your name when you shut the door behind you. They raised their Solo cup at you and you rolled your eyes. Reaching into your coat, you handed them a CD, saying something about the bootleggers on Alvarado. They responded with a quick thanks as you slipped your coat off and laid it on the arm of the couch they were sitting on. 

You were wearing a little dress with puffy fabric that moved with you through the party. You were greeting most everyone with a tiny wave in their direction before making your way to the kitchen. 

David went stiff when you squeezed by him with a small “Sorry, ‘scuse me.” Your hand ghosted over his shoulder blade when you passed, headed for the kitchen.

He heard you rummage through the fridge, searching for a drink. He was awkward just standing there, but where else would he go? With a crack and a fizz, he saw you in the corner of his eye, partially chugging a Diet Coke.

When you lowered the can from your face, you furrowed your eyebrows at him with a small burp and the wipe of your mouth. You moved to the counter beside David, where the bottles of liquor sat. Grabbing one, you twisted off the lid as your eyes flickered up to him.

“I don’t know you.” You stated, voice absolutely neutral.

He went stiff at the sound of your voice, unsure what he was supposed to say or even if he was meant to respond. His face was turned to you, but his head couldn’t be more vacant.

You delicately poured the rum into the tiny opening of the can as you asked, “Who do you know here?”

“Oh, uh…” He looked around, spotting Jenny sucking face with Gus in the corner. You followed his gaze. “Jenny.”

Turning back, you saw the sullen look on his face as you chuckled, “Ah.” You met her at the last meeting, not really forming any kind of opinion— other than noticing her attachment to Gus.

Your eyes scanned David’s figure. He was still stiff, and his beer looked like it was just an accessory. Taking a sip of your own concoction, you watched as he turned back to you. 

Offering a smile, you asked, “What’s your name?”

“David,” He said quietly, “uh, Klein.”

You shared yours, first name only, although he already picked it up from earlier. He mirrored you, taking a sip of his own drink when you did yours. 

The two of you shared quiet conversation, your majors, your hometowns, why you were here. You were more chatty than he was, his back still stiff against the counter. He was cute, you gathered. You watched the crease between his eyebrows and the dimple on his cheek shift when he chuckled at something you said. Why he and his boy next door face came with Jenny was beyond you.

With a sigh and a drop of your now-empty can, you looked at him, “Well, David Klein, you look like you need a smoke.”

Before he could protest, you nudged your head to the living room, where there was a wide open window. Moving over, his body followed yours like his brain had no say.

Grabbing your coat from the edge of the couch, you slipped it on and led him onto the roof. He was hesitant, boots slowly rising their way up to the window sill. You grabbed his hand in the process. He was sweating. You squeezed his palm in your fingers as you moved along the roof, finding the proper flat part to comfortably sit on. 

It took a moment for him to sit after you did. He was unsurely peering down the side of the building.

“S’not that high.” You said, tapping the flat concrete of the roof beside you.

“I know…” He rolled his eyes playfully as he took his seat beside you.

You shifted in your place, finding comfort in your coat, before reaching into your inside pocket. After some shuffling, you had a tin and a lighter in hand. Bewildered, David watched you open it, which was filled with Carnelian and a few cigarettes. Two of them were handrolled, which confused him.

He watched as you placed one in between your dry lips. The light pollution of the city was just enough to make out your face. His hazel eyes stayed wide, like this was a magic trick he’d never seen before.

Against the dark sky, you flickered on your lighter. It was one of those cheap Bic ones, but you had bedazzled yours for some reason, which only intrigued David more. The gems glowed with the spark, against your painted nails and cold fingers.

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he watched you. His eyes were so doe and so sweet, especially twinkling against the flame.

David’s nose crinkled after you had blown a puff. 

“Does not smell like tobacco.” He said, shaking his head.

“Oh,” your shoulders dropped as your eyes widened, “should’ve told me you don’t smoke weed. Shit, sorry, David.”

You reached to put it out, but he stopped your wrist with his hand. He had a dumbfounded and embarrassed look on his face, mouth agape and cheeks pink. 

“No, it’s okay. I just… Never smoked weed before.” He shrugged shyly.

“Oh,” you repeated, but this time more fascinated. Your eyebrows raised playfully as a smile danced on your lips, “That’s why you look like that.”

“Look like what?” His voice cracked as he smiled, nudging your arm with his elbow.

You rolled your eyes, handing the joint to him. He took it from you delicately, examining it in his fingers before taking it to his lips and inhaling. After a sharp breath, he removed the joint from his mouth but didn’t exhale.

“David, don’t hold it!” You laughed, taking the joint from him. 

His eyes went wide before he exhaled, a few heavy coughs following. Holding his chest, he leaned back on the concrete as he looked at you.

“Jesus,” You rolled your eyes, taking a puff yourself.

Your conversation from earlier just translated to the outside in between vacant eyes and random giggles. He told you about his family, his crazy freshman year roommate, his friends from home. You told him about weird kids from your high school, your interesting history professor, and your favourite spot on campus. 

“You’re really cool, David.” You said honestly, letting your eyes glaze over his dark denim and solid-colored clothes. 

He let out that disbelieving guffaw— the one he’d given every time you said some wild statement, “Yeah, right.”

“You don’t believe me?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not cool, okay? I’m just like…” Staring at the city in the distance, he spaced off. You watched his face soften as the lights surfaced over his freckled skin. Turning back to you with his calm hazel eyes, he grinned, “I’m just me.”

“And you’re really fucking cool.” You smiled, nudging his arm.

Filter long forgotten, two hours had passed of warmth and laughs. The party didn’t seem to wind down either, music bumping a fast BPM through the window. 

Somewhere throughout the night, you leaned into each other, his arm resting against yours as you looked out into the town. He had been staring at you, thinking how it was possible you came in to save him amongst Jenny’s drama. 

You were beautiful too, skin glowing against the moonlight and eyes shimmering like glitter. Looking off into the distance, the softness of your face only made David wonder. You caught his eye, a soft breeze blowing a strand of hair into your face. 

Pursing your lips, you grinned at him as his eyes twinkled. His face was once again dumb, bottom lip hanging like he only knew to breathe. His doe eyes sparkled at you and the freckles on his face made him look even sweeter. You were having a moment, or at least David thought you were. 

Then, you spoke again, “You like her, don’t you?”

“Who?” He whispered, still staring like he couldn’t think of anything but your eyes.

“Jenny.”

“What?” Stunned, he sat back, arm suddenly missing yours. “No.”

Unconvinced, you raised an eyebrow.

“Or…” He quirked his face in a weird way, as if his dilated pupils weren’t enough of a tell. “I did.” He scooted back, resting the small of his back against the roof’s ledge with a sigh, “Then, she started going out with all these douchebags, and… She was just playing with me, you know? I was just, like, her consolation prize or something.”

Your eyes widened when he said that, a slow, understanding nod in his direction.

“I thought I liked her, but…”

“But.” You repeated, like you were solving a puzzle.

It was like he lost his breath when he looked at you again. His chest felt light, puffing towards you. Your eyes stayed patient against the starlit sky, letting him find his words.

“Now, I’m not so sure.” David whispered breathlessly. His eyes scattered over your face, searching for the next move. 

You placed a cold hand on his cheek, which you could feel was burning up under your touch. He felt himself lean in first, as if tugged by a string. His eyes looked at your lips, like he was unsure if they were there. A grin crept on your face as his body shifted towards yours. 

He stalled in front of you, body ghosting over yours. His hand had found your thigh on instinct. With a huff, you leaned your face in, taking his lips against yours. 

It was too sweet, the cushion of his mouth against yours and the warmth of his face in your hands. You gulped down the taste of him as his hands found your own face. He pulled away, forehead hanging off of yours.

“You’re not just kissing me ‘cause you feel bad for me, right?” His question made you laugh under your breath. “Or ‘cause you’re high?”

“Oh, David Klein,” you shook your head with a giggle.

You pulled his face back to yours and kissed him again. He followed with a giddy chuckle. Your fingers found the hair on the back of his head, pulling him into you with a sigh. His lips moved slowly against yours, like he was savouring each taste. He was soft and gentle, mouth changing forms only when given permission. 

When he pulled away, David smiled and whispered to himself, “Nice.”

“What?” You laughed into his breath. He shook his head, taking you into another kiss.

The night had eventually taken you off the roof and through the apartment. With a half-hearted goodbye and David hanging on your arm, you waved to your friends and pulled him through the front door with a giggle. 

On the off chance that Jenny wasn’t all over Gus, she saw David helplessly following you out the door. His eyes had zeroed in on you and he had this stupid, goofy look on his face— one she’d never seen before. Huh.

Walking down the street, you and David were singing half-correct lyrics to a song you were trying to name at the peak of your high. His hand had slipped into yours protectively as you stumbled to his house. The wide smile on his face, pushing his cheeks plump, was calling for a kiss.

On the sidewalk, you pulled him into you, bodies bumping clumsily. He suddenly went quiet, his teeth peeking out under his lips. His eyes crinkled giddily as you clutched onto the sides of his jacket. 

This time, he leaned down, catching your lips in his. He tasted the sweet sting of your plumping lip gloss that he caught you applying on the way out of the apartment building. The corners of his lip stayed upturned as his hands slipped to your waist. You melted into him and the faint whisper of beer that lingered on his breath. 

Leaning away, David still had that stupid, starry-eyed look on his face. He stared at you for a second, hands still and eyes slowly blinking.

“What?” You smiled.

He bit down on his lip before speaking, “When I kiss you, my lips get all tingly.”

You laughed and shook your head, “My lip gloss—”

“It kinda hurts!” He giggled.

Just a short moment later, you stumbled into his duplex, tangled in his arms. The high had been wavering but the buzz of your touch gave a stronger effect to David. Addiction and thrill ran through him as his hands found stability on your waist.

“Are you a shoes off house?” You asked, stuck to the entryway as you slipped off your heels.

“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows, a soft chuckle making its way out.

You shook your head and shrugged, “Guess not. You’re the type to get into bed with shoes on.”

“Huh—” 

You took him into a quick kiss, “Don’t worry, we can fix that.”

Breathlessly, “Okay,” David hummed at you with a shrug. He would’ve done anything you asked at that moment, really. With a deep kiss, he engulfed you in his arms as your hands found his biceps. He sighed into your lips with relief and excitement, attempting to get closer to you.

Lips wet and swollen, he led you up the stairs. 

You stayed the night, between whispers and delicate touches. Wrapped up in his sheets, you listened to David as he mumbled sweet little nothings to you. Fingers pressing on your hairline, he brushed little strands out of your face. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. “I really like you.”

“So far.” You mumbled, a half-joke on your tongue. He ignored it, reaching his arm to grab at your waist. He pulled you closer, finding skin against skin.

You felt yourself drift. Your fingers reached for his hand, intertwining in yours before everything turned fuzzy. David kissed the top of your head, holding you close as you fell asleep in his arms.

The weeks following were all so similar. Hands entwined, you’d walk to class together, splitting your earbuds to listen to music on your iPod. You’d talk about nonsense together, everything and nothing from gossip to books you’d swap and their social commentary. Sitting in the dining hall or library, you’d study together in silence, hands grazing each others’ under the table. 

You took him to parties, drinking and smoking together on rooftops and balconies. He’d flick your bedazzled lighter on for you, holding eye contact as the end of your joint lit up. Eyes soft as always, his brain raced with all the ways you made his heart do the same. In between kisses and warm touches, you’d share puffs and secrets.

Leaning against the railing, David was looking off into the town— something you always found him doing while high. You rested your chin on his shoulder and your arm pressed around his middle.

“What’s on your mind, David Klein?” You spoke dreamily before kissing his cheekbone. 

He turned to you, eyes droopy, as he slipped his arms around you. He pulled you closer to him, resting his head against yours.

“I’ve never been this happy,” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I see you and Mary Jane are getting along.” You chuckled, combing your fingers through his hair. 

David let you joke, but in reality, he’d never been seen the way you saw him. He was never interesting or the first one anyone really looked at. He thought he’d always be the guy who came after, cleaning up broken pieces, but you… you came and showed him he didn’t have to. He always thought he’d just know when he’d fallen in love, but you creeped in behind the red herring. 

David stuck to you like no other, remembering small details you’d only mentioned in passing, taking care of you with breakfast or remembering your coffee order, staying in your apartment or his most nights. It was both thrilling and comforting, the constant presence but also the excitement of this new experience.

From outside the lecture hall window, David saw you jumping up and down, flailing your arms in the air. He was in a statistics lecture, something about interpreting certain graphs he couldn’t wrap his head around. You knew his schedule, having followed him around campus the past three months.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he raised his hands in a What? way with a smile on his face. You waved for him to come down. He shook his head, gesturing to the professor. Insistent, you waved again and he rolled his eyes.

Five minutes later, David found himself galloping out the building doors to you, sitting exactly where he first saw you. You were among the trees and the leaves, autumn colours complementing the warm smile on your face.

Jacket in hand and backpack slung over his shoulder, he approached you, “What? I was in class.” As his boots landed in front of you, you lifted your arms up. His hands met yours, pulling you up from the ground and in front of him.

“Is it important?” You raised your eyebrows at him, dusting off your jeans from specks of broken leaves. 

“Well,” he shrugged, slightly intrigued as he slipped his jacket on, “Not really?”

“Okay, let’s go!” You gripped one of his hands, starting to run off. David only slowed you down, initially following and then realizing he was confused.

“Where are we going?”

“C’mon I wanna show you something.” You said, tugging on his arm to continue pulling him away.

Like little kids, you and David stumbled hand-in-hand down the tree-lined walkway, nearly jostling every other student that you passed. The air was nice and brisk as you rushed through, shoes scuffing at the concrete pavement. Overhead, the clouds had formed a bright white canopy, lighting your way.

A few streets from the campus, you eventually reached a park, but a short steel fence blocked the way. David stopped beside you, hand still lingering in yours. With a devilish grin, you nudged your head at it. 

“Is this illegal?” He asked, which made you snort.

“Not everything I do is illegal, David.” You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. “And it’s not. Not technically, anyway. The park belongs to the city, we are the city, therefore the park is ours.”

“Long range of thinking.” He raised an eyebrow as you lunged towards the fence.

You started climbing, then turned to look at him. He had his hands in his pockets, unmoving from his spot with a quizzically mocking grin on his face. “You’re not gonna make me do this alone, are you, David Klein?” 

Not waiting for an answer, you pulled yourself over, landing on your feet. After a second, you saw the top of his ginger hair peer over the fence. He looked at you before deciding any moves.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” You joked, “If I wanted to, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

Scoffing, he pulled himself over as well, landing in front of you.

When he turned, he faced a rose garden. It was bushlets of different colours, yellow, red, pink, white. They were all so prominent against the overcast sky. The bushes circled a little white gazebo just a few yards from you.

Grabbing David’s hand, you ran around the garden through the aisles, cool air coating your cheeks. You released his hand, hiding behind leaves and flowers while prompting a game of chase. He laughed as he jogged after you through the garden. Everything was so adorable and disgustingly romantic.

The sound of thunder brewed overhead, the sky still threateningly white. You and David stopped running, looking at each other with quirked brows. Within a blink, rain started falling down onto you.

“Shit!”

Quickly, David pulled his jacket over both of your heads. You huddled close to him as you headed for the gazebo in the middle of the garden. Under the safety of the awning, he slipped his jacket back on himself while you hugged your own closer. Hair soaked and giggling, you shook pebbles of rainwater off your shoulders.

David neared you, tucking your hair behind your ear, with a smile on his face. His own hair was sopping, a curl falling over his temple.

“Sorry,” you shook your head insincerely, a smile glowing on your face, “Should’ve checked the forecast.”

“Really, you think?” He teased, eyebrow raised as he drew you closer to him.

The rain rushed around the gazebo as he wrapped his arm around your lower back. Wet cheeks and a grin on his face, he took your face in his other hand. You stared up at him like time had stopped. Hands surfacing the edges of his jacket, you pulled him towards you. 

You felt the heat of his breath on your face as his hand gripped your side. His nose lingered over yours for a moment. Eyes serious, he swept your face up to him, enveloping his lips into yours. Cold and rain-stained, you didn’t mind, pressing yourself closer to him as you kissed him.

A while ago, You had mentioned the college radio station to David, but he remembered how you gushed over your show, which was in the later hours in the evening. So, he sat by his little dining table as he listened, the last song currently fading out.

He beamed as he heard your voice, “The night is winding down, and I just wanted to play one last song for you all.” 

He heard the smile in your voice through his stereo, which only made him feel warmer. 

“I’ve been,” a sigh and a chuckle crinkled through the static, “experiencing some things lately… All good things!” You nervously, unpreparedly rambled away, “I think this next song is almost, kinda like it, though I don’t think there are any songs adequate enough to explain my current events… Anyway, you all know it. This is ‘Just Like Heaven’ by The Cure.”

From the studio, you immediately darted over to David’s house, as you promised. His roommate answered the door, but you pushed past him with a detached Hey, Lewis and darted for David’s room up the stairs.

You opened the door open, and David had been laying in bed with a smile plastered on his face. He glanced over at you as you walked towards him, slipping off your sneakers. He sat up, letting you crawl in next to him.

You rested your hands on his knees, eyes wide as you looked at his face, “Did you listen?”

He nodded with crinkled eyes and that dimple imprinting his left cheek. Tenderly, his hands found yours. He was so warm and delicate, eyes like honey and loose curls pushed from his face. You felt all mushy with him, sugary and saccharine, almost embarrassed. 

Though, he had been thinking of you the same way, watching the grin on your face, how you bashfully avoided eye contact when his hands met your skin. He ran his fingers over your knuckles, mindlessly feeling at the ridges between them.

“How did you know I liked The Cure?” He tried catching your gaze.

“Everyone likes The Cure,” you joked, picking up his hand and kissing the back of it, “And you have a billion of their CDs… And they’re on every mixtape you give me.”

Peeking up at him, you smiled while your lips danced over the back of his knuckles. You hid behind his hand as his face softened. His hand left yours and found the side of your jaw pulling you towards him.

You wanted to ask again, but something inside you told you not to. The problem had largely been how he disappeared for a whole day. Now that he was back, did anything else matter? You could live with this speed bump… probably. Later that night, anyway, your distress magically dissolved as you found yourself tangled in Andrew’s limbs, begging for more. 

You continued to play the game of not knowing. It wasn’t as hard as you thought. The Google searches from your afternoon with Angela and Mila stayed buried deep in your history and deep in your memories. If you didn’t think too hard or looked at Andrew longer than two seconds, it all disappeared. 

Being near Andrew, having his touch, kept you occupied enough. Days around campus and home continued as if nothing happened. Dinner together and soft mornings were all you needed from him. When he disappeared every few days, you were at home to greet him with a kiss.

He started coming home when he promised too, skipping dinner with his family to run into your arms. Smurf thought it was a bit rude that he spent less and less time around, even found it ungrateful, but it’s not like she was actually ever supportive of getting him out of jail. To her, it was better he was gone and unmedicated than around and sane. She didn’t really think about where he went, just that he would eventually do her bidding.

Smelling butter and herbs, you glided over from your room to where Andrew was standing by the stove. Almost every night, he insisted on cooking something for you, occupying himself with recipes he’d find online and telling you that you deserved it after a long day. You didn’t think your weekdays were gruelling at all, but, hey, who could stop a loverboy?

He was in his sweatpants and one of your big graphic t-shirts hanging on his shoulders. You wasted no time getting close to him. Over the cotton of his (your) shirt, you slid your hands around his waist, resting your chin on his shoulder. He acknowledged your presence with a tilt of his head towards yours, temple pressing on your cheek. Tonight was steak.

“Looks good.” You grinned, squeezing your arms around him.

“I got carrots and potatoes in the oven too.” He said as you placed a quick kiss to his cheekbone. 

You hummed sweetly, “Spoiling me tonight.”

Under the aroma of the roasting meat, you could smell the beach on his skin. Ocean, seaweed, a little briny, you knew it too well. You kissed his face again, feeling the slight, unmistakable dryness on his cheek.

“You smell salty.” You moved your head behind his and pressed your face into his growing hair. Like a drug sniffing dog, you sniffed again for good measure. Nose moving to rest in the ridge behind his ear, you teased, “Went to the beach without me?”

“Sniffing me out like the cops.” Andrew chuckled, shaking his head.

You moved your hands behind him as he continued to baste the steaks. Reaching under his shirt, your thumbs pressed on the little dimples at the dip in his lower back. He flinched forward, squirming and ticklish at your cold hands. 

“While I’m cooking?” His teeth peeked under his lip as he glanced back at you. After a few weeks, he’d grown used to you invading him like this, and it was much more welcome than he’d like to admit. “My brothers wanted to go surfing.” 

The throwaway comment, the simple note from his day— that’s all he’d give you. You figured he was visiting his family, but the little pieces of information confirmed it for you. That’s how he opened up about where he was. You never asked for details, but he’d share vaguely. One time he let one of his brothers’ names slip, but you didn’t remember it. Dylan or Dean or something.

You tried not to think about it too hard, as most things with him, but you knew there was a low chance of you ever meeting anyone from his family. It would be nice in theory, but after what you had read online, you were better off sinking in obscurity.

You were no saint either. Your parents didn’t even know there was another human being staying in your room, let alone a man. Last they heard, you went on a series of unfortunate first dates with people you “met around campus” (The Apps). Once you were out of the house, they weren’t particularly interested in your dating life— with exceptions to gossip with your aunties, but you hadn’t seen family in awhile.

You didn’t really introduce him to your friends either. Sometimes you’d run into them around campus while walking with Andrew, but it was a quick “This is my boyfriend,” no name, Andrew’s blank stare, and a wave goodbye. He didn’t express interest in wanting to meet them anyway. He wasn’t exactly socially eager with anyone but you.

It wasn’t ever a loud issue. You got to see your friends as usual, even though you ditched parties for night drives to the beach or watching a movie with Andrew. You still put in the minimum for the clubs you were barely involved in. Andrew got to “work” (or whatever it was he did). Between you and him, it stayed intimate and special.

“Was it fun?” You kissed his cheek again before detaching from him. You went to the fridge on the other corner of the kitchen island, looking for something to drink.

“Yeah,” he responded, “I hadn’t surfed in a long time.”

Although you didn’t mean to, you fished, “Yeah? Where’d you go?” It was like your brain spoke for you. You stopped as soon as the words came out of your mouth. None of your business, your heart yelled. 

Andrew’s back was turned, but you looked absolutely stupid. Frozen in place with a juice box in hand, like a kid who got caught with their hand in a cookie jar. He’d been preoccupied anyhow, focusing on the pan. 

“I’m not sure,” He took a moment, like he had to think about it, “Maybe somewhere in Del Mar.”

You resumed, pulling the straw off of the box and shutting your mouth.

He turned around, nudging his head for you to come towards him, “Come give me a sip.”

Giggling, you toed back to Andrew, holding the juice box for him to drink through the straw. With a grin on his lips, he wrapped an arm around you, squeezing you closer to him.

During dinner, you and Andrew were talking about a movie you two wanted to see in theaters soon. You had a leg tucked under you and one dangling to graze against his, planted on the ground. Eating the little roasted potatoes on your plate, you listened as Andrew tried to recount the plot to you.

“No, it’s one city. They just live in different biomes.” He explained.

"This isn’t, like, a Planet of the Apes spinoff, right?” You asked, taking a sip of your water.

“No, it’s animated.”

“It’s for kids?”

“Well,” he thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, “Probably. I don’t know, I saw it on Youtube.” 

The front door clicked open and your roommate was entering with her girlfriend. They were giggling about something, but quieted down when they saw you and Andrew at the table. Emma slowly shut the door behind her before giving a small wave and a soft hello.

Her girlfriend raised an eyebrow as she started walking towards Emma’s room. You rarely saw her around, but she was always throwing you these skeptical, judgemental looks like you wronged her. Emma was probably the sweetest girl you knew, so how she ended up with her was a mystery to you. 

“Andrew cooked extra food for you guys,” You said sheepishly, “It’ll be in the fridge, if you want it later.”

She was friendly, but you and Emma weren’t close. You met through a mutual friend, when searching for an apartment. She was doing an Accelerated Bachelor’s for nursing, so she was rarely home— in class, studying, or with other nursing students.

“Oh!” She beamed for a moment, smiling. “Thanks… Andrew.”

Without looking at her, he just nodded, all serious, and went back to eating his food. She waved at you again before scampering off to follow her girlfriend.

Before Emma’s door closed, her girlfriend asked, “That’s your roommate’s weird boyfriend?”

“Yeah, but he’s really nice.” Her voice trailed off as the door clicked.

One Saturday, Andrew followed you around the mall. You said he didn’t have to come, since you were a thorough shopper, but he insisted. When you went into your parking garage, Andrew started leading you outside. 

You reluctantly followed as your fingers grasped his bicep, starting to protest, “My car—”

“Just come with me.” He said as you followed him out of the gate. 

Turning the corner, you spotted a huge black Dodge Ram parked in front of the apartment complex. It was one of those obnoxiously large trucks a veteran from Orange County would have. When Andrew stopped, pulling keys out of his pocket, you stood there dumbfounded. 

“Is this yours?” You turned to him, who suddenly had his sunglasses on his face.

He nodded, gesturing towards it, “Get in.”

“Buy a girl a drink first, damn.” You said, giggling as he led you forward.

He opened the passenger door for you, and you practically had to hurdle into the car. With the help of his strong hands, you landed on the soft black leather, looking around at the pristine interior. It smelled like Lavender Comfort, or at least, that’s what the little tree hanging from the rearview said.

Pretending not to hum along to Taylor Swift, he kept his eyes on the road as his left hand gripped the steering wheel and his right held yours gently. You stared at him, bewildered, as he drove so casually. You weren’t quite aware of the monetary extent of Andrew’s absences, but his wallet was talking plenty.

You swore to God you’d never be one of those couples, but you ended up in Victoria’s Secret with Andrew. There was an underwear sale anyway, and your collection has been suspiciously decreasing.

He’d get flustered when you showed him a pair of lace underwear. Different prints and colours, you’d fling them around while asking playfully, “How does this look with my complexion?” His eyes widened the first time you pushed the cloth against your skin playfully. Then, he got used to it, keeping his eyes on you and not providing much help as he muttered that anything looked beautiful on you.

When you got to the checkout counter, you reached for your wallet in your purse, but Andrew had beat you with a hundred dollar bill. Too slow to process the situation, you stayed speechless. You raised an eyebrow as he thanked the saleswoman and took the pink bag off the counter.

Grabbing your hand again, he started walking off with you curiously following. You hurried behind him, both confused and heavily attracted to his wordless insistence. 

“Andy?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you pay for me?” You asked timidly, sliding your hand up to his bicep as you exited the store.

Andrew furrowed his eyebrows at you as you continued walking, “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t have to pay for me. It’s my stuff.” You reached to grab the bag from his hand, but he moved it away from you. 

“No,” He shook his head, “I want to.”

You weren’t going to argue more, so you pressed your lips together in excitement as you squeezed yourself closer to his arm. He saw you beam so slightly, and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“No one’s ever bought me things before,” you said quietly.

Andrew turned to you with a bemused look on his face. He thought surely someone had spoiled you before. Judging from the way you were with him of all people, you deserved to be treated like you put soil in the ground and planted the trees that gave air.

His lips upturned as your eyes met, “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

And that took you trapezing from store to store. You picked things out, and gave Andrew a show in the fitting rooms. He’d sit on the little cushion in the waiting area and you’d come out like a supermodel. Like it was his duty, he bought every single thing you liked, giving you a reassuring nod when you stared at him guiltily. Some things you genuinely tried to fight him for because they were too expensive. 

“Andy, no!” You trailed after him, tugging on a dress he was holding. He picked it up because you said it would be cute for a date, then walked away from it after reading the price tag.

In addition to the shopping bags already hanging from his arm, he also held your purse, leaving you weightless and unsure what to do with your arms. He glared at you when he approached the line.

“You’re fucking with my concept of money.” You complained as you grabbed your purse and a few bags from his hands.

“You don’t need a concept of money.” He disagreed, reluctantly handing them to you.

At the register, Andrew pulled out another big bill from his wallet. He had been using cash all day, which was a foreign concept to you ever since you got your first debit card— especially with big purchases. You never ever did this for anyone else, but you scrubbed any negative things out of your mind quickly. Of course, this was a red flag… Where was Andrew getting all this money? You weren’t gonna complain, though— God forbid a man spoils his lady.

On the way out, you bought Andrew a mall soft pretzel, insisting that you treated him for something. He said that he never really had one before, as he rarely ever went to malls for leisure when he was younger. You didn’t want to ask what that meant. 

In the car, you and him shared the salted pretzel, letting the air conditioning run through the truck before you drove away. Shopping bags discarded to the backseat, you curled your legs under you as you looked for music to play on your phone. Andrew held out the pretzel for you to bite from his hand.

“I was thinking I should get my own place.” He said, eyes easy and observant as they looked at you. Chewing, you looked up at him, who was trying to be very sincere. “Somewhere in Oceanside. Just as a formality.”

You hummed disapprovingly and teasingly pouted, “You don’t wanna stay with me anymore?”

“No, I’ll still stay with you. I just need somewhere to leave my things, and, besides, summer’s coming up and—” As he spoke, you noticed some tiny pieces of the chunky salt hung from his lips.

“Hold on.”

With a smile, you leaned forward, fingers against his cheekbone. He stopped talking, eyes perking up at you in interest. You got close to his face slowly and swiped your tongue over his bottom lip, gathering the salt pebbles and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Laughing, you leaned back, “Sorry.”

He stayed quiet, watching as you turned your attention back to your phone. Andrew was still astonished at the little things like that. You willingly and wantingly touching him in public, looking at him like he was a gemstone in the darkest cave. You showed him you cared in the simplest ways possible, yet proved to overwhelm him every time.

Your eyes darted back up, “You were saying?”

The next week, you went to the beach. The UV was 7 and you were dying to see the shore. Blue sky, beautiful sounding waves, you brought him out to one of your favourite beaches. It was tucked into the edge of a neighbourhood and a less busy one. You learned Andrew disliked when beaches (or anywhere, really) were filled with people, particularly tourists— hence why a majority of your trips to the shore were after sunset, when people were already cleared out.

Bringing along Andrew and a huge burrito, you sat on your big pink and purple striped towel in your little blue bikini. On his stomach, Andrew laid beside you with his sunglasses on and a book in his hands as you rubbed sunscreen into your legs.

“I’m glad you’re here, Andy.”

He peered over his glasses to look at you, “I’m glad you’re here too.”

You gestured the bottle to Andrew, offering to put it on for him. He gave a small nod as he turned back to his book. It was something you recommended, from your short stack of books at home. Culminated with pleasure reads and school material, he had picked out The Stranger by Camus from your collection.

You grinned to yourself as you rubbed the lotion into his back, catching creases and kneading soft spots with your fingers. Your fingers traced your name over his freckles in cursive swoops. You’d be lying if you said you brought along him solely for company. You felt insane every time you stared at him shirtless. He was soft in all the right places, but hard and rigid around his shoulders and back. Besides, a little muscle never hurt anyone.

The sun reflected off his back, giving a shine to his freckles. Your cheeks fell hot, and it wasn’t just because of the daylight on your skin. You always had to pinch yourself about how insane it was that you were just allowed to touch him… that you could run your hands over this perfect torso anytime you wanted. 

Slipping through your thoughts, you quietly mused, “I’m glad it was you.”

“Hm?” He fully turned over, closing the book between his fingers.

“You’re the sweetest boy I’ve ever met.” You raked your nails on the side of his head.

Andrew was camera shy, but he let you take pictures of him throughout the day. Candid ones of him reading on his stomach or his pretty face against the Pacific sand and waves or possibly one of his back… just for… reference… Selfies of you and him: one kissing his cheek, one with your heads together, one where you tried to catch him with even a small grin, and a spam of the shutter button in between. He refused to smile for the camera, reserving them all just for you.

You shared the burrito you brought with Andrew. You held the foil back as he took bites, always large, aggressive ones like he was starved. Sharing your water bottle, you'd oscillate between holding the burrito or twisting it open while the other one drank. He’d rest his cheek against your shoulder as you ate, arm wrapped around your back and resting on your hip.

The one unfortunate thing about that beach was that it was popular for other college students too, which was the reason you found it in the first place. You tried to stay further from the crowd, but on a gorgeous day like this, they found you anyway.

Maybe twenty feet away from you, there was a group of frat guys and sorority girls settled higher up the small slope of the sand., some of them bumping a volleyball around. You initially didn’t mind their chatter and music, but their volleyball kept finding its way to your side. 

The first few times, you mindlessly tossed it back to them, only slightly irritated. Of course, Andrew took notice every time it rolled over. With eyebrows furrowed, he stared at the group, trying to figure out how they could possibly fumble the ball so many times. 

They were evidently a bit drunk, no longer trying to hide the seltzer cans by their cooler. The people playing only got rowdier and more aggressive, running around and swinging their arms into excessive hits.

You were lying down with your shades over your face, trying to drift off, when the ball hit your thigh for the fourth time. Sighing, you leaned forward to grab it, but Andrew snatched it from the ground before your fingers could even graze the top.

Immediately and furiously, he stood up and marched over to the group. You watched him do so, moving your sunglasses to rest on your head. 

The group backed off a little when they saw him, but two dumb-looking guys stood their ground. One of them had trunks with the American flag on them and the other wore a Sig Nu car wash t-shirt. The guys had their arms crossed while Andrew looked at them through furrowed brows and the downward tilt of his head. 

You couldn’t hear anything over the crashing waves and other beach chatter, but he had been saying something that caused them to recoil in confusion and intimidation. One of them put their hands up in defense, cowering back. Andrew said something else, then threw the ball at American Flag’s chests, causing him to stumble a little.

He came back to you with the same anger on his face, taking his seat again. The group got weird when he left, dispersing slightly and casting you glares before beginning to pack up. You turned to Andrew, who was staring off into the ocean, and cocked your eyebrow at him.

“What’d you say?” You asked, scooting closer to him.

“Nothing.” He muttered, still avoiding your gaze. 

His knee was bent and his arm was resting against it as you watched his attention slip away from reality. You put your hand on his forearm, running your fingers up and down his skin. Eyebrows knitting further, his eyes squinted.

“Weren’t you kinda… harsh on them?” You asked in a quiet voice.

“No,” he shook his head, then turned to you, “they needed to know their place.”

It shouldn’t have flattered you as much as it did, but you slid your hand on his chest and gave him a kiss on the cheek. His eyes softened when he saw you grin as you tucked your head into the nook of his neck. He surfaced his hand over the sunbathing-induced warmth on your back and kissed the top of your head. 

1: Respectfully, Yours, 2: Halo of the Highest Grade

his eyes soften as he watches you sing, knowing you put so much time and effort into it all. he remembers running lines with you and how you'd get frustrated when you wouldn't remember them, or how tired you get after rehearsals and would sink into his arms and fall asleep.

he’s definitely not a holler-type, more of a loud clapper with those big, meaty hands. he'd only cheer during curtain call, blending with all the other ones. pope would beam, seeing you smile wide and wave into the audience, catching his eye for just a moment.

he never forgets flower ever. every single night, there's a bouquet either in his hands or waiting by your vanity before the show. the classic red roses for the first and final nights, then variants of peonies, hydrangeas, tulips, carnations, and lilies every other night. different colours and shapes, they were all so beautiful you'd forget you about your allergies.

when you'd come out of the stage door or into the lobby after the show, you'd run into his arms, which were pre-opened just for you. with a strong embrace, he'd kiss your face sweetly with a "you were so great, sweetheart."

and, of course, he brings lena. she was never really exposed to musical theatre, cath was never really interested and it wasn't a huge thing at her school. when lena saw all the sets and the costumes, she was astonished.

pope is pointing you out to her, and she's sitting up higher in her seat, smile nearly exploding like it's the coolest thing she's ever seen. she's cheering after every single number, hanging on the show's adrenaline.

it's one of the few times you come out in costume. lena's so shy with you initially (and a bit starstruck).

she's asking, "are you really a princess?

and you smile bashfully, "am i a good one?"

she nods.

pope insists you take a picture together, and she has the biggest wide-toothed little kid grin on her face. she's clinging on the skirt of your dress. in one of the photos, you're looking at each other with such excitement and whimsy on both of your faces, which definitely becomes pope's new lockscreen.

walking out of the building, you're hanging off of pope's arm, squeezing his bicep. you share how famished you are and offer to take both them to that 24-hour diner that has milkshakes that are to die for.

at the diner, lena asks you a myriad of questions about all of the shows special effects and costumes and makeup. after answering each question with detail, you teach her the art of dipping her fries in her milkshake.

after dropping you at home, lena says from the backseat, "i like your girlfriend, uncle pope." and she's telling everyone at school that her uncle's awesome girlfriend is a princess.

You liked the arrangement. It was nice to have company when you used to feel lonely most of the time. You didn’t even have to speak sometimes, but having him within reach— hand rubbing your legs as you watched TV, sitting with you as you smoked, laying a head on his chest as you each read books from the library, being able to just reach over for a kiss and nothing more— was enough.

Initially, you assumed living with a boy would be messy, like it had been with your brother back home, but Andrew was so clean, it freaked you out a little. Sometimes, you’d leave Andrew in the apartment while you went to class or a club meeting, and he’d clean everything. He’d wash the dishes, including your roommates’, and deep clean the kitchen. He would even do the laundry, having it all folded for you when you returned. You learned to accept it, loved it even, as it gave you time to just be with Andrew when you came home after a long day.

You were so patient. You took the time trying to get to know him without forcing it out of him. You’d sit in silence, just holding his hand in yours, letting him speak when he wanted to. Sometimes he’d get so lost in his thoughts, you’d ask how he was feeling, and when he said I don’t know, you didn’t push for an answer. 

You found learning came easiest when you just observed him. The clench of his fists when anything remotely dangerous or frightening came by— skateboards going too fast, service carts zipping by you on campus, other guys trying to talk to you. His attention to detail, small pieces of information that he regurgitated about the world around him. His need to keep tidy. The way he furrowed his eyebrows when he was thinking, which you assumed weren’t good thoughts. How he’d never stop thinking unless you pulled him out of it. 

He learned your quirks too, how you left half-drunk glasses of water in your room, the 20 minute showers you took when you had to wash your hair, how you blasted music while getting ready or doing homework. More importantly, how you tended to be self-sufficient, rarely asking anything of other people and tending to issues yourself. How you shared and vented about your problems, but slipped jokes and swears like it was no big deal. The way you could soothe him with just a touch and a soft smile because anything happened to be enough for you.

Andrew didn’t realize how much being with you would change things for him. Without his family, he didn’t have to keep his guard up, search for double-meaning in each comment, or flinch at every sudden touch. He learned to ease into you, letting you run your hands through his hair and kiss his face whenever you pleased. 

An ache grew in his chest every time you came home to him and smiled softly. No favours, no requests, no question. Steady arms and a kiss on your cheek, you seemed so happy at only that. It took a moment to feel adequate, just being there for you and being around. You never tried to use him for anything, make him prove his worth to you.

With him, it was all about moderation, learning, adjustment. 

In bed with him especially, you took it slow, letting him tell you when. If little flinches at the simple movement of your hands were any clue to you, you knew he wasn’t accustomed to sex the way you were. Patience, soft control— you needed to (got to) practice these like a mantra when it came to Andrew. He wasn’t much of a talker, which you expected, but his eyes and his body said everything his mouth couldn’t. 

Andrew was needy but quiet about it, thinking he didn’t want to push you either. You trusted him, and he knew that, but he was willing to wait for explicit permission before doing anything with you. It felt right that way, he didn’t want to leverage you into a situation that you didn’t want. Lord knows he’s been there.

His restraint burned you. In every press of your body on his, in every time his fingers brushed below your hips, he tensed up. He’d whisper a sorry every time he pushed further than you had before. 

Before your letters, his libido was at an all time low, mind too blank or too busy that his body was neglected. During your letters, he found his blood rushing in ways he hadn’t felt since he hit puberty. It wasn’t embarrassing when he could deal with it alone. However, the first time around was most embarrassing when he felt like he couldn’t control himself.

“Relax, Andy.” You said, running your hands over his body. 

He was laying beneath your hips, tense and hands anchoring your waist like you just might disappear. After a chaste kiss before bed turned into deeper ones, you found yourself on top of Andrew, rutting into him softly to chase some relief. Only at this moment did you realize you hadn’t actually done anything with Andrew. 

He’d been staying with you for the greater half of a week now, and you were surprised you or him exhibited restraint past the first two days. When you weren’t in class, you practically spent every waking moment together. All of it had been gentle kisses, a warm embrace, the push of your body on his, a good night, then heat between you that was never snuffed out.

Mouth shut, he gazed up at you on his hips, doing as you said. In your large sleeping shirt, you never really wore any shorts to bed— figuring it was okay now too since it was just Andrew. His shoulders dropped as he eased the muscles in his forearms. Lips curling, he admired the feeling of you beneath his fingertips, the way you adored his body on yours, the sigh that came from your mouth with every shift.

With half-lidded eyes, you followed your hands over his torso as you fingers mapped creases and valleys and soft spots. Where his shirt had gone, you weren’t sure, but you were positive it was your own doing. Lightly toned, his chest had been calling you ever since you got to feel it through his shirt. It definitely didn’t help that his torso was the size of a tree trunk under you. Just as you’d expect, his freckles continued onto his torso, much lighter than the rest of his body. 

You kissed down his shoulders and over his chest as your hands rubbed over him. Hips continued moving in stutters as you adorned him in kisses. His breath had come out roughly while he adjusted to the feeling of your lips all over him. When you moved back up to look at him, his eyes were twinkling and his forehead had relaxed. 

“How do you feel, Andy?” 

“Good… good.” He nodded, reaching his hands up to your sides. Biting down on his lip, he tilted his head up at you, as if to ask permission. 

With his eyes so soft, you couldn’t deny granting his wishes. You leaned down as his hands reached to your lower back, holding onto you firmly. A warm spot had been forming itself in your panties since Andrew had put his hands on you, even though he hadn’t done much past squeezing at your waist. You planted your lips over his, letting his tongue melt into yours as you continued dragging yourself over the yearning in his sweatpants.

As you peppered his lips in kisses, he bucked involuntarily under you. His face burnt up almost immediately as his breath caught in between your mouths. Attempting discipline, he forced his hips back down and bit your bottom lip in the process. You groaned, reaching your hand to the base of his skull to find the short plane of his hair in your fingers.

Freezing under you, Andrew’s lips stalled, as did his brain. You pulled away to catch his avoidant gaze. Tapping your fingers on his jaw, you urged him to look at you again. Eyes watering, he caught your concern in his sight.

“What’s going on, honey?” You asked, resting your forearm beside his head as you peered down at him. 

“Sorry,” he grumbled. He didn’t know what for in particular, but so many things. Shame coated the back of his mind as his hands went limp on you.

“It’s okay to want, Andrew.” You said quietly, surfacing your fingers over his temple. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to find himself again. Nails carding through his hair, you attempted to get him back to Earth as his eyes searched yours for sincerity. Softly, you admitted, “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

With that, he firmly pulled you back into him, wasting no time to press his lips onto yours. You hummed in satisfaction, finding his hands on your waist and guiding them to slip under your shirt. For once, he allowed himself to get lost in you. 

His hands explored your body, rough palms against soft flesh. As he huffed into your mouth, soft wanting noises spilled out of his lips, grunts and whines that matched the soft voice he used with you. Hands pawing at your chest, Andrew’s hips rutted up under the cotton of your panties as you gasped, taking his breath with you.

Aching to see you, Andrew pushed the fabric of your shirt over your head and dropped it on the space beside him. You sat back when he did so, hands on his stomach once again. Awestruck and pupils blown out, his chest heaved as he looked at you in the low light from your bedside lamp.

“So pretty,” he mumbled, running a hand to rest on your cheek. His thumb ran across your bottom lip and you kissed at it playfully as he lightly squeezed your cheek beneath his fingers.

“You think I’m pretty?” You teased, sliding yourself over him like silk. As you kissed along his jaw, his hands went over your underwear, hovering like he was building up courage. Your lips moved along the column of his throat, and his breath caught exactly where you had nuzzled into a sweet spot.

“So pretty,” he repeated, straining voice as your hands surfaced over his arms. Fingers meeting his, you guided them to hook over the sides of your waistband and tug. He did so on his own, sliding his fingers down your legs in the process. You shivered at the light touch over your thighs, then your calves, allowing yourself to kick your panties aside. 

Perching back, you hovered your hands over his own bottoms, looking at his face for approval. Mouth slightly agape, Andrew nodded, running a hand over the front side of your thigh. You stalled, raising yourself slightly as he stared at you. 

“Tell me, Andy.” You spoke gently, fingers feathering his hipbones. 

“Yeah,” He sighed, eyes zeroing in on yours as he bucked up again, “F-Fuck, I want to feel you.”

Breath shaky, he inhaled as you pulled off his waistband, boxers and sweats in one go. You let them pool at his legs, slipping off on their own. He sprung up in front of you, throbbing and ready. His tip had been leaking, a sticky, sensitive flush like he just might snap.

You looked back up at Andrew, who had been biting down on his lip in anticipation. 

Shutting your eyes, you nudged yourself onto him, guiding his head over your achy little sensitive spot. His precum glided over the wet that pooled between your thighs, forming perfect friction as you rocked yourself against him ever so slightly. Starting to squeeze around nothing, you let the tiniest bit of noises come from your mouth.

You were just about ready to slip him in when he started panting. Opening your eyes, you saw him with his eyebrows scrunched and jaw tightened. He kept his eyes on you the whole time, though, as his fingers grasped harder on the tops of your thighs. They bent to pull you towards him, imprinting with proof of eagerness on your plush skin.

“C’mon,” he huffed in a low voice, shutting his teeth to stop himself from asking for too much.

“Uh, huh,” You shivered helplessly, lining him up as you tilted your head down to look at his face. His mouth had fallen ajar as he watched you squirm over him. Hands stayed on you, grounding like you would float away otherwise.

Easing yourself onto him, you worked yourself over every inch, pulling yourself up then back down. The stretch was more than you’d thought it would be, not expecting to make yourself take it slow. By the grace of gravity and clenching need, you buried him all the way in. You held back a moan as you let Andrew come undone first.

While you sank down, Andrew had been slipping soft groans in between his breaths. His muscles tightened when you bottomed out, hips buckling to meet yours. He gasped, chest rising as his freckles glistened in the warm glow.

Pulsing around him you let yourself adjust as your fingers found his hands. You urged them up to your ass, letting him grasp as you began a tender pace. Breathy moans fell from your mouth as his hands grasped and moved about your ass and thighs in every pump. As if the stretch wasn’t already enough, he hit the right spot when his hips jerked into you.

“Right there,” You pleaded through an exhale. You had been panting over him, trying to form proper words as you fell out of rhythm, finding yourself more frantic and desperate than you liked to be. 

“Like this?” 

Eyebrows furrowed in intrigue, he pinched on the flesh of your ass again, snapping his hips against your like he just did. Pressure built as he did so, knocking your hips down to his in a heavy thrust. 

“Please, fuck—” A whine stopped you from continuing as you fluttered around him. “Please fuck me. Please?” You begged, leaning to grab onto his biceps. Your hips tilted closer to Andrew, causing him to work into you deeper. 

He whimpered as you sunk your fingers into his skin, taking that as a signal to continue into his hungry pace. With pants and moans, Andrew snapped his hips to yours, pumping you onto him and taking himself deeper with every push.

“Kiss me,” He managed to choke out your name through heavy exhales.

At last, skin found skin when you lowered yourself to kiss him. You fell limp in his arms, allowing him to take control over you. He found leverage when he wrapped his arms around you tightly, letting his hips do the work as he drove himself into you again and again. 

You took his lips to yours as you began to ache, rolling your hips over his. He continued to fuck you while you kissed him sweetly, trying to hold whiny sounds in. His lips were desperate, swallowing more of you down when your abdomen pressed against his.

Trailing away, you began to nibble at his jaw and neck as you felt yourself quiver around him. Your mouth danced over his skin, painting him with affection and a little bit of spit. His heart raced under your fingers that grasped at his chest. With your core pushed further towards him, his pelvic bone worked against your nub, sweat and heat stoking the fire in your belly.

“So good, Andy. So, so good.” You panted into the side of his neck, lips pressing and pushing. Your nails pressed into the soft flesh at his chestplate as your legs tensed.

Letting out a shattered breath. Andrew jolted into you while you yelped, letting yourself ride to your climax. The snap of your hips against his started to amp up as Andrew seated himself inside you like it was his only mission. Jerking harsher towards you, he felt shockwaves ripple through himself.

Groaning, your lips vibrated against his throat. You toed the edge as he got rougher, jagged strokes and tough grip. The fire in you huffed, pulling you faster and faster to your peak.

“My pretty girl.” Andrew said into your ear. He continued to pound into you as he held you tight in his arms. “My pretty girl,” he started mumbling in chants.

He started to feel overwhelmed as your breath moved along his skin and he felt his gut tighten. Emotion overtook him and stinging began to grow behind his eyes. Despite all, his words only endured as did his pace, hands clutching and sprawling over your back. Beginning to choke up, he swallowed harshly, but the tears came anyway. 

Too fucked out to notice, your legs clutched around him as you spasmed. Stars and white noise flooding your senses, you writhed around him, repeating whines and hums like they’d been stuck in your throat all day.

With a loud groan and the stall of his hips, he flooded into you. It all came out like a desperate exhale, twitching and emptying as if he’d never felt like this before. Squeezing his eyes shut, he realized his face had been wet as filled you up. He sniffled, though he didn’t mean to, as he tightened his embrace around you.

Trembling, you tilted your head up to see hot tears streaming down his face. He had shut his eyes tight as his lip quivered. You furrowed your eyebrow, thinking you’d done something wrong. 

Slowly, you brought your finger tips to his jaw, smoothly skating to the creases by his eyes. You pressed the droplets away as he continued to shudder. Sniffing, he pressed you tight to his chest. 

“Andrew, honey.” You whispered delicately. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

He stayed quiet, letting the tears flow without acknowledgement. As his closed eyes shut stiffly and the crease between his eyebrows deepened, you held onto his face, letting him release as he needed to. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” You murmured, thumb brushing away the pebbles flowing over his cheek. He huffed under you, trying to calm himself down. You pressed a kiss to the knot between his brows, “Not going anywhere.”

The permanence of your comfort, the willingness to understand him, the constant thoughtfulness. Andrew was overwhelmed by your refusal to neglect him. He always felt purposeless if he wasn’t doing something, if he wasn’t someone’s pawn. You never asked anything of him when you welcomed him into your home, and you never held it over his head. 

He was just your Andrew. Your confidant, who just listened to you talk about anything and everything. Your companion, who sat with you in silence while your attention was elsewhere. Yours, who you’d ask a range of questions to, like he was the most important person to you, and wouldn’t push if he didn’t want to respond. It was all so simple, so comfortable with him.

After this epiphany, he realized how much he wanted to provide for you, add something to your life. He wanted to give you things that only existed in your wildest dreams. He wanted to be good for you. 

Without your help, he’d look for construction, warehouse, landscaping jobs he knew he could do. He’d spend time in the library during your classes, looking up salaries and ways to get money that were above board. Nothing was nearly what he used to make as a “Property Manager,” but it could be enough for now, just for now.

“It’s so fucking stupid.” You groaned, pacing the living room as a documentary on snow leopards played in the background. 

Returning from a meeting with a financial aid advisor, you were fuming when you walked in the door. You had dropped your bag on the kitchen counter in reckless abandon as you immediately began ranting about your meeting. From the couch, Andrew’s eyes stayed on you despite his interest in the show. 

“My parents are too poor to pay for college out of pocket but too rich for grants? How the fuck does that work?” You were thinking aloud, flipping through your phone as you searched the Federal Student Aid website for a loophole or something. 

Your family was well off, enough to send you and your brother to college, but California was vicious like that. With your growing costs and insistence to stay in San Diego longer after you graduated, your parents were the first to remind you of the price tag on that life.

“God, I wish I could rob a bank or something.” You seethed, dropping on the couch beside Andrew. When he didn’t say anything, you shut your mouth immediately and apologetically. He felt you tense up beside him.

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“It’s okay.”

He urged you towards him, arm slung around your shoulders and your legs pulled over his thigh. He learned how to be more physical with you after learning how much you liked it and how much he craved this closeness. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he curled you in closer as you tucked your head into his neck.

“I’m sorry, Andy. I’m just frustrated.”

You knew you were privileged, you did. Due to countless papers on disadvantaged families and just staying informed, you were rarely one to complain about your situation. Even knowing Andrew, you felt guilty that you were so ignorant in front of him.

Hell, you were a student at a four-year university, and your parents largely paid for your tuition and lifestyle (at least for what your crappy job couldn’t). Your problem was with the Financial Office, which had been throwing you for a loop these past few days and wasn’t doing much but offering loans with insanely high interest rates.

“I know, sweetheart.” He ran a thumb over your shoulder. 

Even before your outburst, he knew this had been bubbling on you. Obviously, you couldn’t take care of Andrew, at least not financially. He saw the way you were with money lately— heated phone calls with your mom about spending, longer shifts at that shitty restaurant, comments about the stupid motherfucker at the bursar office. He knew he might’ve been a weight on this.

Something to him told him that he owed you, even though you constantly told him he didn’t. If he wanted to really, truly help you, there was only one unfortunate way for him to do so.

After making dinner together, you had gone to bed with a tight pain between your temples. You had taken a Tylenol, then curled up beside Andrew, clutching onto him like it was the only thing you needed. Maybe if you had his warmth and his reassurance, nothing else mattered.

He lied awake that night, running his fingers through your hair while drafting possible ways he could talk to his family, how he could possibly get something to you soon without grovelling. He’d been out for a month, and his family definitely didn’t know where he was or that he had been released. What would he even say? Given the circumstances, he definitely didn’t want them to find out about you. 

The morning came with a medical drowsiness that you didn’t want to face, but this time, Andrew wasn’t beside you. Reaching over, your hand found the empty space beside you, clutching air with a deep sigh. 

“Andy?” You called, rubbing your eyes as you slouched over the pillows. “Where’d you go?”

“Did you sleep well?”

He was standing at the foot of the bed, fully dressed and up way too early. You gave a negative groan in response as he came into focus. Pulling the sheets over your cold shoulder, you peeked at him.

He stayed where he was, arms at his sides and a distance much too far away for your liking. How long had he been there? Possibly enough to wait for you to wake up?

“I need to borrow your car.”

You hummed, like it was some hallucination, as your eyes threatened to shut again.

Andrew moved over to sit where he was just laying beside you. Reaching his hand to your face, his fingers pushed the pieces of hair away from your cheek to get you to fully wake up for him. Unmoving from your cocooned position, you gazed up at him, eyes dragging down every few seconds.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said, running his fingers over your jaw, “I need to borrow your car.”

You had been half-conscious and you were mostly aware of what he was asking you. You didn’t want to say no, but Andrew hadn’t really gone anywhere without you in the past month you’ve been together.

“Why?”

“I just have to take care of something.” He said as you slowly sat up from your position. 

Tucking your knees under yourself, you furrowed your eyebrows as you scratched the side of your head. Surely, Andrew didn’t mean he’d rob another bank after your comment yesterday. You shifted a little as your blanket peeled down your torso. 

Seeing your gaze move away, he pulled your chin to face him. Your eyebrows fell as you looked past his freckles and serious lips. His eyes were soft, begging for you to see him.

“I’ll get gas,” He said, “And I’ll be home before dinner.”

With what money? You wanted to ask, but knew better than to be snide. He had some money and an expired credit card from his belongings in jail, but that was run down sometime last week, through pitching in for groceries and rent.

Not sure what else to say, you gave a begrudging okay and a kiss to his cheek. 

So, you went to class, like it was the noble thing to do. You liked this class, you really did, but you had a problem trying to concentrate on the content. Your notebook stayed absolutely blank as you stared off into the distance. There was something that rubbed you the wrong way about Andrew leaving in the morning. 

You don’t know why, but you started getting anxious about him, your Andy. Poisonous thoughts spilled through your head before you could stop them. Did you trust him too fast? Was it wrong to be caught up with a criminal, like everyone was saying? Did he lie to you? Was he running off with your car? Did he only come to leech off of you then let you down easy? You’d sink your nails into your palm to attempt to calm your nerves, but it only made it worse. 

You hated feeling like you couldn’t trust him. You were never like this, you weren’t the anxious girlfriend, and you always hated the idea of becoming one. Usually, you were a pretty secure person, looking at things for what they were and accepting your feelings without spiralling. In this situation with Andrew, though, it was hard to relax. 

The problem was… You didn’t really know anything about his past. You knew his family was from Oceanside, but it seemed like he didn’t have a good relationship with them. You tried, really tried not to blame him for it, but how were you supposed to be something with him, when you barely had a clue who he was before. It never bothered you for the past month, but your brain and your gut spun like they had been conspiring against you the whole time.

That’s exactly where Andrew had gone. Oceanside, home. He somewhat remembered his way back, finding major freeways based on vague remembrance of San Diego street names. Guilt had subsided in him when he knew he was going for a good reason. Sure, those post-prison jobs he’d seen were honorable or… legal, but that wasn’t going to provide for you, not as much as he wanted to.

On the ride there, he had played one of the curated CDs you kept in your car and it was exactly what you described in your letters— a mix of random genres that didn’t seem to belong together, but contained the multitudes that you were. He scrapped the plan from the evening prior, deciding to grab as much cash as possible, a gun maybe, and slip out like it was nobody’s business. 

Andrew had parked around the block, keeping your little Prius safe from sight. When he walked up to the gate, he noticed both Baz’s and Deran’s cars parked in the driveway. He assumed the house would be more barren, which he could deal with, but that wasn’t the case.

With a sharp inhale, he moved into the open garage, immediately darting for a duffle bag and exactly where he knew money and guns were stashed.

Being alone with your thoughts wasn’t helpful at all. When you walked around campus, everything looked like it was hurting you, bright glimmers of light stabbing into your retinas. It just so happened your friends invited you to grab coffee with them after their 2pm. You thought you would spiral more if you stayed alone anyway. You felt like you needed to talk to someone, even if they might focus on the other thing. 

As you entered the coffee shop, you saw Angela first, in line typing on her cellphone. She was at the end, glancing up every few seconds to check for you or Mila. Catching her eye, you walked up to her with a wave and the purse of your lips.

“Hey.”

“Are you good?” Angela asked, arm hovering your side. Your tired eyes told her you had been deep in thought about something, and the dryness of your voice also said that you’d been pacing outside.

“I just, uh…” You shook your head to yourself, clearing your throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

As the line moved, she turned to you and put her phone away, “Look, I’m sorry for what I said… a few weeks ago. Your love life shouldn’t be any of my business. I’m just worried, y’know?”

You nodded.

She continued, “You don’t really know this guy, y’know? I’m just scared he might hurt you.” 

“Well, Andrew’s—“

Before you could continue, Mila came by from across the room with her loud voice, hollering your name. She had come in through the other entrance, lunging over to you. Reaching you and Angela, she slung an arm over your shoulder.

Immediately, Mila piped up with a smirk in your direction, “Who was that dilf I saw you with at the pond the other day?” 

You raised an eyebrow at her, “My boyfriend?”

“Since when did you have a boyfriend? Keeping secrets from us now?” She teased, pinching your arm as the line moved forward.

“It’s her pen pal.” Angela shrugged, slightly peeved, pulling her phone out from her pocket again.

“Oh, no shit. You’re dating a criminal?” She squealed noisily, and Angela yanked her arm. 

“Not so loud.” She mumbled, moving to the cashier to order.

You sighed to yourself.

“I think it’s hot.” Mila mumbled as she nudged your arm.

After catching up on gossip about the usual suspects, struggles with professors, and heavy class loads, you opened up about Andrew. You told them about your days with him, how he stayed with you, made you feel whole. They nodded as you spoke. Mila had said it was good for you, Angela shrugged in half-agreement.

Then, you told them what happened in the morning, the sick feeling that sat at the pit of your stomach, that’s been eating away at you.

“I don’t know…” Angela shrugged, “Have you ever tried Googling him?” 

You inhaled sharply and looked away. You repeated what your heart had been screaming at you all day, “I’d feel guilty doing that. I got to know him on my own, isn’t that enough?”

“Can never be too safe.”

Mila suggested, “I feel like you have to. You don’t really know who you let into your home if you don’t do a little internet stalking. You can figure out his priors too, see if he’s actually dangerous.” 

“He robbed a bank.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Did he do anything else? You said he had brothers and a mom, why didn’t he go home to them? Why’s he staying with you?”

Your mouth ran dry as you listened to Mila materialize your thoughts.

“I… I don’t know.” 

“I get that there’s purity in knowing him for yourself,” Angela started, “But what harm can one little search do?”

“Don’t say that, we’re gonna end up playing the Wikipedia game.” Mila shook her head.

With a reluctant sigh, you reached into your bag for your laptop. Opening it up, you started doing something that made you feel even more guilty, something that you probably should’ve done a long time ago. 

Angela and Mila sat in anticipation, peering at the back of your laptop for when you were ready to turn it over.

You typed his name in the search bar, starting with “Andrew Cody Oceanside.” Before clicking on anything, you scooted closer to the girls, showing them your screen. The click of your enter key opened floodgates that you regretted even thinking of.

You learned about his family, about his mom and his brothers. There were robberies, minor violence, alleged ties to drug lords and gangs, possible arson, and many apartment properties. You’ve watched enough TV to know the properties were for laundering money.

“Okay,” Mila squeaked, “It’s not that bad.”

“Don’t lie.” You sighed, shutting your laptop. 

As you stuffed your laptop back into your bag, Angela asked, “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” You said honestly as you sat back. The feeling in your stomach had subsided, now that you knew things, but you still felt horrible nonetheless.

“Does it change anything for you?”

“No.” You tried, playing like you meant it. Then you shook your head, vacillating to yourself, “Yes. I don’t know.”

Just as Andrew was about to slip out, Baz had come into the garage. Andrew’s breath hitched and he swiftly pushed the duffle bag into a corner. Heading to his car, Baz did a double take to where Andrew was standing on the side of the room.

“Pope?”

Andrew looked around avoidantly, “Uh, huh.”

“Pope— What the fuck… What the fuck are you doing here?” Baz blinked like it wasn’t real.

Stunlocked, Andrew shrugged, standing absolutely still. Knowing Baz, he’d eventually tell everyone that Andrew returned. He didn’t want it like this, he didn’t even want it at all.

“When did you get out?” He raised an eyebrow, coming closer to him.

The garage door swung open again and a teenage boy he’d never seen before came out, “Hey, Baz, Smurf wanted to—”

“Who are you?” Andrew furrowed his eyebrows.

“J, just give me a sec.” Baz waved dismissively at him. Looking back at Andrew, he waited for a response with the raise of his eyebrows. “You didn’t say you were getting out when I visited last month.”

“Baz,” Smurf's voice rang through the hallway, echoing into the garage.

Andrew froze at the sound of her voice, as if he wasn’t already still enough. When she entered through the door, her eyes darted up at him as she stopped in her place. He pretended not to notice that her face dropped too.

“Hey, baby.” She suddenly smiled, holding her arms out as she came towards him.

Arms unmoving at his sides, he let her hug him. 

He lingered longer than he meant to. Smurf had invited him inside, made him explain his parole. Through a caught breath, he learned about Julia’s death, which he figured from J’s  presence alone. He attempted to not get roped back in, but he didn’t know what to say when he had been lying the whole time.

Smurf had him stay for dinner as they discussed new jobs, still spearheaded by her. He sat patiently, since there was nothing he could really do. He was supposed to get the money and leave. Every second he stayed in that house meant every second he could’ve been getting back to you slipped away.

After dinner, Smurf mentioned to him that he couldn’t stay and couldn’t work for a while. One foot out the door, he tried not to act so relieved when she said that. Though, the idea of working again enticed him— income, enough for you to get through college without worry and possibly to stay with him after.

They reached some kind of agreement. Money would flow from Smurf to Andrew. Then, he would work jobs for them after a while, at least until the gap of time between his parole and jobs didn’t look so shady.

With a luggage full of clothes and a bag full of money, Andrew ditched the motel and found his way home to you. Pulling into your parking garage, he looked at the time on the dash, 7:30, which was an hour later than you usually had dinner with him. He made his way into your apartment with the duplicate key he wasn’t supposed to have and soft optimism in his eyes.

You had been curled up in bed, facing away from the door as you heard him come in. After you parted ways with your friends, you didn’t want to think about the whole situation. Resorting to numbing the noise in your head, you had been scrolling on your phone for the last two hours.

Andrew placed his things by the door and headed to sit next to you. You took a moment to yourself, deciding how you wanted to react. Before you could choose something, his hand surfaced over your back.

“Did you eat?”

You wanted to scoff or ignore him or get upset, you really did. His palm gently rubbing your side broke your heart a little bit. Something inside of you tugged hard, begging you not to be frustrated, and you rolled over to catch his eyes. The tenderness on his face made you feel ashamed for every bad thought you had that day.

Eyes sullen, you brought yourself up to him, letting his arms drape around you. He pressed a kiss to your hair as he pulled you into his chest. You gave a soft shake of your head, hands finding his arms around you. You let him hold you for a minute more as you failed to process all of your thoughts.

Looking up at his face, running your fingers up to his hair, you wanted to say, please don’t ever leave again, but you just settled for what your heart could take.

You asked dejectedly, “Where did you go, honey?”

1: Respectfully, Yours, 3: Devil's in the Details

The car chimed as you reached for your fruit platter in the backseat. You decided on something more simple, after your trial run on a cherry pie went to shit. It was the first time Sammy was taking you to meet his mother, and the last time you were introduced to a partner’s parents was high school. 

“She doesn’t even know you and she already loves you.” Sammy reassured from the other side of the car, reaching for Nate in the car seat. Picking him up and resting him in his arms, he said, “You didn’t even have to bring anything.”

“My mom told me I should never show up empty-handed, especially if I’m meeting a boyfriend’s family.” You said before shutting the door with your free hand.

“It’s just Maura.” He said as he rounded the car to your side. Stopping in front of you, he adjusted Nate’s shirt.

“I hate that you call your mom by her first name.” You sighed, looking at Sammy in front of you as you put a hand on your hip.

“Not to her face.” He smiled cheekily as Nate reached out to grab a strand of your hair. You removed his hand delicately as Sammy tilted his head, “C’mon, baby, no need to worry. Nate already talks you up to her.”

“He barely knows English, Sammy.” You scoffed, squeezing the palm of Nate’s tiny hand. 

Playfully, Sammy covered Nate’s ear and leaned in to whisper, “Not in front of him!”

The house wasn’t anything special. The paint was chipped a little in the front, but only as a sign of loving. It had a nice lawn with flowers and plants that looked hand-picked. It was a one-story, which, for some reason, you didn’t expect. 

At the front door, you looked at Sammy and he gave you a small, encouraging smile. You heard his mom shuffling around inside, then saw the top of her head through the window as she approached the door.

Swinging it open, she immediately yelled, “Gorgeous young girl!” 

Maura was a shorter lady, her hair in a mousy blown out bob. Despite her wrinkles and freckles all over, she was so youthful in energy. She had the same eyes and nose as Sammy, but her accent wasn’t Californian— maybe more mid-Atlantic and almost Jersey-ish.

Her arms flung out wide and came towards you with a surprised laugh from her. She hugged you tightly, like she knew you well, and patted your shoulder.

“I brought you this,” you offered her the platter in your hands and she beamed.

“Oh, this is beautiful! Thank you, hun.” She gave you a big smile, taking it from your hands, then greeted Sammy and Nate with a big smile.

“Hey, mom.” Sammy grinned, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She patted his shoulder and squeezed before reaching for Nate.

She said, “There’s my little guy.” Her fingers squeezed Nate’s puffy hand as he gave a cheerful sound. Maura waved her hand in for you. “C’mon in, you guys, I made some brownies.” Then to Sammy with a pointed finger, she jested, “No weed this time, I promise.”

With a raised eyebrow, you looked at Sammy and he shook his head to himself.

The house smelled like caramel and an autumn Yankee Candle. It also looked how you expected it to: warm colours, frames along the cream walls, cherry wooded floors. It was a piece of Sammy you could see in his eyes. It was cozy, inviting, just like a home ought to be.

Maura had put Nate down by his toys in the living room and insisted you sit in the dining room because you were a guest. Sammy was with Nate for a bit, as Maura was bringing out some lemonade. She set you by the wooden dining table, which had a red flannel runner long-ways. The brownies were in the middle of the table, along with a few plates and napkins. There was also a woven bowl with apples in it beside the brownies. You could tell she was the type of woman who dressed her house according to season, no matter if she lived alone or not.

“Sammy said you grew up in LA, hun, where you from?” Maura spoke, coming out of the kitchen. 

“Oh, just over in Altadena, not too far.” You spoke as she poured you a glass. 

“Do you still live over there?” 

“No, ma’am, I moved to Eagle Rock.”

“Oh, Eagle Rock is nice! Why Sammy moved all the way to Castaic, I don’t know.” She threw her hand in the air frivolously as she sat.

You looked over your shoulder at Sammy, who was leaning against the kitchen doorframe. You cocked an eyebrow at him as he playfully rolled his eyes.

Sammy had grown up in North Hollywood, and Maura still lived in his childhood home. Last you heard, his father moved over to Long Beach with his boyfriend. Living in Castaic only meant isolating himself from his family more, especially now that Tammi relocated to the city. Basically everyone he knew wasn’t sure why he moved so far out.

Maura asked questions about how you grew up, your family and where they were. She asked about your college experience and what you did now. Every joke with her hit, you were almost afraid she was laughing out of politeness. She did comment on your youth and how she remembered her days.

She recounted how she met Sammy’s father, on the docks in Long Island, where she was from. He was working on the docks for that summer, staying with his family in Montauk but originally from California. She’d call it her Great Gatsby fairytale, because his boat had a green lantern that he’d turn on at night. Eventually, she had been the one to propose to him, saying Let’s just get it over with. Then, she said he ended up being a Nick Carraway type, and that told you enough. 

“Now, when are you gonna pop another grandchild out for me?” She teased suddenly, which made you choke on the lemonade in the glass. “Well, I mean, I had Sammy around your age. I hear you’re good with Nate.”

You laughed politely, taking a napkin to pat your mouth. 

She continued, “You and Sammy would have a beautiful kid together. Nate’s nose kinda looks like you-know-who.” 

“Mom,” Sammy gritted his teeth, “Can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Oh, Sammy, you know I never liked that Tammi.” You pressed your lips together, attempting to stay out of it. Leaning towards you, she asked, “Does she still have that shrill voice? Always so obnoxious.” 

You attempted, “Well, Tammi’s not that bad.” 

“Oh, please, don’t kid yourself.” Maura sighed, sitting back in her chair, “It’s a shame you married her, really, Sammy.”

“I was young.” Sammy sighed in the same way Maura did, moving over to sit beside you at the dining table.

“Oh, that reminds me!” 

Suddenly, she jumped up from her seat. You watched as she headed for the living room. She walked over to the bookshelf and started searching for the right photo album on the shelf.

“See, angel?” Sammy whispered, reaching his hand over the wood to squeeze yours. He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “Already likes you.”

“Terribly low bar.” You shook your head, a smile growing on your lips as you squeezed his thumb in your palm.

Maura returned with two albums in tow, throwing her hand in the air frivolously as she placed the two albums on the table, “Okay!”

“Ugh! I’ve been waitin’ to show someone these.” Maura rubbed her hands together before putting her reading glasses on. Both covers were soft fabric, patterned reds with big letters spelling out Sammy’s name.

“I’m excited.” You said with a grin growing on your face. Scooting closer, you watched Maura open one of them, the front cover holding a baby Sammy.

“You’re in for a treat, hun.”

She showed you each photo, having a backstory for nearly everything. Sammy was a chubby baby, huge head and everything. Apparently, he had been very clumsy but happy. He’d run into furniture or slip on himself, but get up and start laughing anyway. It was a lot about not being able to handle his head. You didn’t want to be disrespectful, but Maura took all the jokes out of your mind and said them aloud.

“Huge, right?” She tapped her red nails at an image of baby Sammy lying down with his chubby fingers wrapped around an action figure. His smiley face and shut eyes on display, smiling just like he did now, his head basically was the size of his torso. “Sometimes I’d look at his head and wonder how the hell that came out of me.” You laughed, louder than you meant to, causing Sammy to roll his eyes playfully.

Skimming through his toddler years, she showed you pictures of Sammy and his father. Sammy looked more like Maura than his dad— maybe Sammy had his eyebrows and his curls, but freckles, smile, and face were all his mother’s. She joked her genes were so strong, that it contributed to her dominant personality.

Sometime through the album, Sammy left the dining room to check on Nate. You were still cackling over his teeball days with Maura. Holding Nate in his arms, a smile couldn’t rip itself off of his face when he watched you interact with his mom, how comfortable it looked, how natural you were.

Sammy got kicked out of the teeball league when he got into a fight with one of the kids over the rules. Rule follower, Maura called him that multiple times, through images of his buttoned-up Picture Day best, spelling bee awards, and the first image of him at a police station, age 7.

“That’s why this is about to be surprising,” Maura raised an eyebrow at you, a joking smirk on her face.

Bringing Nate over, Sammy noticed you had fallen into the album of his teenage years, where he looked like he didn’t want to be in any photos— attributed to the tilt of his head, fine line of his lips, and the furrow of his eyebrows. He had long hair, curls that hung just past his chin. He wore baggy clothes and his friends looked just as miserable as him.

He peered over your shoulder as you landed on a picture of him and his friends. He had been in a band, and it was a photo taken in the garage, when Maura insisted on bringing them snacks. He was holding a microphone, mid-song, as his punk friends were on instruments behind him. All disheveled, they looked like the kids that hung out under the bleachers when you were in school.

“Oh, my God. I would’ve hated you in high school.” You said, looking back at Sammy.

“He was not a ladies man.” Maura confirmed with a chuckle, taking a sip of her lemonade.

Your high school experience was more normal, you'd say. You attended parties and kept social, but still focused on school and grades to go to college. You definitely didn’t find yourself in a specific category, not like Sammy did.

“Oh, yeah, the Spoon guys.” He rocked Nate in his arms as he examined the photo.

“Spoon?” You raised an eyebrow as Nate reached for your hand. 

“Sammy, Paul, Oliver, Nick. Yeah,” he smiled fondly, “It was like really shouty ska music. My band played two house shows in Van Nuys and got the cops called on us both times. Nick works in insurance now, and Paul took over his dad’s pool company. No idea where Oliver went.”

You couldn’t imagine long-haired stoner Sammy no matter how hard you tried. Even with the evidence in front of you, your Sammy had been so different from what he was. He rarely ever talked about his high school years, just that he’d gone and it was bad on him. Opening up his childhood home to you was like opening a side of Sammy you’d never known. 

Pictures of him as a child, pictures of him as a teenager, his eyes stayed so sweet through it all. Whether he was smiling wide with missing teeth or staring into the camera like he was tough, his hazel eyes pulled through all of it. Everything he had experienced without you rested inside of him, waiting to be known by you. If you looked now, the warmth and comfort and love in his eyes were the same… And still yours.

“I saw Brenda and Charles, Nick’s parents, last week. Say he’s a mess on his fourth kid.” Maura shook her head with a frown as she swept her hands back and forth, palms down. Grasping your hand, she curled an eyebrow and peered at you over her glasses, “That’s why two is perfect.”

“Mom…”

You took Nate from Sammy’s arms and into your lap as you nodded at Maura to continue. He played with strands of your hair as you adjusted him over your thighs.

“I was done after this one ‘cause I became a Nurse Practitioner. Busy, busy. Always.” She said, as if it were a warning rather than a suggestion. 

Sammy placed a hand on your shoulder, before mumbling into your ear, “Just gonna use the bathroom, sweetheart.”

You nodded, watching him as he left. Maura’s gaze followed yours until he fully disappeared into the hallway.

Leaning towards you, she lowered her glasses and said quietly, “I don’t think I’ve seen Sammy this happy since he got a college acceptance letter.”

You chuckled bashfully as you shook your head to yourself.

“No, really, hun.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, grounding you. Her warm eyes, reminiscent of Sammy’s, looked at you with such kindness and welcomeness. “You’re a smart girl, you’re good with Nate, Sammy’s absolutely taken with you. I can see it in the way he looks at you. It’s like he found a proper place to put his heart. He’s never been like that in all his life, hun. You’re it.”

Your mouth ran dry with Nate in your arms. The comfort of walls, the smell of sugar, someone to come home to, and his mother holding you like family. Your heart fluttered at the notion that this could be yours too.

“You really think so?” You asked, eyes twinkling as you smiled at Maura.

Sammy came out of the hallway with the click of his cellphone. He looked disoriented, eyes scattering as he ran a hand through his hair. Her hand released from your shoulder when she looked up at him.

“Hey, uh, Tammi’s getting really antsy for some reason. She said she wants Nate now instead of later.” He furrowed his eyebrows as his eye caught yours.

You nodded reflexively, as Nate’s whereabouts weren’t really for your concern. The sun had already turned warm against the thin cream curtains as it toed the horizon. You offered Maura another soft grin before standing up and hoisting Nate on your hip.

“I don’t understand the need for Tammi.” She thought aloud as she started walking the two of you out.

You exhaled in a hidden chuckle as you followed her and Sammy towards the front door. 

Pulling it open, Maura reached her arms up and around you to give you a tight hug. It was another one of those made from welcoming comfort, one that said you belong here. You smiled sheepishly into her shoulder as you hugged her with the arm not holding Nate up.

“Thank you for the fruit platter. You’re welcome here anytime, hun.” She smiled, her thumb going to pinch your cheek softly and endearingly.

“We should get brunch or something next week, Maura.” You said, adjusting Nate in your arms.

“I’d like that.” She nodded sweetly before sending you on your way.

Sammy’s heart melted as he watched the interaction, a soft blush of pink tinting his cheeks. He moved over after your farewell, allowing you to step through the door before him. He gave his mom a big hug and a small goodbye before following you out as well. 

She stood by the door, leaning on its frame as she watched you move down the walkway to the car. With a little wave, she sent you on your way.

The drive to Tammi’s new place didn’t take long, as traffic was virtually nonexistent at that time. You stayed quiet most of the ride, letting your thoughts culminate and pile over, also not wanting to say anything in front of Nate just yet.

“Say bye to mama.” Sammy said as he helped Nate out of his carseat.

“Buh, mama.” Nate spurted out, waving both his hands in the air. “Mama.”

The whole mama thing with Nate just stuck, so you stopped trying to fight it. If you were around more than Tammi, if you posed actual importance in Nate’s life, then so be it. He even started picking up habits from you and little things you said or you showed him. You embraced your closeness with Nate, and you refused to view it as a negative thing.

“See you later, bud.” You blew a kiss from your palm, which he did the exact same— little hand wide and exhale through his open mouth in your direction. 

After a brief exchange of irritation, Sammy put Nate and his things in the hands of Tammi then trailed back to the car in the driveway. He slipped back into the driver’s seat with a tired sigh. 

You reached your arms out to him, wrapping around before he drove again. You let Sammy rest his head on your shoulder as you raked your nails through his growing curls. He exhaled into you, hand finding your thighs to paw at. 

“Did you have fun, baby?” He asked, voice muffled by your shirt.

Chin resting on his head, you nodded and hummed, “I like Maura.”

“Maura likes you,” he moved his face to plant in front of yours with a wide smile.

“I know that.” You chuckled as you surfaced a hand on the side of his face and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“I need a burger.” Sammy said abruptly with the cheesy smile still stuck on his face.

Deciding on a whim, the night ended at your house. Sitting on the couch together, you watched the next few episodes of your show, the many-seasons-long sitcom you had been working through with Sammy. 

You were comfortable with his arm around your waist and your legs over his. Fries loose on the table, sodas gathering condensation, and burger wrappers discarded, he rested his head on your shoulder as the studio laughs formed a lullaby.

Cycling through the Folsom database, you chose Andrew on a whim, in between puffs of a joint. His mugshot was interesting. He looked angry— who wouldn’t be—, but there was a subtle sadness behind his eyes that you could catch through the black and white grain. You even joked to your friend how cute he was, that he had guard dog face. 

You decided to handwrite it, thinking it would be the least effort you could put in what might be the worst written letter of your life. You wrote the usual “Stay Strong” spiel every example letter you found on the internet started with. 

Throughout the letter, you found yourself trailing off, telling him meaningless information— the weather outside, what songs you listened to sounded like. You tried asking about himself without being too insistent or nosy, though you weren’t even sure if you’d hear back. 

Finishing the letter unsurely, you attempted a friendly goodbye, trying not to seem like you looked down on him or pitied him in any way. 

Respectfully, Yours

You didn’t expect to hear back. 

Two weeks or so passed and an envelope from Folsom found its way into your mailbox. Having forgotten about the letter due to your event-heavy week, the government-style envelope scared you. Sure, you skipped Jury Duty once to go Cabo on Spring Break, but that didn’t warrant a direct summons from jail.

With the furrow of your eyebrows, you tore open the envelope and realized it was from Andrew. His handwriting was neat and meticulous, not messy and boyish like you thought it would be. The weight of the graphite, though, was heavy and strong, like it had been yelling at you.

Thanking you for the letter, he said he was surprised to hear from a stranger. He told you about his family, his mom and brothers, without any explicit details. You mentioned the beach and sunshine in your letter, and Andrew mentioned salt air in his, dropping that he’d grown up in Oceanside.

His letter was quite brief, sentences cut short and proper specificity thrown out the window. He didn’t say much about his conditions but he did end the letter with a

I hope to hear from you again soon. I don’t get many letters.

His slight vulnerability hit your heart with a pang. The honesty from him seemed like he really did need someone to talk to. You could’ve mistaken it as classic sympathy, but something tied you to him.

So, you wrote again, not as an assignment but just for you. Maybe you were lonely too, but a little letter could do no harm.

You told him how the initial letter was for a class, apologizing for formalities. You gave a neutral comment on his family, sharing about yours too. 

Andrew? Isn’t that too formal? Andrew. I feel like I’m scolding you just writing it. Is Andy okay? I hope it is. I won’t use it if it isn’t.

Although he basically had your home address, you shared that you also lived in San Diego, attending the public university. You told him about your classes, your favourite simple things in life. He seemed to enjoy it when you described your scenery to him, so you did. 

Writing back, he said he didn’t mind if you called him Andy. He said that no one really called him that, that his nickname back home was “Pope”— without an explanation. He shared that he didn’t finish high school, again, without an explanation, and said that you must be smart.

The letters flowed, maybe once or twice a month. Check-ins, details about your friends, things Andrew missed about the outside world, postcards, printed photos of the city, doodles of Rottweilers and Pitbulls in the margins (from you). 

You even threw in a photo your friend took of you on Crystal Pier. Wide smile, eyes squinting, skin glowing, and the waves rushing down below. Quickly and dismissively, Andrew had slipped that he thought you were beautiful, which made you blush. (Strangely, this was the most action you were getting lately.) 

Though he didn’t say, he pinned that photo of you up in his cell, and threatened anyone that commented or looked too close. He called you my girl, letting everyone interpret it as they would.

Eventually, it became a weekly thing.

Something about your gel pens scratching across the paper felt romantic to you. You felt like you were waiting for your husband to come back from war. Only, that wasn’t the case. On the off-chance you mentioned it, your friends never failed to remind you that you were writing to a dangerous man in his 30s that was locked up. It only thrilled you more.

Then, you started venting to him, telling him things you had a hard time saying aloud. Letters got deep, talking about your mental state and how you felt isolated. How much you loved San Diego, but was homesick half the time. How you craved proper human connection past fleeting moments at parties or networking around campus.

Andrew answered without judgement. He didn’t have much advice to give, but nonetheless offered his listening ears, or eyes. You never asked, but he told you about the bank robbery, how long they’d keep him in. Again, no details, you figured it was for safety. He told you about jail, the food, the walls, the boring days— nothing that mattered. He said he doesn’t get many visitors and how that made him feel even more lonely.

You shared how you wished you could visit, and you meant it. 

You were acting like one of Andrew’s friends, and not some stranger that wrote to him for a school project. You wished him a happy birthday, as he did you. Although small, you continued sending photocards, ticket stubs to movies you saw, sometimes a lipstick stain if you were feeling cheeky. You grew so attached, yet you didn’t even know him.

One month in particular was rough. Having all your midterms condensed into two weeks drove you insane. You spent most of your time at the library, then holed up in your room if not. All your time went to studying, working, then exhaustion. 

After your last midterm, your friends had mentioned Wine Wednesday and you jumped on the opportunity to go outside, only on principle.

The night was rough. Your friends had met some other people they knew at the party, and you trailed along like a beaten down horse. It was nice meeting new people, but you didn’t get comfortable. You got tipsy, though in a way that was no longer fun. When your adrenaline crashed, you decided it was time to take yourself home.

Missing your bed, you quietly toed into your apartment, locking the door behind. You thanked the gods that your roommates were on their own planets and far from your orbit. You just needed one cigarette, then to collapse and leave everything to the morning.

In your room, you reached for your light switch as you placed your keys on your table. You were mentally drafting how you’d change into your pyjamas, then head to the balcony. 

As you looked up, you saw that the articles of clothing that you had thrown around in search of an outfit hours prior were neatly folded on the bed. In fact, your room was about 50% less messy than you left it. A man had been sitting on the foot of your bed, perfect posture, dark clothes, and watching you.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You flinched as soon as you realized. Your eyebrows furrowed, more angrily than scared this time. You figured it must be a guest of your roommates, they were always bringing interesting characters over. You peered back into the common room, like you missed something, then dipped your head back to look at him. “Who the fuck—“

“You didn’t write last week.” His voice was simple yet gruff as he spoke, standing from his position. He didn’t come towards you and his arms remained at his sides, hands empty and unthreatening.

“What?” You decided you were too tired for this bullshit, sometime in between your breaths. It took you a second, but you squinted your eyes at him when you realized, “Andrew? What the hell are you doing here?”

His name on your tongue struck him harder than he thought it would. He’d lie awake some nights, attempting to give a tone and pitch to you. Were you sweet? Did you have a harsher voice? Or maybe you were loud and obnoxious (he didn’t like this one much, but decided he could live with it). He replayed what he thought your voice sounded like a billion times in his head, but it never matched up to the real thing, to this. 

Andrew would read your letters to himself as if you were reading them aloud to him. Your writing led him to believe you didn’t sound dumb or obnoxious, maybe expressive, maybe relaxed at times. He never really settled on one thing, as your syntax changed day-to-day when he imagined you. What mattered wasn’t the persona he placed you in, just that it was you. 

“You didn’t write last week.” He repeated. 

You placed him side-by-side to his mugshot in your head. His hair was now short, untamed, choppy. His puppy dog eyes looked sweeter in person, even though there seemed to be heat behind them. The crease between his eyebrows was his most distinct tell to you, as was the flat line of his mouth that bordered on upset. He had a dimple on his left cheek, which you couldn’t see in your mental image of the photo.

“What, so you broke out of prison?” You furrowed your eyebrows with a sigh, reaching for your cigarettes and lighter on your dresser. 

“I got out on parole.” 

“You can’t just break into people’s houses, Andy.” You said, as if you forgot that he was a criminal.

“I wasn’t going to.” He offered, though even he knew it wasn’t true. “You’re usually home before this time.”

With a gulp, you nudged your head towards the balcony. 

Sitting side-by-side in your patio chairs, Andrew told you about his good behaviour that allowed his parole, that they let him out after only 3 years. He also told you that he had just gotten back that day.

“You came to see me first?” You smiled before taking a puff of your cigarette. You looked at him, a twinkle surfacing your eyes. “I’m flattered… Even though you broke into my home.”

“It’s hardly a break-in if your balcony door is unlocked.” He stated sarcastically as you passed the cigarette to him. His tight lips had gone where yours had, and he coughed up a little since his lungs weren’t accustomed to the taste anymore.

“I’m on the third floor.” You said as he simply shrugged.

In between puffs and fingers gliding against each others’, he told you what he couldn’t say in letters. Not with visceral detail, but he told you about the guards, the isolation, the torture. There was a point in the conversation where his voice cracked and stalled, like he just might shatter in front of you.

“I did a paper on institutional abuse for my criminal justice class,” You told him quietly, “I’m not going to claim to understand, but it’s rough. I’m sorry you experienced that, Andy. You didn’t deserve it.”

He didn’t say anything, just a singular nod. 

You placed a hand on his, which was resting on his thigh, “We don’t have to talk about it right now, if you don’t want to.”

Andrew’s lips quivered and his eyes hardened as he looked at you. He huffed, hand unmoving and body completely still. He wasn’t used to human touch— hell, it had been years since he'd properly seen a woman, but even before that…  Genuine affection wasn’t a familiar concept. Everything, even a hug from his own mother, bore deadweight or pity. 

When you had started being more than just nice in your letters— sharing how you’d thought of him throughout your day, how you anticipated each letter, how you felt connected to him—, he thought you were expecting something in return, money or whatever. Then, your letters carried on without manipulation. 

It was so overwhelming how much you actually seemed to care about him that it made him lightheaded. Your words, your loopy handwriting, hearts above your i’s, was a drug to him. Hitting each syllable after the next, like it was his only escape. If your letters were a puff of a joint, then your touch was heroin.

You had cased his demeanor and observed his stillness. It was like his brain shut down, eyes vacant and looking into yours. His mouth fell from the paper-thin line he pressed it into as he tried to make sense of the situation.

He was unsure what to do, but then he realized you weren’t asking anything of him or forcing anything out of him— you were giving him grace. His wrist turned over and his fingers grasped yours gently.

“Did you mean it?” He looked into your eyes again. 

“Mean what?” You tilted your head at him.

“If I could, I would visit you. I’d sit with you for as long as possible.” He recited from memory. His eyes stayed on you like a spot. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, or I’d talk your ear off if you’d let me.” 

Of course you meant it, but you winced when he said it, “Was that too much?”

He swore he almost smiled.

“I swear I’m not as cheesy as I come off.” You looked away. “I just like to pretend.”

“Pretend?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

It was embarrassing, the way he made you talk. Andrew made you verbalize and illustrate how you felt in ways you ordinarily weren’t able to. The letters were that escape for you, but now, face-to-face, you felt you knew him too much to have a little whimsy without feeling ridiculous. 

“I don’t know,” you looked back at him and gulped, “Just that I know you differently.”

“Differently?” 

With a hesitant sigh, you admitted, “Like you’re my soldier away at war, and I’m waiting for you to come home… so that we can get married and have a family together.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t mocking, just acknowledging. The way his calloused hand went limp in yours, you didn’t know how to feel. His face was a hard read, always completely still and utterly stoic. Although that was basically what he did too, he didn’t know what to say without sounding insane.

“I know… Playing a fantasy? It’s stupid.” You said dismissively, looking away. 

“No.” 

You looked back at him, not ready for more of your stupidly vast imagination to come to light. His thumb ran over your knuckles as you did so, gently over then back then over again, like he wanted to remember this feeling beneath his fingers. He looked down at your hand, then back at you.

Tapping on your ring finger, “Sorry, I would’ve brought a ring if that was the case,” he joked in that deadpan voice of his.

You smiled, nearly giggled like a schoolgirl then stopped yourself out of embarrassment. You couldn’t even care that he broke into your apartment and most likely went through your things while cleaning. 

Usually, you’d think of what your friends would say, the questions your family would have, the looks you would get, but it all went away. The noise of this is insane was blocked out with his real voice and his tangible body. 

“Do you, um…” You cleared your throat. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Andrew remained silent, and you figured that was an answer.

You offered him clothes, some of your old boyfriends’ from years past and a big Snoopy t-shirt you got at a blood donation drive. He raised an eyebrow when you handed them to him.

“‘S all I have.” You pursed your lips with a shrug. 

While he was brushing his teeth in your bathroom, you meekly approached the door, rubbing your hands over each other. 

“I, um… I have class in the morning, but we can get lunch together after.”

Looking at you through the mirror, he nodded, face still emotionless. The t-shirt that hung on his frame casually and the loose fit of the sweatpants made him look like he belonged there. Serious face with your purple towels hung behind him and your flouncy shower curtain in the distance. Even with toothpaste on his lips, you couldn’t help but beam inside. Was it weird to extend your paper fantasy to reality? Was this unethical? 

You stared at his hand grasped around your extra toothbrush, the yellow Minions one you had stowed away for no reason in particular. The flex of his forearm intrigued you, and you wanted to reach out and feel it. You wanted to map places you’d take him on the freckles along his skin.

When you realized he was staring at you staring at him, you snapped out of it, nodding and heading back to bed.

Coming out of the bathroom, he was headed for the living room, presumably for the couch.

You don’t know why you said it but it came out anyway, “Can you stay here with me?”

When he remained still and didn’t say anything, you patted the mattress beside you. What gravitated you to his physical presence was beyond you, and it made him furrow his eyebrows. Maybe you were just as touch starved as him, but having him stay might’ve pushed it.

“I shouldn’t.” He said.

With a pause, you asked in a small voice, “But do you want to?” 

Sharply inhaling, he found the space on the left side of your bed. The mattress dipped as he laid down on his side, facing away from you. You watched him, nearly disappointed but glad he took your offer, and got under the covers yourself. 

“Goodnight, Andy.” You whispered before turning off your lamp. With a sigh, you bunched the comforter closer to your skin.

Andrew didn’t sleep until he knew you were. When your breaths slowed, he allowed his to, shutting his eyes like it was medication. It took a few minutes of forcing himself to relax, but your bed was much more comfortable than his jail cell.

At some point in the night, you had unconsciously rolled over to where Andrew was, an arm resting along his waist and your face nudging into his back. You curled up behind him, desperate to feel the heat of him on you. If you knew better and were awake, you would’ve kept to yourself. Nevertheless, his hand rested on yours.

When the sun floated by your blinds, Andrew woke up, stiff under your touch like no time had passed between last night and the morning. He realized your forehead was pressed between his shoulder blades and your hand was clutching his abdomen. He looked over his shoulder as he patted your hand with his, checking if you were awake.

Your hair was a mess over your face, mouth ajar and body relaxed. As Andrew shifted away, you let out a disappointed hum, pawing at his stomach. Although there was a thin layer of cotton beneath your fingertips, his skin burned at the movement of your fingers. 

“Five minutes,” you mumbled, morning voice hoarse and irritated.

He eased, turning over to face you. His eyes surfaced over your eyes shut tight and shoulders shrugged under your t-shirt. Your puffy cheek under the strands of hair, soft and supple, called him. His fingertips grazed over, pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear.

Eyes fluttering open, you realized you had been clutching his middle and were now pressed against his shoulder. You inhaled sharply, sliding your hand away and onto the sheets.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Morning.”

You rubbed your eyes and Andrew watched how your hands came to your face and slipped down. He admired the spread of the thin fabric over your chest as you stretched your arms. He couldn’t believe this was real, that you were real.

“Did you sleep well?” Wide eyes waited for his approval after you adjusted to look at him.

He kept his lips pressed together as he nodded. 

A smile spread across your face as you pulled the blanket tight to your stomach. He felt bewildered, watching the sunrays across your nose and your crinkled eyes. Andrew remembered dreaming of this moment, not exactly but waking up next to you with everyday comfort. The normalcy of your grin and your morning eyes warmed him, face turning hot as your eyes trailed his body.

“You’re beautiful.” He let slip, like his mouth had been connected to his heart.

You wanted to scoff or make some self-deprecating quip, but his honey-glazed eyes pulled you into the moment. With a soft exhale, your lips fell into a softer and more relaxed position.

Timidly, you reached your hand to his face. His eyes followed your fingers, unsure and intrigued. The pads of your fingers reached his hairline and your fingers ran through the short strands to find the back of his head. 

By sheer force of will and desire, you moved closer to him, hovering and resting your arm on his chest. His eyes darted back to yours and, all of a sudden, you were only centimetres away. He held his breath in anticipation. Your lips fell into a pout as your eyes darted to the fine line of his mouth. 

“Andy,” you began, voice hush yet sure, “Is it okay—”

“Yes.”

So, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. It was less of a kiss, and more of an adjustment. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes shut as he attempted to meet you in the middle. Your lips plush and soft against his, his chin had nudged forward, like he was kissing with his whole head and not his lips. It was like kissing a soldier’s statue, solid, strong, and unbreaking.

When you pulled away, he looked like he was trying, really trying, to please you. He hadn’t kissed anyone in awhile, and when he had, he wasn’t sure if he was doing it correctly. Eyebrows knit, he sought your approval.

“Relax for me, Andy. Please?” Your eyes went wide again, big and twinkling so you could take him in. The stress on his forehead released, as did the crease of his lips. “Open your mouth a little.” You guided, stabilizing yourself over his face.

He followed directions and you dipped your head back in. He followed your lead, allowing the muscle of your lips to guide his. This time, you felt the soft flesh of his lips. Your lips spilled into each others’ as your fingers found his jaw. Soft, testing presses became pleading sucks, then his hand found your neck, urging you towards him by the base of your skull.

Your mouth had fallen open when his grip tightened slightly, causing a noise to spill from your lips. He caught his breath when he pulled back to see you. Eyes shut with need, your mouth chased him with a heavy huff. And in this moment, Andrew discovered his passion for the art of kissing. 

“Good,” You whined, eyes still closed in bliss, “Perfect, Andy.”

He nuzzled himself into you again, placing one kiss after the other, just the way you wanted. 

Your fingers gripped into his hair as your body needily drifted towards him. 

Before you could properly assess what you wanted, your phone buzzed on your nightstand with the voice memo speech your friend recorded while cross-faded. Andrew flinched beneath you and you ripped yourself away from him.

You groaned, “Shit.” 

You rolled away and Andrew felt his skin buzz at the loss of your body. Reaching for your phone, you shut off your alarm and all the ones in 15-minute increments that followed. Placing your phone down, you turned back to him, now sitting up on your knees. He was watching you with those puppy dog eyes, consumed by how you made him feel. 

“Sorry,” you laughed nervously, “I’d skip this lecture, but it’s new content.”

Face soft, he gave you a singular nod, like he’d do anything you said in that moment. He wouldn’t move until you did. He looked too good in your sheets against the morning glow, so you leaned back down, kissing him deeply again before you knew you really had to go.

Andrew ended up walking you to class, or he walked with you and you showed him around. The sun was bright against the white of the buildings and the sky was clear. He largely stayed quiet, observing the throngs of people and the breeze against his freckled skin.

In the middle of the morning foot traffic, he bluntly said he didn’t like the people on your campus, but his eyes said he was fascinated by the skateboards zipping by as you walked. You shrugged and agreed, too enthralled with his face in the sunlight.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him with you. Warm skin, coated in freckles and tough lines on his face, he was more gorgeous than you ever imagined. It was embarrassing to admit, but you’d grown accustomed to daydreaming this situation. You were simply walking with Andrew and your heart felt full at the corporeal image.

Reaching your building, you pressed your hands to his chest and grinned. You hated to know you’d be away, but you loved that he’d be there when you returned.

“I’ll be done in, like, an hour.” You said, reaching your hands to the side of his neck. 

“I’ll be here.” He nodded, lips threatening a smile.

“I’m glad you’re here, Andy.” 

You leaned towards him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He sighed into you, surfacing an arm on your shoulder. Pulling away, you smiled at him before skipping away to class. 

Andrew wandered around campus, while you learned about the Weimar Republic or whatever. He matched locations to places you described in your letters— the trees under which you liked to write letters at if you weren’t home, the benches where you had an overwhelmed meltdown before a Calculus exam, the booths in the library you fell asleep on for ten minutes at a time, the fast food place that you complained had bitchy cashiers. It was all there, the life before him and now the life with him.

When class ended, you were walking out with one of your friends, talking about the last episode of whatever show you were watching. When you caught Andrew in the corner of your eye, you smiled. 

Angela trailed your eyeline and gasped, hitting your abdomen with her arm.

“No fucking way.”

Andrew was exactly where you left him. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes searching for you in the crowd. She recognized him from the mugshot you showed her, when you drunkenly shared that you were sending letters to a stranger. Looking back at your face, she watched a smile grow from ear-to-ear. 

Scolding your name, she groaned, “Are you fucking serious? You cannot date a criminal.”

“We’re not dating… per se…” You mumbled, shoving your hands in your pockets

“He’s dangerous.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.” 

Softly sighing to yourself, you gazed back over to Andrew, who spotted the two of you among the moving passerbys. He kept that serious stare, not exactly threatening or predatory but saying he could pounce at any moment. His eyebrow rose when you turned away.

“It was cute when it was just letters, but—”

Looking back at her, you shrugged, “You don’t know him, Ang. Not like I do.” 

Before she could respond, you shook your head and started walking away. Andrew tilted his head at you when you approached. Your hand slid into his and urged him to walk away with a slight tug.

“Who’s that?” He followed you slowly, fingers loosely clasping your knuckles.

“Just a friend.” You looked over your shoulder, where Angela was still watching from feet away. 

“Is she causing you trouble?” He stopped you in your tracks with a protective squeeze of your hand.

“Uh,” you looked into his eyes, searching for any sense of seriosity, “No, no. Just some gossip.”

He nodded, allowing you to continue leading him. 

“Are you hungry?” You nudged his shoulder with the side of your jaw. 

“Mmmhmm,” He nodded, feeling the soft breeze against him.

Andrew’s eyes softened as he watched you talk about different food places nearby. Your face amongst the cloud-streaked blue sky, green trees that weren’t withering away, and buildings that didn’t look like security walls and barbed wire. He didn’t really care where you’d take him.

When you caught him staring, you looked down at your hands then back to his face. His cheeks tensed when you smiled at him.

Then, he asked quietly, “How do we do this?”

1: Respectfully, Yours, 2: Halo of the Highest Grade, 3: Devil's in the Details

the night before was… a lot. robby had a particularly bad day at work, which prompted you to encourage him to take it out on you, per usual. it was hot and heavy rounds, which he was even surprised he could pull off.

you hadn’t done much the day before, but your sleep schedule was highly trained into the later hours of the evening and the later hours of the morning. who could blame you, though— summer.

not that you were a light sleeper, but something in you head rang an alarm for robby’s absence. your arm swung up and down the sheets, feeling the suddenly cold folds and wrinkles of cotton.

you remember falling asleep while rubbing your hand up and down the hair on his torso, from his chest to the swell of his belly. you were making some joke out of it, but it ended it up being really soothing. his hand over yours was the last thing you felt before the lights went out on you.

lifting your head, you peeked over your shoulder to see that the sun hadn’t even surfaced the windows yet. robby’s alarm clock had a bright red 5:53 shining at you.

“robby!” you groaned before stuffing your head back in the pillows.

“yeah, sweetheart?” you heard the sound of his electric toothbrush buzzing as he padded back into the bedroom from the en suite. he was undoubtedly scrubbing over his teeth harshly, like his life depended on it.

popping your head back up, you peeked at him again. he was blurry from a distance and still in his boxers. his hairy tummy spilling over and hair damp from the shower, he came slightly closer to the bed.

“too early.” you complained, gesturing for him to get back in.

“go back to bed then, honey.” he said before you groaned again, throwing the duvet over your head.

you didn’t realize that you had fallen back asleep. you were cocooned under the sheets, snug and comfortable. you didn’t want to move until you realized you were about to lose robby for twelve hours (likely more).

robby was sitting up in his scrubs at the edge of the bed, checking his phone, when you perked up. rubbing your eyes, his back facing you came into focus, as did the alarm clock. 6:20.

“morning, baby.” you sighed, reaching your arms out to him. your body lazily drooped over the mattress to meet his backside as your arms slung over his shoulders.

“morning, gorgeous.” he mumbled, leaning into you. his hand anchored onto your forearm. he had his glasses perched on his nose, turning his head over to attempt to see you. “i was thinking about waking you up to say goodbye, but ‘s early for you. go back to bed.”

you kissed the back of his neck with a tired whine, “uh, uh. want you.”

“got work, sweetheart.” he put his phone down as your arms grasped together.

you pulled your legs up to wrap around his waist. tiredly, you hoisted yourself onto his backside. you shifted around until you got comfortable, body practically crawling up his. you settled as you strapped to his back. resting your chin on his shoulder, you kissed him on the cheek.

“what’re your plans today, baby?” robby asked, looking at you as you squeezed your legs around him. he reached a hand to ruffle your hair.

“gonna go swimming at liv’s.” you mumbled, shutting your eyes. “uv’s eight today.”

“don’t forget sunscreen. i got the one you like… smells like bananas?” he said, brushing your hair out of your face. you peeked an eye at him as he spoke. “it’s in the hallway cabinet with the towels.”

“thank you, doctor.” you gave him a wide smile before leaning in for a kiss. his beard brushed your chin as you did so, and you could taste coffee on his mouth.

“doin’ anything else?” he asked, reaching his arm around you to pull you into his lap. his hand squeezed your waist as you maneuvered your legs over him.

you got comfortable on his lap, the small of your back fitting into his arms. your legs hung off his thigh and onto the bed. your side against his torso, his warmth radiated onto you and his hands found your skin.

slinging your arms around his neck, you looked up at him as you settled, “lunch and maybe some shopping.”

he grinned down at you as you adjusted his glasses up his face.

“well, of course.” he nodded, hand going to hold the side of your face. “you gonna send me pictures, baby?”

“of the pool or lunch or shopping?” you smiled

“i think you know the answer to that.” he chuckled, surfacing a hand over your thigh. “better see some charges on my card today.”

“you know me.” you yawned, resting your head in the nook of his neck

“you should get some rest. got a big day ahead, sweetheart.” he placed a kiss on your temple.

He had the social worker coming around soon, but between work and bills, he was splitting himself so thin. Your job was less demanding and largely work from home lately, so you took it upon yourself to help him out.

It was no hassle, really. You always thought that his house needed a makeover, stacking pinterest board upon pinterest board after being around for awhile. You loved a project too, whether it be a craft or the whole house.

Like a storm, the commotion started with a drizzle. It was first new dinnerware in the kitchen.

You had been sitting on the kitchen counter, sipping tea from a cat mug Sammy bought for you. Legs dangling against the cabinets, you watched Sammy open a cabinet with a cereal box in hand.

"Honey?" He stalled for a moment, unmoving and staring into the now full shelves.

"Uh, huh," You responded, moving the cup from your mouth.

He turned around with a maroon-rimmed ceramic bowl in hand as a grin creeped on his lips, "What's this?"

"Oh! Uh..."

"And these?" Sammy gestured to the rest of the plates and bowls in the cabinet. It was a sleu of colours— butter yellow, olive, light blues, peach, red accents, a few browns.

"Do you like ‘em?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I just didn't..." He thought to himself, placing the bowl down. "Did you get them all for me?"

As you nodded, he crowded you, finding space in between your legs. His hands went to your waist and he kissed your cheek.

He breathed your name, leaning his head back to look at you, "You didn't have to spend money on me."

"Your house is getting depressing, Sammy." You ran a hand over his shoulder. "Can't stand that you have two sad bowls and one plate."

"’M just not home enough." He mumbled, squeezing on your hips.

"Gotta make this house a home, honey." You teased, cradling his cheek in your hand. After he placed a kiss on the palm of your hand, you reminded, “You know the social worker is coming next month.”

He sighed, "Yeah, I know, I know. I gotta call an electrician and a plumber or something.”

"So expensive..." You mumbled, squeezing his cheek.

"I know, sweetheart." Groaning, he threw his head back, "I’ve been covering other officers as much as I can too. Tammi’s kicking me in the ass with these custody bills."

“I can call ‘em,” you volunteered, “Already getting busy with work, Sammy.”

"I don't like you paying for things, though." He shook his head. "I’ll leave my card with you. Do not let them charge you for some bullshit."

Shaking your head, you laughed, "Impossible. I know where the guns are."

After a slightly confused second, he furrowed his eyebrows, "Don't—"

"It was a joke, Sammy."

"I'd hate for you to take that up with me." He chuckled.

"Then don't cross me." You said, pressing your index finger to his chest.

Then came the living room.

One of the light fixtures had broken ages ago, before you even got together. Truly, you didn’t understand why Sammy thought the copy-and-paste suburbs were a sustainable and trustworthy living space, but that was a conversation for another time. 

You hadn’t known anything about electricity. With the mere fact that you locked in on the idea of fixing it, there was no stopping you. So, you googled and read Reddit threads and watched Youtube videos. It took a day of hardware store trips and a whole season of New Girl, but the living room lit up with warm lights.

When they did, you realized the boring walls and empty shelves made his house look hollow. You took it upon yourself to print some photos at Walgreens and frame them around the house. It was cute little ones you'd taken of him and Nate on your digital point and shoot, some of Nate from your phone, and maybe a few of you and Sammy snuck in.

He, of course, noticed. Sammy took it upon himself to do a gallery walk around the house. Nate in his arms, he pointed out each photo, giving a story and applauding the artist.

"Who's that?" Sammy asked Nate, pointing at the photo of you and him on your four-month anniversary.

You two had gone to a steakhouse, but after, you really wanted a milkshake for some reason. Like any good man, Sammy took you to your favourite diner to grab one. Since you were dressed up, you pleaded the waiter to take a photo of the two of you. You were pressed together in a booth, milkshake with two straws in front of you, and Sammy smiling at you instead of the camera.

"Mama!" Nate squealed, clapping his hands together.

"No..." You shook your head, squeezing the fat of Nate's leg between your fingers. "Nate, not mama."

Sammy smiled at you with a shrug.

"Mama!" Nate repeated pointing from the photo to you.

That night in bed, Sammy couldn't stop peppering your face in kisses. He'd tell you how much he lovessssssss you while pressing his hands all over your body.

"Love our new pictures, baby." He mumbled with his face pushed into your neck. His hips rocked against you, catching each deep stroke with the next. "Our living room looks so good."

A week later, you were a plumber.

It went the same direction as the lights, but this time Nate was your assistant. It was rare you got full alone time with Nate, but Tammi dropped him off haphazardly, mumbling something about Ojai with a scowl to your direction.

Strangely, you had a lot of fun with Nate, asking him questions he definitely didn't know the answers to. Which wrench? Am I supposed to turn this off? Do you think Spielberg is past his prime? He'd just nod and smile, babbling words he didn't understand either.

After fixing the pipes, you were taking Nate to his room for his nap when you realized how plain his room had been. Awhile back, you bought him a Bartholomew Bear Jellycat, and that was the only thing on his plain grey sheets. The paint had also been somewhat peeling at the walls, meaning Nate was chipping at it.

As Nate went down for his nap, you ordered a nice red plaid duvet cover and new sheets for him. You also scoured the garage for the paint Sammy used in the room.

Later into the evening, your phone rang in your pocket. Sammy's smile next to the Malibu waves greeted you on the screen.

“Hi, hun, you comin’ home soon?” You put the phone on speaker as Nate beamed.

“On my way right now.” A smile grew on his face, you could hear it in his voice. “Just wanted to see if my girl wanted to go somewhere nice for dinner.”

“Sammy,” you whined, “we don’t have to. I can order in some pizza, we can watch a movie.”

As much as you loved going out with Sammy, you were in Nate's room, covered in paint. Your hair was greased with sweat and you were in no state to leave the house. You weren't really sure how it happened, given you were only patching up a few spaces of the wall.

“C’mon, baby, I wanna treat you. We can take Nate for ice cream after too." He suggested.

You looked at Nate, who had (kid safe!) paint all over his hands and overalls. You were matching, paint on yours and little hand prints on your leg. He felt left out when you were painting, so you gave him fingerpaint, a blank roll of craft paper, and a dream.

"Dada." Nate's mouth went agape as yours did. Looking down at the multicoloured mess on himself, he said, "Uh, oh."

"What's uh oh?" Sammy's voice raised in concern.

"Nothing." You shook your head at Nate and sighed, "How far out are you?"

"Like 15 minutes." His voice kept the stressed tone, "What's uh oh?!"

"Don't worry about it. See you later. Love you."

"Love you...? What is uh oh!?" You hung up before he could question you more.

Nate was staring at you dumbfounded. Purple-handed, he stared like he didn’t know what happened.

"You made a damn mess, dude." You shook your head, picking Nate up from the floor.

"Damn mess." Nate repeated, shaking his head as you brought him off to the bathroom.

Upon coming home, Sammy rushed up the stairs. Swiftly turning the corner, he found you in your paint-decorated overalls and Nate sitting on his bed in clean clothes. You were picking up the paint supplies from the floor.

"Oh, honey," Sammy sighed, relief in his voice, "i could've done this."

He came towards you, arm wrapping around you middle as he pressed a kiss into your temple. You placed a hand on his chest, melting into his embrace.

"We had fun, didn't we, Nate?" You smiled at Nate, tapping your hand on Sammy’s chest.

Sammy moved to the bed and took him onto his lap. “What’s with the little art project?” Sammy gestured to the rainbow that was the hem of your pant legs.

“Your son’s a little Matisse.” You handed him the big sheet Nate was painting on.

It was splotches of paints that became half-remembered versions of the beach hike you all went on last weekend. Plants were all the same shade of green, and the ocean and the sun were all wrong proportions. You were a blue blob and Sammy was red. In between, Nate was a collection of purple thumbprints.

“Look as this.” Sammy’s eyes widened, as did his smile, and he held the sheet up in front of Nate. “We have to get this framed.” He looked at you, softness coating his face. You nodded, admiring the image of him and Nate smiling at you. He bounced Nate on his knee, looking at him, “What was uh oh, bud?"

"Damn mess, dude." Nate shook his head at Sammy, pressing his hand onto his chest.

"You gotta watch your language around him." Sammy said with no bite, a smile on his lips. "Mama's been teaching you crazy stuff, huh, Nate?"

"Don't enable him." You rolled your eyes playfully as you placed all the stuff on Nate's play table.

"Phone home." Nate said to Sammy. Sammy quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Man loves E.T.” You shrugged with a smile. "Can you please put this all away while I wash up?" You asked, wiping your foreheard with the back of your hand. “We can go to, like, Chili’s or something.”

“Baby, you deserve better than Chili’s…” Sammy sighed.

Attempting to keep it laid-back, the three of you ended up at slightly nicer chain restaurant. Your sweet tooth had rubbed off on Nate, sharing a baked cookie à la mode for dessert. With Nate’s mouth covered in vanilla and chocolate chips, Sammy smiled at the image of you treating Nate as your own.

At the end of the night, you found yourself in the kitchen with Sammy again. Nate had fallen asleep in the car, then absolutely knocked out after brushing his teeth. In pyjamas and bare feet, you drank a glass of water while perched on the counter.

"You ready for the social worker visit?" You asked.

Sammy was settled in between your legs, sharing your glass of water. Placing it on the counter beside you, he put his hands on your hips.

“Yeah, now that the house is all done-up.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Tammi’s trying to psych me out about it, though. I think she’s telling the workers some bad things about me.”

“Really doesn’t help that Nate thinks I’m his mama either.” You joked, locking a leg around his waist.

“Does it bother you, baby?” He asked quietly, squeezing the plush of your thighs as he scooted in closer.

“No, no, not really. I just…” You shook your head, rubbing his shoulders. “Tammi is his mom, and it’s not like she’s completely detached. I love Nate, but is it fucked up for his development that I’m around so much?”

“Hey, hey… Don’t worry about that, angel.” Sammy ran a hand through your hair. “If you ask me, that’s probably much better for my case… and me.”

laying between your legs, robby had been reading some new medical study on his phone. you were sitting upright against his pillows, scrolling on your own phone. head resting on your stomach, his glasses were tilted down on his nose as you raked a hand through his hair.

"robby?" you hummed, shifting up to see his face.

he kept focus on his phone but hooked an arm around your leg and surfaced a hand over your thigh, "yeah, sweetheart?"

you were aware of robby’s workaholic state, the main cause of cancellations being picked up shifts or extended ones. you were also painfully aware of the casualness of the relationship, but when you had him like this, it was almost impossible to deny his boyfriendability.

“you know how i’m going on that retreat next month? in san diego?” you asked meekly, like you didn’t want to erupt anything in him.

you ran a hand over his chest and he gave your thigh a squeeze, “yes.”

“i know you hadn’t had a vacation in awhile, and i was wondering if you,” you shook your head at yourself, feeling stupid for bringing it up like a proposal. “do you wanna come with?”

the air went still for a moment as you felt yourself involuntarily tense up. your fingers stalled in his hair and your phone had shut off on its own. he was thinking, you could tell by the way his lips pursed.

after a moment, he inhaled sharply, "i don't know, honey. the ed gets busy in the summer."

"s'only four days," you murmured, sounding more defeated than you meant to, "c'mon, baby. always overworking yourself."

your hand ran over his shoulder tiredly as he thought to himself. you felt a bit whiny for pleading, but you really didn't get to spend outside time with robby. at this point, your relationship had culminated to half-asleep booty calls, late drinks at the bar, and maybe a few days of sun.

"you need a vacation... and i wanna spend time with you." you said. "sun will be good for us."

saying that made it seem like there had been something wrong with your relationship. robby and you were good, sweet and cozy, but that wasn't necessarily 100% false. you felt like you hit a wall with him, constantly finding yourself in the confines of his home. mixing it up would be nice.

leaning his head back to look at you, he asked, "it means that much to you?"

"yeah, i want you there." you ran a hand along the middle of his chest, coaxing him up to you. he maneuvered himself up to you and pulled your legs onto his.

finding himself cuddled to your side, he sighed, taking you into his arms, "let me see what i can do. no promises."

a smile grew on your face, your hand rubbing along his beard, "really?"

he nodded, "wanna make my girl happy."

leaning his head down to kiss you, he reached his hand to remove his glasses. you stopped his wrist softly, shaking your head with an uh, uh before pressing your lips to his. he chuckled into it, pushing his body flush against yours.

the vacation was so good to you.

it was sunset walks on the beach. bare feet padding on the sand as the waves swept by, your hand would be intertwined in robby's. you'd gossip about your coworkers, and he'd comment on how interesting your work environment sounded. a kiss to the top of your head, he'd mumble some random fact about seagulls he remembered from when he was younger.

it was drinks at the pool. the shimmer of the afternoon coating your skin, you were dipped in the three-feet zone, sunglasses on and daiquiri in one hand. robby's wet hair dribbled onto his tummy and his prescription sunglasses were perched on his nose.

he was sitting on the ledge, propped up on his hand and legs surrounding you in the water. he had a book in hand, some modern tragedy you urged him to read. every few minutes, he'd steal a sip from your drink, after he had complained that it was too sweet for him.

your head rested against the inside of his thigh as you kicked your legs in the water. humming along to the song that played from the speakers, you grazed your fingers over the hair on his legs. he'd said he wasn't ticklish, but he flinched each time your fingerpads met his skin.

it was sunbathing, falling asleep on the cushions of daybeds with your hand lazily grazing robby's near the ground. robby rubbed suncreen across your back when you were too lazy to do so, mumbling importance of uv protection. you'd kiss him lazily as a thanks, and he commented how he could taste the chlorine on your skin.

"'cause i'm a mermaid," you gave him a big smile before burrying your head back into the towel.

it was a warm bath, where robby had dozed off behind you while you watched some old reality show on the bathroom tv. his pruning fingers stayed intact with yours, refusing to let go under the warm water as snores came from his mouth. you'd snicker, old man, while snapping a photo of his agape mouth and head rested against the porcelain.

it was slinking around in the plush hotel robes. leaning against the railing of your room's balcony, robby and you shared a bottle of cabernet sent by your boss. the sun had already set but the night was still creeping up on you, light blue becoming cerulean against the yellow lights of the resort.

his arm around you, you pressed kisses to his cheek while discussing the optional company events. his hair messy and a goofy grin on his face, you'd insist on taking a photo of him.

and you'd eventually find your robe being slipped off when your bottom hit the bed.

it was meeting your coworkers, ones robby had only been familiar with as characters. your friends were sweet to him, introducing their own significant others, or whoever they had brought.

the "office asshole" made a joke about how robby could've been your father, which you responded to with a quick kiss on robby's lips and an excuse us.

your boss, very intoxicated, had squealed when she saw you and robby. arms wide open, the bright fuschia of her dress hung off her sunkissed arms as she ran to you, her quiet wife trailing behind her.

"the famous dr. robby!' she practically yelled. robby had nodded his head bashfully, taking her hand into a delicate shake. before another martini was calling her, she pointed a red-manicured finger at him, "do not hurt her, i mean it! she's my best team player."

it was, of course, taking advantage of the huge, fancy hotel bed. air conditioning chilly and comforter fluffy, robby and you spent mornings and evenings wrapped up in each other. hands touching every inch of you, he took every move slowly and followed the same pace each round. kisses turned into laughs as time was forgotten, locked behind the door with the rest of your worries.

on the final night, the company was hosting a grand dinner event. robby was more excited than he led on, asking your opinion on different outfits. you were too lazy to properly get ready yourself, doing makeup in bed with your phone as a mirror while offering him critiques. you stayed in your robe while you did your hair too, not bothering to change until the last minute.

by the time you did have to dress up, robby was facing the mirror, fixing up his shirt. glasses still on, the crows feet by his eyes were pronounced as he squinted to see the little cream buttons. smiling, you moved towards him.

“look so handsome with your glasses, honey.” you mumbled, hands surfacing over his back. you pressed your face snug against his neck, tip-toeing to press kisses against his skin.

“mmm,” robby nodded, reaching over to wrap an arm around your middle, “don’t get started, baby. you still have to change.”

"won't." you shook your head, a coquettish smile on your lips. as he reached his head down for a kiss, you tapped his shoulder, "keep 'em on," before leaving to slip on your dress.

balancing against the bathroom door, you pulled your shoes on and asked, "ready?"

robby was on his phone, leaning against the dresser in front of the mirror. a soft uh, huh left his lips before he tilted his head up to you. eyebrows raising and mouth falling slightly agape, he put his phone away and smiled at you.

you looked up from your shoes to see robby with his hands in his pockets and a wide grin on his face. catching him checking you out, a smirk played at your lips before slinking over.

your hands reached to rest on his shoulders and your arms rested against his. you observed the crinkle of his eyes and the haze that overtook him. his fingers found your hips, studying the thin fabric of your dress.

"look so beautiful, sweetheart." he said before pressing a kiss to your lips. his warmth overtook your body, just enough for you to sink into him. hovering near your mouth, he mumbled, "i don't tell you that enough."

"don't get started." you mocked him in a whisper, running a hand along his neck to the back of his head and down.

the dinner was exactly what you expected. fancy menu, open bar, your boss getting far too wasted. robby stuck by your side, not even bothered (like he’d usually be) when every other person fawned over the fact that he was a doctor.

a few times, he'd find himself in seemingly incessant conversations with your coworkers' boyfriends and husbands about pain in their back or soreness in their feet. you'd then sweep in with a kiss to his cheek and a honey, come be with me, saving him. with a grateful smile, he'd kiss you on the head as you made your way miles away from them.

there was even a small jazz band, playing standards for the few tipsy middle-aged couples on the dance floor. when the night wound down, slower songs started playing, inviting everyone to the floor with open arms. the string lights overhead and the classy embellishments of the hotel made the scene picturesque. it seemed as though the atmosphere painted smiles on faces and dusted love everywhere.

whimsy in his eyes, robby nudged his head to the dance floor with a hand out for you to take. the gesture astounded you, bringing a wide smile across your face.

"robby, is that you?" you'd poke, taking his hand and following him to the dance floor.

he took you into his arms, like it was the most natural thing in the world. swaying back and forth, his eyes never left you. even when you were pressed to his chest, he couldn't help but fawn over your sheepish smile. hell, he even spun you around a few times. the glimmer in his eye shown so bright and his smile was so wide that you could've mistaken him for a man with joy in his life.

the night ended quietly in the lobby hotel— a nightcap, robby had suggested. a lull fell over the hotel and lights dimmed. you settled into a red velvety booth with robby as mellowed-out guests made their way upstairs.

your leg was lazily swung over robby's knee, and you tilted your head against the soft cushion of the booth. sprawled across the big cushion, you swirled your prosecco in one hand, relaxing as robby massaged a hand over your leg.

"you have fun, honey?" you drawled before taking a sip of your drink.

when you turned towards him, he had been staring at you, stars in his eyes. he had a cheesy smile on his face, one you seldom caught, and the warmth of the lobby lighting made him look so romantic.

"of course." the vacation did something to him, obvious on his face.

"good vacation?" you teased, a quirk of your lips.

"couldn't have been better."

coming closer to him, you placed your flute beside his lowball on the table. your arm leaned on your knee and your chin rested on your hand to get a better look at him. the smile never slipped, and neither did his eyes. in the light of the lampshade, something daring played on his face, but you couldn't quite catch it yet.

"you happy?" you tested.

"always." he nodded once.

eyes gliding to your lips, he indulged for a moment, as did you. he looked so good like this: sitting back, shoulders relaxed, glasses on the bridge of his nose, and a proud smile on his face. your brain whispered husband material. for a moment, and only for a moment, you let the daydream play out.

“i love you.” he whispered softly.

taking a second, you blinked at him. you thought it was part of your reverie, that you hallucinated it. shit, you weren't even sure if he was your boyfriend before this point. the way his breath fanned across your face told you it was real.

robby wasn’t the type of guy who slipped up or made mistakes, so this coming from him was serious. besides, the way his softened eyes looked at you was so intentional and composed.

when you hadn't responded for a while, he continued delicately, "you don't have to say it back or anything. i just... wanted you to know." his hand squeezed on your leg, like he was waking you up. "i know it sounds intense, but you make me feel... good. i haven't felt that way in a long time."

"robby," you murmured, face softening in relief, "i love you too."

another giddy smile played on his lips as he reached his head down to kiss you. lips plush, the kiss was slow and sweet. though it was something you felt before, the kiss felt as if it was molded specifically for this moment.

“what do you say we take this upstairs?” he mumbled, tilting his head away.

“eager, are we?” you raised an eyebrow playfully.

“hey, i’m on vacation. let me savour it.”

with another kiss, you knew you'd be repeating i love you again and again that evening.

He was coming back from a late lunch with Jake, catching up and all. You don’t see him yet, but he’s frozen on the sidewalk, looking at the moving truck parked in the street. It’s you and his next door neighbour standing by the truck, assessing the situation.

Your friend spotted him first, raising an arm up to wave. “Robby.” 

You turned, eyes squinting. The first thing you saw was his beard, then the crinkle between his eyebrows when he was looking at you, trying to figure you out. Your friend hopped down from the truck to meet him in the middle. You followed.

“Hey, Serena.” He greeted her, voice all gruff. He crossed one arm over the other, the glint of his watch facing you. After trailing the cotton of your dress up, his eyes met yours. Golden hour was doing wonders for you.

“This is my friend,” Serena introduced you, “she’s taking over my lease while I’m gone.” 

Robby nodded, “Nice to meet you.”

“You must be the doctor.” You smiled, mouth wider than intended. Serena had mentioned him to you once or twice. Emergency doctor, barely home, but shut-in when he was. Grumpy old man, she had joked, but she never mentioned he was… attractive. 

Robby gave a bashful nod, and Serena must’ve caught you staring because she nudged you on the shoulder. You recoiled, rubbing your arm dramatically.

“Hey, play nice.” She warned you teasingly. Her eyes darted to him, leaning towards Robby like she was telling a secret, “This one bites.” 

“Serena…” You scolded as she headed back to the truck with a laugh and a skip. Face burnt in embarrassment, you cursed her out in your head. You exhaled, looking at Robby’s amusement, an eyebrow quirked by intrigue and a subtle rise of his lip. Meekly, you attempted to smile, “Sorry… Nice meeting you.” You trekked back to Serena quickly. 

Robby let out a breathy laugh to himself, before shaking his head and walking to the door. From over his shoulder, he heard you and Serena laughing to each other. 

“You didn’t tell me that Grumpy Old Man was hot.” He heard you say to Serena. She cackled with an eww attached to it.

The second time you saw him, you were coming home from work. 

It was early in the morning, six o’clock or so. You were approaching the steps to your front door, and he was just emerging from his. Rubbing your eyelids, you couldn’t help but look over. He had on a brown hooded jacket over his scrubs and dark brown boots. His hair was dishevelled, like he didn’t even look in the mirror before leaving. 

When he reached for his keys in his pocket, you realized you had been staring. His head turned and, all of a sudden, you weren’t.

“Morning,” Robby said your name as he gave a sleepy grin.

With a yawn, you nodded, “Headed to work, Dr. Robby?”

He laughed softly, “Uh, huh.” He noticed that you had a bag full of your things and were dressed in sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt, leaning against the rail. “Just got back from somewhere, or…”

“Work,” You nodded, “You know how it is.” He gave a slow nod. You grabbed your keys from your purse and reached for the door. Before opening, you turned over your shoulder, “Have a good work day, Dr. Robby.”

The third time, Robby came home from a night shift.

His sleep schedule hadn’t gotten the memo, but the caffeine in his system told him otherwise. Finishing his shift, he was absolutely exhausted yet alert. The night was college students getting their stomach pumped, babies with too-high fevers, a diner chef with third-degree burns, and sleep deprived parents pacing in the waiting room. Nothing extreme, nothing unusual, but, then again, it was an emergency department.

The sun had been peeking above the buildings that sprawled past his street, and the brisk morning temperature held steady on his way home. Medium blues and lilacs coated the sky and clouds moved so slowly. 

From your stoop, he spotted a puff of smoke flying into the air. Drowning in a dark hoodie, you were perched on your steps, cigarette in one hand and phone in the other. Your knees were pulled to your chest and you were peeking over the railing to see him. He might’ve decided he was too tired to say hello if you hadn’t waved. 

“Robby.” You called, not bothering to stand from your seated position.

“Hi.” He passed his own door, approaching you.

Your eyes glazed over his tired face and rolled up sleeves as he stopped in front of you. Putting your phone down, you patted the brick beside you, sit, like he was a dog. And he obeyed, the smell of coffee, faint pine, and hand sanitizer lingering from one place to the next.

You offered him the cigarette wordlessly, then immediately caught yourself, “Oh, sorry.” You gestured at him, “Doctor. I know.”

With slow hesitation, he shook his head slightly, “Uh, uh.” His fingers traced yours, reaching for the cigarette. He was all wound up anyway, he probably needed it. You gave it to him graciously.

In between his lips, he felt the grain of your glitter lip gloss and tasted the flavour of bubble gum on the filter. You leaned back on your hands, watching him puff. It would be a disservice to not recognize how attractive it was: the suck of his cheeks, lines on his face flattening and reshaping, the pull, then the release. He held the cigarette in between his index and middle, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Work was rough?” You asked quietly, more interested in the way the smoke played by his face than his answer.

“Just tired. I don’t usually work nights.” 

You gave a hum of affirmation, taking the cigarette back from him and puffing yourself. 

“How was work for you?” He nudged his knee against your bare legs, which were now stretched into the sidewalk landing.

“Same old, same old.” You exhaled, facing away from him and crossing one of your legs over the other. Passing the cigarette back, you caught his eye. He had been looking over his shoulder at you, expressionless and observant. Not realizing he was so close, you almost bumped him doing so. 

“What do you do? For work, I mean.” He asked quietly, then took a puff.

You weren’t really listening, scanning his figure instead. The crows feet by his eye, the tired wrinkles on the side of his neck, and the bend of his arm as he rested it against his thigh. You couldn’t even feel guilty because the sight had been that good. Eyes landed on his badge that dangled from his hip. You smiled, tapping it.

“Michael Robinavitch, MD.” You read, looking back up to him. His head turned back to you, the tired look still overshadowing whatever emotion he wanted to convey. “Cute photo.” You teased, grabbing the cigarette back from him.

“Thanks,” he chuckled softly, shaking his head to himself. He watched you take another hit, then stamp it out on the ground. “How do you like the neighbourhood?”

“It’s nice. Very…” you hummed, “Geriatric.”

“Hey…” He scolded playfully. 

You gestured to an old couple across the street, who had been emerging from their front door with a huge greyhound. Waving, you caught their attention and they returned the wave.

“The Robinsons are sweet.” You told him, nudging his shoulder, “I’ve talked to them a few times on their morning walk. Susie’s getting cataract surgery next month.”

“Right.” He nodded mockingly at you.

“But my next door neighbour…” You started, a coquettish grin growing on your face. “He’s another story.”

“Really?” He tilted his head at you and raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, he’s up at ungodly hours of the day, throwing parties and doing God-knows-what.” You exaggerated, watching the Robinsons make their way down the street. “I can barely sleep with all that noise.”

“He sounds terrible.” Robby played along with a smile.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you warned, “He’s lucky we don’t have an HOA.” 

“Okay,” he rolled his eyes. You smiled, watching as his eyes landed back on yours.

Truthfully, you nodded, “The neighbourhood’s nice, much nicer than my last one. Not noisy at all, even when I’m asleep.”

“And your next door neighbour?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Haven’t decided yet.” You pursed your lips. His eyes held yours, and your breath caught. He tilted his head at you, goading more of a definitive answer from you. Then, you nudged his arm again, “You do shut the door like a maniac, though.”

Half-laugh, half-yawn, he smiled anyway, “Uh, huh.”

You looked at the sun, which was breaking between the buildings at the end of the street. The cool morning air had dissipated into something slightly warmer, and you took that as your cue. 

“Should probably get some rest.” You said, meant more for him than you.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He nodded, starting to stand from his sitting position. He slowly made his way back to his door. You stood, watching as he walked down the sidewalk.

“Goodnight,” He called your name from his stoop, looking at you until you said it back.

“Goodnight, Dr. Robinavitch.” You smiled sweetly before escorting yourself into your apartment.

Then, it became a common thing.

Usually, it was a quick hello in the morning— an acknowledgement of his scrubs and ruffled hair and a cheeky goodnight as the sun came up. Sometimes, you’d ask for some miscellaneous ingredient you probably had at the back of your pantry (but wanted to see him). Then, it evolved into something more, like coming over for coffee in the morning.

You’d bring pastries from the bakery a few blocks down. Robby would make some comment about you “spoiling him.” You’d pat his belly playfully after he ate, like you knew him for ages. He’d smile warmly, leaning into your touch. There’d be a moment where maybe you got too close and your eye caught his with a hitch of the breath. Then, you two would go on your neighbourhood walk as if nothing had happened. 

Or Robby found himself tagging along on your grocery trips. You’d be halfway out the door with your reusable bags in tow and he’d catch you from his window. He’d insist on driving, nudging his head to where his car was parked down the street. You’d take aux, playing some modern music he didn’t really know. 

“Learn a thing or two, old man.” You’d smile, nudging him before singing along again. 

At the grocery store, an old lady would make comments about what a sweet couple you were— how you two reminded her of her late husband. Robby would stay quiet, watching your reaction, if any. Then you’d smile and thank them without a hassle. 

Or it was simply a text. Not that he expected to see you everyday, but it was nice to have some kind of reassurance that you wouldn’t evaporate into thin air one day. Some days, you had been out on the town and texting Robby about some nice-looking restaurants or cafes. He’d reply with a “Let’s do it”, secretively smiling at his phone like a teenage girl. 

If an ambulance drove by, you’d snap a picture and send it to him, knowing he was waiting for it. Thinking of you. Wink emoji. 

This became routine, and you had memorized his schedule around yours. It was domestic without the strings. It was lighthearted companionship. You liked the arrangement, and he seemed to too. Especially since work felt lonely, it was nice to come home and have a constant.

On very rare occasions, you invited Robby over for dinner, when he had come home from work and you had a day off, or when you both had a day off. 

“You probably don’t eat much in that hospital, huh?” You teased, passing him a beer from the fridge. You had been stirring the pot of pasta on your stove, while he was leaning against your counter, watching you intently. 

“I manage.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. He was in his “normal person” clothes, a simple t-shirt with a forest green collared jacket on top and some blue jeans. You two had decided to try that new bar down the street after dinner.

You watched the way he fit into the kitchen. So casually, he stood beside you like that’s where he belonged. He had taken the San Diego magnet bottle opener from the side of the fridge, exactly where he knew it was. He even took his shoes off at the door, just as you requested. His hand around the cold glass of the beer bottle was so unconcerned, just as his face was. You’d never seen him so relaxed. 

On mornings where you caught him on the way to work, it was like his shoulders were infinitely tense, automatically flinching at an alarm that wasn’t there. The times you did see him return from work, there was a weariness on his face and a slight droop of the eyes. He looked like he needed a big nap, or a cigarette. You wanted to be the one he fell into at the end of the day, and you were.

You hadn’t considered it too much, since his presence became a habit, but you realized you liked Robby more than you let on. Not only did you want him there, in your house, around all the time, but you wanted him. 

“What?” Robby’s voice and chuckle cut through that thought. His eyes scattered like he’d done something wrong.

Voice weak, mouth gone dry, your eyes darted back up to his face and you asked, “Can you pass the Parmesan next to you?”

He nodded as he obeyed, “You were staring.”

“Yeah, I just had a mini stroke, I think.” You said unseriously, sprinkling cheese over the pasta like you hadn’t said that. 

“What?” He repeated, now more alert. He had shifted forward, arms flexed and hands ready, like you needed them. 

“No, I’m kidding.” You laughed, stirring the pot again.

He settled back into his former position, “Geez, kid. You can’t just say that, ‘specially not to a doctor.”

You sucked in a breath, reaching to turn off the stove, “Dinner’s ready.”

After dinner, you two had ended up at the bar, just as intended. It was far more hip than you thought, falling into a neighbourhood of elderly people. It had a stupid name, The Orca, after the boat in Jaws. The name had nothing to do with the interior.

It was just as dark as it was on the street. The only few lights coming from very dim green glass lamps hanging from the ceiling and the purple, turquoise, green, and warm yellow spotlights that coated a dance floor. Tipsy adults had been dancing— genuinely dancing— to whatever music the DJ was playing. It was packed, expected for a Friday night. 

“I don’t think I’ve danced at a bar since I was in med school.” Robby noted with a chuckle. You were leading him towards the bar, which was busy all around.

Sliding between full stools, you got the attention of one of the bartenders. You turned to Robby, who was just inches behind you.

“What’re you drinking?” You asked, nudging your head towards the bar. 

“Gin and tonic?” He shrugged, surveying the area for some seats. 

You ordered his drink, along with a Rum and Coke for yourself, and requested an open tab. The bartender nodded and trailed off to do so. 

As a group had come and gone from your section of the bar, some guy slid by next to you, “Busy, huh?”

You had been watching your bartender, then realized he was talking to you. Turning over, you squinted your eyes, “Huh?”

Absolutely focused on you, he was probably around your age, nursing a pint. He was fairly attractive, maybe on any other night you’d care. You weren’t a stranger to getting hit on at a bar, but you had just been so disinterested, mind on something else— someone.

“The bar,” He nodded, gesturing around, “It’s busy.”

“Oh,” you shrugged indifferently, “Yeah, well, it’s Friday.”

“Yeah,” He nodded with a smile, leaning towards you, “What brings you here tonight?”

The bartender had finished up with your drinks, placing two glasses in front of you. After a quick thanks, you looked back to the guy and repeated, slightly irritated, “It’s Friday.”

Reaching out for the glasses, you felt Robby tap on your shoulder, “Seats over there.” He nudged his head to the other side of the room, then to the drinks,  “I’ll grab ‘em.” You nodded, moving aside for him. 

Slipping past you, he glared over, spotting the guy who had been speaking to you. The guy’s mouth had fallen slightly ajar as Robby pointedly asked, “Did you need somethin’?”

The guy narrowed his eyes at Robby, who towered over him, and mumbled some “Jesus” under his breath with the roll of his eyes. He walked away and Robby had followed you.

“Seems like you got some fans.” Robby said, sliding into the U-shaped booth beside you and placing the drinks on the table. The red vinyl was sticky under your palms as you scooted closer to him.

You smiled bashfully and shook your head, “Nah, he was just bored.” Robby gestured to him and his friends by the bar, who had been mumbling to each other and looking in your direction.

“A lot of attention for someone so bored.” He mocked, seemingly ticked off.

“Are you jealous, doctor?” You sang, nudging his arm with your elbow. A smile grew on your face as you took a sip of your drink.

The blush on his face and his avoidant eye contact made you settle in closer to him. You watched his hands grasp around his glass, bringing it up to his lips and completely disregarding that there had been a straw in it.

“Well, how about you?” You insisted with a nod, folding one hand over the other on the table. “I’m sure girls are all over you at the bars.”

“Honey,” he chuckled, causing you to cock an eyebrow, “I haven’t properly been to a bar in months.”

“Why not?”

“Well, work… for one.” He shrugged. “And—“

“Okay, how about work?” You interjected, leaning in. “Is it Grey’s Anatomy up in there or what?”

Robby leaned back, a smile playing at his lips and a laugh stuck in his throat, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, c’mon, are you the hospital hussy?” You sipped on your drink, teasing him with a playful grin. 

He tilted his head to the side and squinted his eyes at you as he pursed his lips. You stared right back, as if there had been some competition. That was the thing about you and Robby— you acted like he was your age, not some deadbeat old man whose job ruled his life. He felt like he was still young with you, or at least virile. You acted like it wasn’t ridiculous you two were at the bar together, squeezed into a booth all romantic-like.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He furrowed his eyebrows, but his lips upturned.

You liked the element of surprise you put in Robby. Picking up on his tired eyes, the could’ve-been life that sat wistfully inside of him, you saw the dead end that he thought he met. You felt it too, so mixing it up, saying whatever was on your mind, made it less sad and less lonely. The light at the end of the tunnel, or whatever.

Finishing up your own drink, you noticed that he was running dry as well. His eyes wandered around the swarm of bodies that moved in sync. It was that wistfulness again, a sparkle of nostalgia in his eyes. A smile grew on your face as you recognized the song change.

You nodded your head at him, “You wanna dance?”

Taken aback, Robby gave a surprised smile, “Dancing? Am I in my twenties again?”

“That wasn’t a no.” You sang, smiling as you coaxed his arm to the dance floor.

“I don’t know how to dance.” He protested, reluctantly following you out of the booth.

“Does anyone?” 

You yanked him close by his forearms, having him crowd you, making sure it was obvious who was whose. He smiled like it was ridiculous, saying so under his breath as well. 

You started swaying to the music, finding a rhythm with him. He did the same, slowly trying to break the barrier between awkwardness and euphoria. You smiled, watching him do so. There was something so charming about his meeting you in the middle. 

You leaned your head towards his ear and said, “I was staring, by the way.” Pulling back, you saw the grin on his face grow wider.

“Were you?” He tilted his head teasingly.

“You knew I was.” 

“I wasn’t sure if you had a mini stroke or not.” He shrugged and you rolled your eyes. 

You placed your forearms to rest on his shoulders, beckoning him to slide in closer to you. He did so, hands finding your hips. Becoming one unit, your moves glued to each other’s, just as your eyes did. Your face neared his and you smelled the gin on his lips and felt the heat of him overtake you.

“Hey,” you called, practically into his beard. He nodded wordlessly, completely entranced by his view. You leaned forward but waited for a sign of reciprocity. He smiled again before following suit.

Slowly, you exhaled, surveying his face one more time before pulling yourself up to him. Lips grazed his beard before anything and the tip of his nose touched your cheek. You felt his hands press into your lower back, grasping like he was about to slip. You could’ve sworn he made a sound when you kissed him. 

Music reverbed off the walls and the lights went out on you. The contact of his lips felt like a crashing shock. It was one press— the surface area finding yours as if he needed to memorize it. When his body pressed against yours, your shoulders heighted and your body pushed against him. More. It felt greedy. 

He started pulling back but immediately caught you again. Your lips desperately trailed him, kisses turning sloppier, faster, needier. Every press felt like you found an oasis, sipping water like you had been dehydrated for months, yet you hadn’t even tasted his tongue. 

Your hands found his hair, fingers grazing the soft texture at the base of his skull. The sensation of the skin on his lips, the graze of his beard, the hair between your fingers, the texture of his jacket on your arms all felt like too much but also too little. 

“Robby,” you mumbled, cut off by his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. 

He hummed in return, “Yeah, baby?” He left a kiss on the corner of your lips, like he was starting a trail to return to. His head moved to the right side of your neck, soft kisses along the bone behind your ear, then your jaw, then lower and lower…

“Robby,” You repeated, more as an exhale than a proper word, like it was the only thing blinding your thoughts. His lips lifted from your neck, but his hands stayed stable on your waist. You gulped and opened your eyes slowly, afraid you had imagined it all. 

When your eyes did open fully, you saw Robby, who was staring at you with a certain hunger in his eyes. The purple lights from the club surfaced over his face and you remembered where you were. He was so patient, eyes scanning around your face, ready whenever you finished that thought. Your mouth stayed ajar, dumbfounded.

Your breath desperately caught up with your heart. The sound of the music was white noise, indistinguishable from a breeze in the wind. Your eyes widened and you blinked like you couldn’t believe it. Your senses both shut down and tensed, all at once, as you zeroed in on Robby, who had grown a smile on his face. It was a movie kiss, you identified, a perfect release that could have only been rehearsed trillions of times but happened to fall into you like a shooting star.

“Honey,” he whispered, “You’re staring again.”

You snapped out of it, looking away from Robby sheepishly. It definitely wasn’t the first time you’ve been kissed, but it definitely was the first time you’ve been kissed like that. There was something so sure about Robby; maybe it was the slowburn but you assumed it was the way he guided you, like you didn’t have to worry about anything but being with him.

He squeezed his hands around your waist to get your attention and said, “Use your words.”

“Home, Robby. Please.” You inhaled sharply, “Take me home.”

The walk back was quiet. The orange of the street lights guided you home and strangers slinking around the streets reminded you just how eager you were to leave the club. Robby had slipped his jacket around your shoulders and his hand in yours. He pressed kisses into your temple while you walked, mumbling sweet little reassurance as you leaned into him. 

Your knees felt weak when you approached his door and you wanted nothing more than to feel him again and again. On his stoop, your hands and your back found stability on the cold, steel railing. You felt drunk, not from the drink, but from the buzz and possibility of Robby wanting you too.

Your bottom lip slipped between your own teeth as he looked at you. You were wide-eyed and awestruck, so desperate to know what happens next. His eyes glazed over you in his jacket and he slipped an arm between the jacket and your back, pulling you closer. 

You let out a satisfied hum, watching him unlock his door. Robby smiled down at you as he pushed it open, taking you with him. Your head reached up to his while he shut the door behind you. 

Swiftly, his face met yours and his lips enveloped you again. You sighed into it, drawing closer to him. Your hands eagerly found his chest, running your fingers and palms up and down on the cotton of his shirt. You drew your head back against the door in ecstasy, so relieved and self-indulgent.

This time, his tongue found your bottom lip and eventually the inside of your mouth in three-fourths time. It all happened so slowly, and you drank up every painful millisecond. He relaxed against you, attempting to ease your heart’s tempo. God, he knew you wanted more, but he exhibited such good self control. You whined into it, feeling lightheaded from the taste of him. 

Lips felt wet and messy all of a sudden, but he was taking his time with every kiss, both giving and taking. His mouth worked on you, like tuning a piano to perfection, with controlled movements and an ear for perfect tune. While his hands ran up and down your sides, you felt yourself shudder against him. His bottom half pressed against you as your back pressed up against the door. 

With a groan, you bit down on his bottom lip, begging for more. Your leg hiked up around his hip, craving to feel him closer against you. His right hand found the back of your thigh, running up to grab onto your ass. Perching you on him for just a moment, his lips left yours then his head dipped to your neck.

“You really want me to fuck you against the door?” He mumbled into your skin sarcastically, heat against it causing you to gravitate closer to him. You felt his nose against your pulse and his beard grazing the skin on your collarbone, overwhelming you in the best way.

“Uh, uh.” You gulped, shaking your head as he planted soft, wet kisses up the column of your throat. His hands latched onto you more firmly and he pulled you in. Face moving up from your neck, his eyes found yours and his arm slipped around your back again.

“Good.”

With a yelp, you followed as he began to drag you down the hall with him. You giggled, quick and giddy, causing him to let out a chuckle as well. Your face pressed into his shoulder, warm with excitement and anticipation— so much so, you didn’t realize both of your shoes had been checked at the door. It was silly, the way he made you blush, like you were living some life you only knew before your alarm went off.

Reaching his room, it was barely lit by the warm street lights through the window. The glow surfaced on his face and you could tell he was smiling too. You pushed his jacket off of your shoulders, dropping it to the floor recklessly. He pulled you in close again, and your mouth reached for his lips. He tilted his head up before you could meet them.

“Robby,” you scolded playfully. His beard tickled your fingers as you ran them through. 

He smiled down at you, “I just wanna look at you.”

“I’ll be here all night.” You teased, voice breathy as your hands found the scruff of his jaw. When you kissed him again, his arms went around you and lifted you up, carrying you towards the bed. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your head tucked into his shoulder.

Your back hit the mattress and it felt like the perfect fit. The plush of his comforter molded around your arms and the smell of eucalyptus, wood, and man overtook you. He had a huge, cozy bed, expected of a doctor in his department— you could wonder why he was always so exhausted. You’d trade your cheap queen mattress for the memories you’d have on this foam any day.

Robby settled between your legs, bodies pressed together. You felt him above your jeans, slowly rutting into you just like you wanted. Your legs dangled around his hips automatically, allowing him to get as close to your core as possible. Eagerly, you giggled again as he placed his hands on your hips.

“What’s so funny?” He teased, reaching his head down to nip at your neck again. 

You sighed, throwing your head back to give him room, “Need you to touch me.”

Your hands found his sides, grasping at the tense muscles on his back then finding the hem near his hips to slide your hands in. Your fingertips pressed on the soft flesh of him, feeling as he moved against you.

“Where, sweetheart?” His breath made you press up closer to him. 

Your breath caught in your throat as his head slowly made its way down. First, the space between your shirt’s neckline and the base of your neck, then the valley between your chest. His right hand ruched up your shirt, the warmth from his hand meeting the chill in your skin. Each beat of your heart sped up as his lips pressed against you.

While doing so, he kneeled against you, keeping his body a distance away from yours. His eyes made their way up you dangerously slow. The space between you felt agonizing as the fabric of his shirt teased your bare stomach.

Attempting to find release for the ache in your core, you pushed yourself down to feel him against you. When his knee dipped into the mattress, your hips bucked upwards on his thigh, like a reflex. A soft sound coming from your mouth, you felt Robby grin against your skin.

He hummed, “I’ll take that as an answer.” 

As he drew his head up, you urged him to come closer, pulling him by his back. Your eyes found him in the dim light, pulling his shirt over his head. He seemed to shiver at your touch, fingers finding the surface of his chest before tossing his shirt onto the floor.

Robby followed suit, hands going under your top and pulling it over your head. Humming, you smiled as he sat back, running his hands up and down your torso. He squeezed at your chest and smiled.

You groaned, “Robby,” more annoyed than intended.

“Yeah, baby?” He leaned his head down, body hovering over you once again.

“Taking your sweet ass time, huh?” You mumbled, hands finding the sides of his neck. He shook his head and you could practically feel him roll his eyes.

His hand lightly pushed down on your bare stomach as his fingers searched for the button on your pants. Legs still surrounding his thigh, you squeezed against him as he skimmed your bare waist under the denim.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to move your legs if you want me to touch you.” He chuckled roughly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You obliged, staring up at him while he focused on getting your pants off. When he slipped them off, his fingers skimmed over your lace-clad hipbone, causing you to shudder against him. His head was tilted down, zeroed in on your core.

The wet between your legs gathered when he looked at your face, burning to be acknowledged. There was also a tingling sensation that had been playing on your lips. Desperate to find his, you reached your chin up. Through your underwear, you felt two of his fingers press against you and you pressed up with a quiet moan, taking his mouth to yours. His tongue met yours with a hum and an exhale. 

Robby was still on his knees, and his fingers found their way into your panties. Pushing the gusset aside, he slid the wet up and down your folds, causing you to buck your hips up to him. He hadn’t even put any fingers in you yet, but you were so sensitive that anything was enough.

His lips turned sloppy against yours, saliva mixed with whines. Your breath was jagged too, chasing the high he was giving. Your hands splayed around his head, so eager you had no clue if you wanted to push his head closer to yours or hold the nape of this neck, intertwining fingers with his short pieces of hair. 

Body attempted to push towards him, only failing when his other hand forced your hips down. Whining, you buried your face into him like you needed everything— lips, tongue, beard, nose, wrinkles and all. Yeah, he was hungry, but you were starving.

His fingers hooked on your panties without disconnecting his face from yours. He pushed them off with the help of your elevated hips, and you kicked them off your legs.

Moaning into his mouth, your hips met his fingers against your entrance. You whined as he stalled just outside. Face pulling away, he smiled at you.

“Eager, are we?” He teased, fingers meeting your puffy clit. He rubbed up and down, gliding around and on it. It was enough pressure for you to grasp at his shoulders.

“Need it so bad, Dr. Robby.” You whined, pushing your hips into the mattress as he went to tease your entrance.

“Fuck,” he groaned quietly, fingers ghosting over you, “Wow.”

Your head fell back and mouth into an O-shape as his fingers slid into you. The gush had you moving your hips into his still fingers. He watched your face as you did so, bringing himself closer to you.

His mouth moved with yours as he rocked his fingers into you. You could gauge his eagerness by how his fingers curled in you, like he wanted to feel all of you. You really squealed when he moved to rub on your clit again, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“Are you gonna finish on my fingers, sweetheart?” Robby teased before you kissed him again with a whine. When his fingers slipped back inside of you, your body met him in the middle with each movement, desperate to get off.

Fingers pumping into you, his thumb found your clit and drove you close to the edge. You threw your head back again as he lifted his. Breaths turned shorter and you clung to his shoulders, one hand making its way to the side of his head.

“Oh, fuck.” You mumbled, hips raising off the bed to meet him. You looked back at him and he had been staring at your face the whole time. The determination in his eyes made you lightheaded. He nodded as he felt you pulse around him, only to speed up. 

Your breath hurried as you felt heat bubbling in your core. Your hips locked and sweat grew on your skin, all over your body. Biting down on your lip, you hummed as your hands pressed down on Robby. You grew tight around his fingers and felt yourself gush.

Rutting your hips up to his fingers again, you moaned and exhaled. Hips stalling against him with his eyes on yours. You vibrated under him without proper release, riding the high of his pressure on you. He kept his fingers in you, causing you to pulse with an ah-ah-ah noise leaving your mouth. 

Dropping your hips, you felt the wave of release crash over you, sighing with a whine as his fingers slipped out of you. You panted as you watched a smile grow on his face. 

Gulping, you pushed your fingers through his short hair and he placed his hand on the outside of your thigh. He squeezed as he dipped his head towards you.

You kissed him slowly this time, fire inside you still burning, skin heated with sweat. Lips moved in sync and it was his turn to groan when your hand reached surfaced over the bulge growing in his pants. 

You tugged at his belt buckle, yanking it off and going for the button on his jeans. At the glimpse of his dark blue boxers, you bit your lip. He helped you, pulling his pants and boxers away altogether.

Robby was… Fuck, he was exactly what you expected. Thick, strong, filling… The length of him had already been dripping. He had fallen against your lower abdomen, painting you giddy. You didn’t mean to, but you smiled far too wide as you stared.

“Mmm, I’m excited.” You joked, looking up at him as he squeezed at the plush of your thighs.

“You’re somethin’ else.” He mumbled, shaking his head as he leaned in to kiss you again.

Reaching your hands around his neck, you pressed your hips up to him as he fell between you. Grinding against the wet gathered at your entrance, he groaned into your mouth as he met you in the middle. You felt the friction against your clit as you squeezed your legs around him.

After humming into a kiss, you tilted your head away, “You’re clean, right?” He stalled against you, about to speak, but you cut him off. “Oh, doctor, right. I know…”

“You?” He nodded once, raising himself on his elbows.

“Mhmm,” you ran a hand over his beard and rested it on his shoulder, grinding over the length of him with a heavy breath, “Birth control too. You wanna fuck me raw, Dr. Robby?” You purred, chin tilting up with a smirk.

“Jesus,” he shook his head at you with a smile. 

His hand ran up and down the surface of your thigh, coaxing you closer to him. An arm caged around the side of your neck, fingers pushing hair behind your ear. Your knees locking around his waist, he slowly worked his way inside. You reached up for his lips again, smooth surface pressing softly. 

His lips felt like silk against yours, smooth sheets against your skin. The roughness of his beard only tickled you, balancing out delicately. The pads of his fingers barely squeezed on you, rather rubbing circles to ease you in.

As he slowly started to fill you in, your breath synced with his. Mouth suddenly still against yours, he panted, peeling himself off your face hesitantly. The wince in his eyes told you everything, crows feet growing beautifully in ecstasy. Fuck was the word, right, but he had started so gentle that maybe there should’ve been a word more lush, tender even. 

As he bottomed out, you inhaled sharply, eyes grazing over his face. He stared at you and ran his hand up to your side. Clenching around him, you stayed as still as he did, anticipating, waiting. 

He was deliberately slow with it, inching out of you like he was holding himself back. Rocking into you, each drag made you more eager, made you insatiable. His eyes burned into yours, watching your breath catch each slow two-seconds his pelvic bone met yours.

“Robby,” you whispered, his bottom lip hanging off of yours. 

Squeezing at your ribs, he sighed, “Yes, sweetheart?”

“C’mon, honey, I’m not gonna break.” You cooed as his forehead rested against yours.

“Yeah?” He mumbled, giving a small kiss to your lips. 

You lifted your hips off the bed, begging to meet him in the middle. Hands grasping at his back, you rocked your hips onto him. His breath turned heavy against you as his hand found your waist. Pushes turned to shoves while you prodded him to go harder on you. 

“Don’t even need to move, you’ll fuck yourself on me, won’t you?” He rasped into your lips before giving you a bruising kiss.

His hand went heavy on you, pushing your hips down on the bed. You squealed against the kiss as you felt him drive further, faster. Slipping in and out, he huffed as he met your cervix, legs pushing open more for him.

Quickening the pace, he locked you under him. He was more heavy pants and hums than he was grunts or moans. Hips snapping against each other, sweat brewing over your skin, the sound was absurd. Still, his face hung over yours, staring at you in awe.

Blissed out, you panted a mess of noises as he thrusted into you, the bed rocking slightly beneath you. You arched your back, bringing your stomach to meet his and trying to get somewhat closer to his body. Throwing your head back, you shut your eyes as the pressure wound up in you.

Legs reaching up, you locked your ankles behind his back, pulling him further in and earning a heavy shit, sweetheart from him. Chasing your high, you swore you saw stars, pressing your closed eyes tighter.

“C’mon, baby, look at me.” He croaked, muscles tightening. His hand that was on the side of your head moved to grasp your hand, which was intertwined with the sheet. 

“Feel so good,” you murmured. Your eyes fluttered open, fingers grasping as they met his hand. Your other hand found the side of his face. “Kiss me. Please.” You nodded your head up, eager to meet his lips in yours.

With the shift of his hips, his mouth caught against yours, a groan falling in between. His pace changed, harder and sloppier, skin meeting with a slap. Tongue intertwined in yours, muffed moans filled the room. Breaths were forgone for the sweetness of his saliva.

Robby noticed the way you squirmed against him, like you were just there. He reached down between you and pressed his fingers to your sweet spot. You started to writhe into him, whining and bucking your hips.

“Oh, my God.” Your hands grasped his as you let out a muffled noise. 

“God, if you keep squeezing like that, sweetheart—“ His hips stuttered, feeling you gush around him. 

The overwhelming and enduring fire in you reached its crescendo. All of a sudden, the press of his body against you, his hands on you, the light feathering of his body hair over your stomach, and, of course, the absolute jackhammer of him blended like static on your senses. Ringing grew in your ears and with another snap:

“Oh, fuck!” You choked out, throwing your head back on the pillow. 

The aftershocks of your climax still rode out as he found his. Your whines and moans filled the room as you let him use you up. Your walls clenching and contracting around him was enough to send him reeling. Hips shuddering, he plunged all the way back in. Everything in him buckled as he twitched and spasmed. 

With a few deep jerks, Robby growled into you, “Oh, shit, so fuck–ing perfect. So beautiful, baby. You’re so good for me. Fuck, yes!” Filling you warmly, he went limp with a big exhale.

Panting against him, you kept your fingers intertwined and let him fall onto you. His forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, sweat against sweat. The deadweight of his body felt perfect, trailing the overstimulation of it all. With him still inside of you, you pressed your hand to his back.

Lightheaded, you attempted to catch your own breath, inhaling deeply but lazily. You ran your fingers up and down the slick skin on his back. Mind going numb, you allowed yourself to doze a little, eyes half-lidded.

Huffing, he tilted his head to you, softly pressing a kiss to your temple, “Sorry, sweetheart. Must be crushing you.” He began raising himself on his elbows, ready to roll over to the side of you.

Whining disapprovingly, you pulled him back in, making him rest back on top of you. He followed hesitantly, allowing himself to relax. Your legs stayed wrapped around him, tightly holding him in as he softened.

“M’so sweaty, honey.” He said, face buried into the pillows. “Should clean up.”

“Tired,” you whined again. Sighing, he lifted his head to pepper kisses on your face, cheek, forehead, nose.

“C’mon, don’t want to see you in the emergency room with a UTI.” He mumbled into your skin.

“So dramatic, Dr. Robby.” You rolled your eyes, slipping your hand out of his to wrap around his back. Embracing him, you tucked your head into the opposite crook of his neck. “Let me hold you for a little, please?” You pleaded softly. “Then, we can go clean up.”

Exhaling, Robby collapsed back onto you. He couldn’t even try to fight it if he wanted. He continued pressing tiny pecks into your skin, nipping at your neck and up your jaw.

Eventually, you would get up, but for now, Robby was yours.

The morning slipped in like it had been attached to the night. The sun was hushed behind his curtains and you had woken up slowly and effortlessly. Over the rays that slipped in, you were in one of Robby’s worn shirts— he made some comment that it was definitely older than you. He remained shirtless, chest hair free under the morning light.

You had been facing Robby and his fingers were hanging off your ribs. Head tucked into his chest, you had an arm around the plush of his stomach by default. The snores he let out made you softly chuckle, unaware of how you possibly slept through it.

Turning away from Robby, you rolled onto your stomach, checking your phone for any morning notifications. You heard him shift next to you, the bed dipping slightly behind you.

He rolled over with a rasped “Morning, sweetheart.”

His hand surfaced over your back, under the shirt, like he was searching for something. With a tired sigh, his lips found your spine, kissing from the base of your neck slowly to the dip in your waist. The touch made you shiver against the sheets and gravitated you towards him. 

“You’re addicted to that thing.” He mumbled, his breath and the movement of his lips causing you to flinch a little. He tapped your hip with his hand, as if trying to catch your attention. The ghost of his mouth faded on your back as he fell back into his former position.

Dropping your phone back on the nightstand, you rolled over to meet him in the middle of the bed. With a smile, you pressed your hands against his bare chest and found his lips to meet yours. It felt nicer in the daylight somehow, the sunrays peeking through the window to coat the lines on his face. The plush on his lips were somehow rougher, waiting to be broken in for the day.

“Happy?” You said, running your hand over the side of his beard. Your face was only a distance away from his and your body had leaned off his side. He hummed as you pressed another delicate kiss on his lips.

You pulled yourself onto his hips, so you could feel your body flush against his. He let out a slight hum at the feeling of your skin pressed together. His hands went to your lower back, grasping to feel you closer.

“Do you wanna go to that diner for breakfast?” You pressed another kiss on his lips as you rested your arms around his head. You shifted yourself on his hips, feeling the morning greet you.

“Mhmm,” Robby nodded, but it seemed like he hadn’t really heard you. He ran his hand over your hair, letting you lazily grind over him.

You hummed, “Found out I have to go to work tonight.”

“Leavin’ me on my day off?” He mumbled, hands resting on the underside of your thighs as he pressed a kiss onto your cheek.

“It’s just later tonight. You’ll survive.” You teased, fingers playing with his hair. 

“Better make the rest of the day, then.” He said before reaching his head up to sweep you into a deeper kiss. You giggled as his hands went under your (his) shirt to pull it off.

The next morning, Jack had called Robby into the ED, although he wasn’t meant to work at all that day. With Shen on vacation, he assumed he could handle it. Apparently, patients started piling up, and there was a crisis downtown— something about a bar fight, Robby wasn’t exactly sure.

As Robby made his way in around four, Jack patted him on the back, “God, am I glad to see you, brother.”

They walked towards central, Robby looking around at the chaos flooding into the walkways. “Jesus, what’s going on?”

“Huge bar fight from the Strip District. Mostly bruises, cuts, and fractured bones, but we have one in trauma with a stab wound, about to be transferred to the OR.” Jack explained. “Everyone got in around three-thirty, so all of the beds are full now.”

“When are they not?” They approached central and Robby nodded at Lena.

Jack nudged his head over to Trauma One, and Robby followed. Peeking inside, he saw a larger man on the table with an ice pick sticking out of his side and a gash across his arm. Walsh and Donnie were over him, observing and checking his vitals.

“What happened there?” Robby asked, folding his arms.

“Someone at the bar got creative. We don’t have a full story yet.” Jack continued walking down, towards the other rooms and beds. “The police are on their way, but I don’t think anyone will get arrested.”

“Why?” 

“Ever seen Coyote Ugly?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Yes…” Robby nodded slowly as Jack gestured down the walkway. 

Robby looked to the curtains that were crowded with girls in sequins, glitter, leather party clothes, some with blood staining them.

“You chipped my fuckin’ tooth!” One of the girls in a wheelchair, who had a towel over her mouth, yelled across the way.

“It was an accident, bitch!” The other girl was on a bed, her foot elevated and a bruise on her cheek. 

The area was overflowing. Girls chattering and girls half-asleep, there was even a couple arguing in one of the rooms. Robby had experienced bar fights coming in before, but it was always a bunch of beer-bellied guys or boyfriends defending their masculinity. He toed his way over, eyes roaming the area for a quick survey. 

“Fuck, boss, do you think we’ll get fired?” One of the girls, who had some cuts on her legs and a black eye, called from one of the beds. She was being treated by Mateo.

“No way,” That was your voice, one that Robby had to second guess because why the hell would you be here?, “If Gustav wants to fire you guys, he’s gonna have to go through me first. Besides, though, you guys gotta stop bringing boyfriends into the bar.”

Swiftly, Robby turned on his heel, spotting you slumped over in a chair. By one of the beds, you had a bruise on your cheekbone, one on your knee, and a gauze wrapped around your right hand. You were in knee-high boots and possibly the most revealing outfit he’d ever seen you in. You leaned on your non-gauzed hand with a furrow in your brow. He called your name, rushing over.

Alarmed, you sat up with your eyes wide, “Robby.”

“Sweetheart,” his voice turned soft, concerned. He came to your side, kneeling next to the chair, and, immediately, you felt your face burn up.

“Fuck.” You pressed your left hand to your forehead, shutting your eyes. “This is so embarrassing.”

The girls who had been arguing across from you chirped up:

“Damn,” Kelly, a broken ankle propped on the bed, cursed your name, “Is this your man?” 

“Who else would she be cooking all that food for?” Chris responded, lowering the towel from her bleeding mouth.

“In such a good mood. No wonder she started tipping out.” Jenna, in the bed beside you, joked with a shake of her head. “Been getting it good, huh, boss?” She pinched your elbow teasingly, which made you wince.

“Ignore them.” You rolled your eyes, flitting your hand at them. You looked at him, “I thought you weren’t working today.”

“I got called in. What the hell happened?” Robby took your gauzed hand in his, examining where your palm had been cut. What he couldn’t see was Jack, who had been peering over from across the hallway. A soft eyebrow raised in interest, and a sharp inhale, this is why Robby had been so nice and calm and easygoing.

“Uh,” you looked around, and all eyes were on you, “Can we talk… privately?” He nodded slowly, standing and helping you up. You winced at his action and mumbled, “I’m fine.”

Making your way a distance from the curtains, the girls resumed their chatter, now diminished to hushed whispers. Robby walked beside you, hand still holding yours. Landing somewhere by Pedes, Robby folded his arms in front of you.

He furrowed his eyebrows concernedly, “I heard the police got involved? What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“A bunch of tourists came in tonight and got fucking sloshed.” You sighed, “I had it under control until one of them thought it was a good idea to try to grab Kelly off the bar—”

“Why was she on the bar?” He jutted his head out, now even more worried.

“Nevermind that.” You shook your head. “His group thought it was funny to harass the other girls as well.” You gestured to the curtains. “Bella was getting felt up by some asshole, and, for some reason, her stupid fucking boyfriend showed up. 

“He got crazy possessive about her and broke out into some animalistic aggression? I don’t know,” you spoke frantically and defensively, like you were in trouble with your parents, “he started howling and swinging at the tourists. Long story short, it gave everyone else an excuse to fight.”

“Okay…” He nodded slowly, then tapped at the gauze on your hand. “Doesn’t explain this.” You shook your head as your eyes caught the man who was being wheeled out of Trauma. His eyes softened, “Oh.”

“His stupid friends fled before the cops came.” You turned back to Robby, “I just wanted to protect my girls.”

“Uh, huh.” He saw the panic in your eyes settle when he nodded.

“I had it under control. We didn’t need to come here.” You reasoned with an exhale. 

“But I’m glad you did.” He placed a hand on your bicep, attempting to be supportive. You dropped your shoulders when he did, unaware you had been anxious.

“There’s, uh… Something else.” You mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear out of stress.

“Tell me.” Robby spoke softly, hand rubbing up and down your arm. 

“Half these girls don’t have health insurance, the other half are still on their parents’.” You exhaled, like you had been holding a weight in your chest. “I really didn’t wanna take them to the ER, but someone called the cops.” You explained to Robby with a hand pressed to your forehead. 

“Okay,” he sighed, “You can talk to our case manager, Noelle Hastings, and she’ll discuss some options with you.”

“She’s not gonna tell me anything I don’t already know. Can we wipe this from the record, call it a… write-off or something?” You neared Robby, able to lean towards him.

He mumbled your name, “I… Since there’s probably been a police report, it’s already on the record. Please, just talk to Noelle. She can help.” You shut your eyes with an exhale and let out a soft okay. “I’ll have them send her down.” He patted your arm, taking you closer to him.

“Thanks,” you whispered, although you weren’t really sure what for. He pressed a kiss onto your forehead before leading you back to the curtains.

After having talked to the cops, the woman identified as Noelle made her way over to you. She was long legs, shiny black heels, a proper navy pantsuit, and luscious black hair in a half up-half down. An older lady, her wrinkles were a testament to her grooming, beautiful around her eyes and complimenting her smile.

“Hi, I’m Noelle Hastings, the case manager here at PTMC.” She greeted as you stood up, one hand clutching a tablet. Her eyes glazed over your outfit as she chuckled, “Looks like someone had quite the night.”

Following her off to Central, you realized you felt silly around her. She had been so professional, and half the surface of your skin met the cold air conditioning of the emergency department, hair slightly messy from the fight. You never shivered, though, standing up straight in front of Noelle.

You laughed awkwardly, attempting to pull down the little fabric you had around your hips, “Um, I assume you’re caught up on the circumstances.” 

“Yes,” She nodded once, her eyes crinkling as she exhaled. “Some of these are quite a hefty bill for those uninsured. They are all technically work-related injuries, so I suggest talking to your boss about worker’s comp when you can.”

“Okay,” you shrugged, then looked away, “Shit, I don’t know if my boss will go for that.”

“Well, another option is financial assistance from the hospital. If some of them fall under certain income limits, they could qualify for Charity Care and PTMC will cover it.” She explained delicately, like she knew you were on edge. 

“How can we…” You looked back at her, who had a concerned look for you. “How can we check?”

“I can talk to the girls about their income, if that’s okay with them,” she offered supportively, "Then, we can move forward with some forms and things.”

“Everything okay here?” You heard Robby’s voice trickle in, coming to stand beside you. He looked to Noelle for an answer, who had made dreamy-eyes at him when he stepped forward. If she hadn’t calmed your nerves, you wouldn’t have noticed. 

You recognized the glint in her eye, a narrow like there was a secret you weren’t in on and a smirk on her face. The friendly smile on her face only grew into something more… suggestive?

“Yes, I briefed her on our options.” Noelle nodded. With you still there, girlish youth grew on her face, suddenly lit up and hopeful with a little bit of desperation. She took a step forward, “Dr. Robby, if I could just—“

“Great,” Robby nodded like he hadn’t heard her. You looked between them, inquisitive and a little entertained. Ready to walk away, his hand skimmed over yours as he looked at you, “Did you need anything from me?”

Receptive, your hand wrapped around his and gave a squeeze, “No. Thanks, honey.” 

He nodded again, a bashful smile playing at his lips before he trailed off. You watched him walk away, biting at the inside of your cheek to stop a proud smile from coming about. 

Turning back, you nodded at Noelle, “Thank you again.” 

You began to walk away, then her voice stopped you.

“Do you, uh,” she started, the veil of professionalism faltering for just a moment through her curious eyes, “Do you know Dr. Robinavitch?”

“We’re…” You stopped yourself, then cleared your throat, “Why?”

She looked away and exhaled a little, “Oh, nothing… Just—”

“We’re neighbours.” You grinned with the tilt of your head, unintentionally fishing for more information. It wasn’t technically a lie, but it definitely wasn’t what she was asking. 

“He just, uh,” She shook her head, then looked back up, “Kinda dropped out a few months ago.”

“You mean he… ghosted you?” You slowly nodded understandingly. 

Could’ve been. That’s what Noelle was. In all her polished and experienced beauty, Robby had led her on. Why he let such a woman get away was beyond you. And maybe it was self-centred to think so, but the timeline had lined up to when you landed on Robby’s front steps. 

She was older than you, more mature, no doubt. You were practically in shiny underwear in front of her with big lashes and glittery lip gloss, looking like some little aspiring cosmetologist’s fucked up Barbie doll. 

“God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” She muttered, more to herself than to you. Her hand moved to cover her face slightly, embarrassment blooming on her cheeks. In this state, she was another girl just like you, confidence faltering over this old man. 

“No,” you shook your head supportively, then offered playfully, “didn’t really know a 50 year old man could have a situationship.”

“Stupid, right?” Noelle shrugged, rolling her eyes. Removing her hand from her face while flicking her hair away, she scoffed, “Guess I just thought we had something real. Jokes on me for trying something with a man so lonely.”

You chuckled at her honesty, “Happens to the best of us.”

With a pressed smile, she nodded, “I’ll go speak to the girls now.”

“Of course,” You affirmed as she trailed off. 

A few hours after the whole bar fight party had been discharged and everyone was slowly getting caught up, Jack stopped by at Central, where Robby had been finishing up some charts. 

Knocking on the counter, Jack nodded, “How’s it going?”

“About ready to head home.” Robby sighed, tilting his glasses down to look at Jack.

“What, uh…” Jack leaned over the surface, an amused smile growing on his face, “What’s going on with the fighter from earlier?”

Robby laughed to himself, leaning over the desk like he and Jack were two girls at a sleepover, “The fighter?” He mocked, raising an eyebrow innocently.

“You know, the leader in that tiny skirt…” Jack teased, watching Robby’s expression soften, “What’s going on there?”

“Uh, she moved in next door a few months ago,” Robby shook his head bashfully, “We became friends pretty quickly, and, uh… you know.”

“I know? What are you, a teenager?” Jack scoffed playfully.

“I don’t know what you want from me, man.” Robby smiled, tilting his head, “It’s new.” 

“That’s where all your free time has been going, then?”

“Sorry I don’t want to play pickleball on my Sundays.” Robby joked, logging out and rolling his eyes. He stood from his chair, reaching for his jacket, which rested on the back of it.

“Young thing.” Jack commented, standing up straight. “Is this the one packing your lunches?”

Sighing, Robby slipped on his jacket, “Leftovers from dinner.”

“I’m happy for you, man.” With the pat of his back, he tilted his head up and joked, “Careful with that one, though. She’s feisty.”

“Yeah, I should get home, check on her.” Robby laughed with the shake of his head. “Shouldn’t even be working right now.”

Jack rolled his eyes, “Alright, Chief.”

Upon coming home, Robby saw you where he usually did, on your stoop with a cigarette and your cell phone. You had swapped your sequined halter for your big hoodie, and your legs stayed bare on the stairs, pulled to your chest and feet in slippers. Your nails tapped on your screen frantically, but your face stayed straight, eyes drooping tiredly.

“Hey, killer.” He said, making his way over to you. 

You tried to laugh but it came out as a small huff, “Hey, Hospital Heartbreaker.”

He chuckled as he sat beside you, shaking his head, “That’s a new one.”

“That, uh,” you gestured the cigarette to him, which he declined, “case manager…” You raised an eyebrow playfully as he nodded. “I was right about you.” 

“Yeah.” He exhaled, sitting back. He was close enough that his scrub bottoms were flush against the skin of your thigh. “Wasn’t serious. It was before… you.”

“Does she know that?” You chuckled with a draw of the cigarette. 

Robby tilted his chin at you, “How are you doing?”

“Seen worse days.” You tilted your head at him with a lopsided smile. “Should’ve seen the other guy.”

He nodded his head slowly, “I did.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” You asked, more out of curiosity than concern, eyes trailing to the street..

“I… don’t know.” He exhaled.

“Hope not, that bastard deserves jail time.” You hissed half-jokingly, taking another drag of your cigarette and blowing it in the opposite direction.

Robby cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, “I didn’t know your job was so… dangerous.”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, like it was the most simple thing in the world.

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” His eyebrows knit together, genuine concern brewing in him. He looked at you in confusion, eyes uneasy as he waited patiently for a response.

“I don’t know…” You offered hesitantly, “I thought you’d…”

“Care?”

“I don’t know what I thought. I’m just a private person, I guess.” You shrugged dismissively, turned away from him at this point. “Working at a club isn’t uncommon.”

You didn’t mean to be so defensive, but you never thought your worlds would collide the way it did. You never intended to take Robby seriously until you realized how much you actually liked him. 

With a final puff of the cigarette, you said, “My last boyfriend was a detective. He kinda… had a thing for being invasive about my job, then our relationship turned into a sting operation. It was a whole thing.” You swatted your hand in the air tiredly.

“Didn’t take you for one with crazy exes.” He joked, but you couldn’t even smile.

“Sammy’s not crazy… he’s just,” you shook your head, unsure why you even bothered to bring it up, “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

Robby watched as you tapped the ashes off the cigarette and reached to put it out on the ground. His eyes softened when you looked at him.

“Well, I’d like you to stay safe.” He said, like it was a suggestion, medicine for whatever illness the night gave you. “And I want to know what’s going on with you. I don’t want to hover, just want you to come home in one piece.” His hand found the side of your face, urging you to lean into him.

“Home.” You repeated with a nod, like it was an epiphany. 

“Yeah.” He smiled. 

“What, are you my boyfriend now?” You teased, nudging his knee with yours.

“Boyfriend,” he repeated, like he was trying it on for size, running a thumb over your cheekbone, “Yeah…”

you’d been seeing sammy for awhile, met him at a party in castaic that one of your friends dragged you to. you had whined about it being too far, but her cop boyfriend had been throwing it and she didn’t want to show up alone.

you never considered yourself a badge bunny, not really— until you met sammy. he had been eyeing you from across the room, and eventually, you had come and sat by (on) him. the rest played out with you happily following him home.

it was little lunch dates, walks in your neighbourhood, and usually spending the night at either of your places after work. things didn’t really become official until about a few months ago, when he introduced you to his son. he had nate for the weekend, and you were glued to him ever since.

sammy absolutely adored that you were so taken with nate. he had been afraid that having a kid would scare you off, but to his surprise, you and nate just clicked.

he had still been a baby but you were absolutely enthralled. you gave nate your full 100: attentive when he felt sick, have nonsensical conversation like he was socrates, buying him ice cream, and playing pretend like it was the most important thing in the world.

although you had been in nate’s orbit, you hadn’t known much about or even met tammi. it was your surprise that sammy had so subtly dropped that he had to get nate from tammi, while peppering kisses on your face and waiting for the morning to start.

clinging onto sammy’s bicep, you two had been waiting on a bench in front of the park. he insisted that you didn’t need to come, but you insisted that you’d go to the diner that made nate’s favourite waffles afterward.

tammi’s silver suv had pulled up in front of you, and she was not much of what you expected (not that you really had any expectations). tiredly coming out of the car, her hair was a disheveled bun of blond kinks and her tired eyes were lined haphazardly with black and shimmery purple. she looked absolutely exhausted, then absolutely irritated when her eyes met you.

“you should’ve told me you were bringing your badge bunny.” she spat, shutting the driver door behind her as you two approached the front of the car.

“hey, don’t call her that.” sammy rolled his eyes. “and it was a last minute thing.”

with hesitation, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself, “hi, tammi, so nice to meet you.”

she scanned you up and down and shook her head with a sarcastic chuckle, “let’s get this over with.”

rounding the car, sammy led you to the passenger side with a reassuring grin and a hand on your lower back. tammi, with a glare at you, swung the door open and reached for the carseat.

she cooed at nate and sammy slipped in a hey, bud. you stood off to the side, unsure where to put yourself. fiddling with your jacket sleeves, you watched the two argue about the carseat as sammy rested nate on his hip.

“are you bringing her around nate?” she scolded, hand on her hip, voice attempting a whisper but failing.

“she is my girlfriend, so of course i am.” sammy said definitively, fixing the tiny collar of nate’s shirt.

“well, i don’t want your little girlfriend around our son.” tammi snapped.

although you were only a few feet away, they acted like you weren’t even there. it felt like when adults would fight in front of you. standing wide-eyed and half-guilty, you thought you should say or do something, even though you weren’t involved.

“you should’ve thought about that before you cheated on me and had that man play nate’s stepdad.” sammy responded before heading to your direction.

tammi scowled as sammy handed nate to you. he trekked back to her to get another word in about you and his home and how it wasn’t tammi’s business anymore.

when rested in your arms, nate’s eyes met yours with a smile and a giggle. your bewildered face switched to bliss as you bounced him on your hip.

“hello, nate, you want some waffles?” you teased, pinching his cheeks lightly. he babbled, hands playing with your hoop earrings— the inexpensive ones you made sure to wear around him. “yeah? we can get you some waffles from tony. you remember tony?”

as sammy and tammi’s argument came to a wavering finish, nate’s eyes stayed on you, arms dancing in the wind. with the crinkle in his eyes, a word that you shouldn’t have been there for slipped through his mouth, “mama.”

your face dropped, eyes darting to tammi, who grew even more furious.

“did he just say his first word?” sammy asked, an amused smile on his face as he looked at tammi’s anger.

part 2ish, part 3

chatter ran all around the house, because some reality show was on and you all had been hooting and hollering. he was in the kitchen, attempting to study for a french quiz. you padded in, tanktop and sweats with an empty glass in your hand.

with a smile his way, you turned to open the fridge, “hey, jacky.”

his eyes darted up, shifting in his seat. then, he was relieved it was you and not one of rachel’s more uppity, obnoxious friends. he kept his mouth shut anyway, turning focus back on his book.

there’s always been a soft spot for you. sure, you ran with that group, you were the mastermind behind a few harmless shenanigans. however, he tolerated— even liked you. maybe it was the way you spaced out your drinks, how you kept an eye out for allergies among the group, how you stuck around when someone felt sick. you were more… responsible.

after filling your glass with water, you moved to where jack was sitting and peered over his shoulder. immediately, he felt your presence on his back and your hand stable against the back of his chair.

“doing some reading?” you smirked, eyes moving to scan his face.

“i have a test,” he mumbled before turning to look at you. he was blushing, like really blushing, face hot and cheeks pink. you were leaned only inches above him, after all. face above his and arm around his chair.

“madame fowler?” you raised an eyebrow. slowly, he nodded. you continued, “cool, i have her for french 3.”

“you wanna help me study?” he watched as a grin danced on your mouth, terminating with a bite down on your bottom lip.

shaking your head, “i don’t know a lick of french. you’re on your own, buddy boy.”

with a harsh pat of his back, you made your way out of the kitchen. your pants rode low on your waist, creating a sliver of skin between your top and your sweats. eyes surfacing over your back, jack watched you sway away, shaking his head.

that's kind-of how it began. you'd slink around their house, around school, the neighbourhood, parties, anything to catch his attention. of course, he'd been watching, exhibiting perfect restraint.

when it started to get hot, though, something in him begged to differ.

the abbot pool was another go-to spot for your group. it was another excuse to prance around jack half-naked. this particular friday in may, it was you and naomi who joined rachel in her quest for tan skin. 

jack had been coming home from playing pick-up basketball with his friends. shirt stained in sweat, red curls pushed back, biceps pumped out of his sleeves. if you hadn’t been wearing those huge sunglasses, it would’ve been obvious you were ogling at him. you weren’t sure why you came through the back, though.

he looked right back at you, eyes piercing at that turquoise bikini on your lotion-glazed skin. your head was tilted back, exposing your neck. you had a book in hand, jane austen from what he could see on the cover. It rested over your stomach, both hands on either side. your ankles were crossed, legs glistening in the sun.

he had never really stared at anyone like this. You were blinding in the best way, shiny and beautiful. it was embarrassing how his mouth hung open, embarrassing how his eyes softened at the sight of you, embarrassing how he just stood there like an idiot. he wasn't usually like that, he was known as a classic charmer.

naomi, sitting furthest most from the gate, tilted her head over and caught jack, “gawk much?”

quickly, he adjusted his position, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, rach, mom wants to know if they’re sleeping over.”

rachel, who had been laying so still for 20 minutes that you thought she was asleep, opened her eyes and scrunched her nose, “yeah… now, buzz off.” she waved her hand in the air, “i can smell you from here.”

jack nodded, looking away and trekking to the house with a sarcastic yeah, sorry. he caught a glimpse of you before going through the patio door.

with a smirk, you closed your book and placed it on the ground. sitting up, you were ready to follow him inside. slipping your t-shirt over your head, your legs fell to face naomi and rachel. you slipped your flip flops on as you stood, prepared to move out.

“don’t even think about it.” naomi spoke, unmoved from her position.

“w-what?” you furrowed your eyebrows at her. turning her head towards you, she lifted her sunglasses. hand over your hip, you gasped defensively, “i was going to get water.”

“mhmm, thirsty as hell,” naomi shook her head sarcastically, “i see the way he stares at you, like he wants to eat you up like the little tart you are.” she laughed, the joke being more for herself than you.

“ew, guys, are you talking about jack?” rachel whined, turning over to face down. her voice muffled in her towel, “that’s disgusting. keep me out of it.”

"need anything?" you raised an eyebrow at naomi before you made your way inside.

"you clearly do."

in the kitchen, jack had been biting into an apple, sifting through the mail on the table. he was still in his workout clothes, dampness slowly fading from his shirt. you shut the door behind you, making your way over to him. his eyes darted up, and you pressed a finger to your lips.

“hey,” he said lowly, cheeks flushed as a slow smile grew on his face. 

you neared him, palm pushing on the cold marble of the counter as your body entered his atmosphere. you nodded your chin up at him, only inches away.

"so." you began.

"so," he nodded back at you.

you saw jack press his lips together and his gaze fall to your mouth. his hand found your waist through the big t-shirt you'd thrown over. your skin was hot, but he didn't seem to mind.

leaning in, he was delicate with you. his mouth grazed over yours, kissing you softly. you giggled into it, not expecting him to be a good kisser. his body went flush against you, like it was meant to be there. it was soft little presses, the push of your head away, then the rebound back into him.

your hands met his chest eventually, patting lightly as you pulled away from him. his eyes eyes grew soft and wimpy, like he'd been available for you if you called.

"'kay, thanks." you whispered with a smile, moving away from him to return to the backyard.

you rendered him speechless, leaving him in the middle of the kitchen without explanation. he stood dumbfounded, embarrassed as he was when he had come home.

later into the evening, the girls had fallen asleep through dirty dancing, but you stayed awake. sneaking away from rachel's bedroom, you shut the door slowly as you spotted the light on in the laundry room.

knowing it was far too late for their parents to be awake, you toed your way over, catching a glipse of jack, who was messing with the dryer settings. in a t-shirt and his flannel pyjama pants, he caught your eye through the doorway and grinned.

"it's late," you said as the dryer started up.

he nodded, a smug, mocking look in his eye, turning to you, "'kay thanks? i don't think a girl has ever said that to me."

you got closer, resting your hands on his shoulders, batting your lashes at him, "well, how else was i supposed to thank you?"

he grinned, pressing his hands on your sides and caging you against the rumbling dryer. your fingers found their way up to his curls, running through just like you daydreamed of.

"i could think of a few things." he mumbled before pressing his lips to yours again.

if he felt particularly silly, sammy would take you from the stove and try to dance you around the kitchen. he’d say how much he missed his girl, turning laughs into pressed kisses. not that he was a dancer, but he’d sway you around and turn you in and out like you had been at the copacabana.

usually, you would eat on the bar that's attached to the kitchen if you were alone or having breakfast. sammy always insists dinner's in the dining room. he likes having the big table and using every bit of the house (in more ways than one).

sitting at the head of the table, he'd have his left hand on your knee, rubbing circles up and down while he ate. you'd talk about some random things: how your job was, what cases he worked on, the new tv show your friend suggested.

or

you'd invite all his coworkers and their families over for a barbeque, making it an excuse to use the pool. you're a great host— refreshing everyone's drinks throughout the afternoon, checking in on sammy near the grill, chatting with the other wives and his coworkers, playing bartender any chance you got.

sammy made sure to tell you that, lingering during conversations he wasn't necessarily present in by running his hands up and down your arms and mumbling how proud he was of you. he'd rest his chin on your shoulder, kissing you on the cheek before returning to the grill.

or

some days were just lazy. when either of you didn't have work, you stayed in bed until your stomach demanded you get up. sammy couldn't start any morning without being pressed against you in any capacity.

he had that classic sleepy rasp to his voice in the morning. talking about how he loves waking up next to you and how good he slept, he'd run his hands over your thighs and legs, coercing you towards him.

if you felt like it, you two went all out for breakfast. the kitchen was so nice and you loved watching sammy cook. both of you hadn't changed out of your underwear, sammy in a white t-shirt and you in sammy's academy t-shirt. you sat on the island, watching him work on the stove.

he cooked pancakes perfectly— he had a thing about whisking you couldn't quite understand, and he was strangely a master with a spatula. he'd give you kisses in between flips, mumbling things that could be done today (but probably wouldn't).

later, curling up on the couch was a favourite activity of yours. you'd put on some movie haphazardly chosen, just so you could be close to him. there'd be snacks sometimes, sharing a bowl of popcorn or chips and giggling every time your fingers brushed like high schoolers.

the talking was random quips about what you were watching or something you'd forgotten to tell him earlier or something you had mentioned to him in passing that he remembered.

“In here, honey.” You said from the dining room, which faced into the main hallway. He turned around with a tired smile playing on his lips. You were at the dining table, laptop in front of you and notebooks, pens, and papers strewn across the large slab of cherry wood.

“What do we got here?” He teased, rounding the table to get to you. As soon as he approached you, his cold lips met your bare shoulder, causing you to jump a little.

“Mikey,” you yelped, back straightening quickly. He laughed into your skin, pressing more kisses along your shoulders and neck. His arms went around you, hands resting against either side of your elbows on the edge of the table.

“C’mon, baby, I’ll draw us a bath.” He mumbled, mouth by your ear.

“Can’t. I have to study.” You exhaled, bringing a hand to rub the tense part of your neck. His head lifted, looking up at your laptop, which had YouTube open. You tilted your head to look at him hovering over your shoulder and he smirked.

“Is this studying?”

“I was taking a break.” You rolled your eyes and reached your hand out to ruffle his hair. He leaned into you as you did so. “How was work?” You asked, more softly as you placed a kiss on the peak of his cheekbone.

His face, warmed by your touch, blushed and he kissed your cheek back. When his eyes met yours, he caught your lips in his, quickly and hungrily. His head pushed into you as you went with it, pushing back against him and letting your hand find the back of his head. As you pulled away, his lips trailed yours but you refused.

“Baby, that’s not an answer.” You mumbled, lips nearly touching his, and leaned your head back against his shoulder. He crowded into you with a smile and he placed a kiss on your chest.

“I can tell you about it in the bath.” He teased, mouth trailing up your neck but not quite kissing. He left a quick suck at the underside of your jaw, where you so graciously let him through the tilt of your head.

“I have a study guide to finish.” You breathed, looking up at him. “Should order food or somethin’.”

“Mmm,” he shook his head, “After a bath.”

“What’d you eat today, Robby?” You asked, hands going to grab your phone. His hand moved to run up and down your bicep as you did so.

He kissed the top of your head and you felt the vibration of his voice as he mumbled, “Power bar and coffee.”

“Those power bars taste like shit.” You complained as you turned on your phone, searching for any food app. “What do you want to eat?”

His head returned to the side of your face and he smiled mischievously, “I think you know what I want.”

You ignored him, “We could do pizza? Or Thai food, that sounds good.”

He nudged his head towards the hallway, “C’mon, come take a bath with me.” He grinned, brushing his head against yours, “Can you spare twenty minutes for this old man?”

“Uh, uh.” You shook your head at him and put down your phone, “I know you, Robby. Besides, this is, like, thirty percent of my grade.”

“What’s your GPA again? Three point nine, nine, nine…” He trailed off as he started kissing down your neck again. The heat of his breath made you lean back into him and begin to question if you really cared about your history class. You let your eyes close and indulged in the squeeze of his hand on your arm and the hair on his beard sweeping down your neck. When he reached your collarbone, you surrendered, exhaling like you needed it and shoulders dropping from being so wound up. “There’s my girl.”

“Robby.” You tried to protest, but it came out more like a plea. Your face met his and his nose brushed on yours. Eyes struggling to keep open, you watched his eyes roam around you and muttered, “It’s a lot of work.”

“You did too much already.” He said selfishly, knowing damn well you barely finished half of it. He knew your procrastination methods, but he also knew when you were overwhelmed. “Come take it out on me.”

“Okay,” you whispered.

You got up from the chair, stretching your back as you stood. His hands couldn’t stay off of you, from your arms trailing to grasp the small of your back. You reached your arms around his neck and rested against him. The soreness of your sides became tender as his hands pressed into you.

“We can do the bubbles this time.” He whispered into your hairline, planting a kiss on your forehead. You beamed, smiling as he led you to the hallway and towards the bathroom.

In the bath, you rested against Robby’s chest and had your eyes closed. His hands rubbed circles up and down your arms under the warm water. The heat felt like heaven on your skin, comfortable and destressing, not to mention the solidity of Robby behind you. He pressed kisses behind your ear and you felt every bit of his face on your neck. You played with the bubbled soap under your fingers, allowing yourself to drift off.

“You’re lucky you’re so persuasive.” You said, leaning your head back into his shoulder. Opening your eyes, you tilted your head towards Robby, who was looking down at you with a smile on his face.

He hummed, nodding his head at you, “When is your test, anyway?”

“Tomorrow.” You responded, placing a kiss onto the left side of his neck.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He sighed at himself, throwing his head back. “Should’ve led with that.”

“S’okay,” you grinned, kissing along his beard and up to his cheek, “I’m here anyway.”

He leaned his head down to plant a heavy kiss on your lips.

The night ended like most nights did, on the big leather chair in the living room. It was worn, but classy, and felt like it belonged exactly where it was, among Robby’s half-read books and your own trinkets— ceramic turtle from the beach, tiny stuffed bear Paul Revere.

The glow from his lamp was the only thing lighting the room, warm and making everything feel hazy. Half-eaten Pad Thai, plastic containers, and empty glasses sat on the coffee table before you. It was quiet, other than the occasional car passing on the street and the flipping of pages.

In a t-shirt that was older than you and brand new underwear bought on one of the many Robby-funded shopping sprees, you curled up on Robby’s lap, flipping through your notebook. Glasses on the bridge of his nose, he had a random biography in one hand, the other hand was rubbing the middle of your back. Sure, there was an entire couch beside you, but Robby and the chair was your space.

Every so often, Robby was unable to flip the page in his book and you did it for him. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, mumbling nonsense under your breath as you reviewed your notes. Neither of you ever really spoke, touch was enough to communicate.

At some point, you didn’t really care about your final, eyes grew drowsy and you allowed yourself to embrace the warmth of Robby against you. You folded up your notebook and slid it onto the coffee table, noting to yourself to get it in the morning. He closed up his book and wrapped his arms around you.

You fell into the same rhythm as every other night: He’d kiss you on the forehead and stroke a hand through your hair when it started getting late. Then, he’d insist it was time for bed with a sweet hum.