#babriel

You knew was a bad idea. Calling your childhood best friend when you moved to Denver was like, the worst idea. Ever. Especially since you spent 17 years of your life absolutely head over heels in love with him. Which is, you know, it’s fine. But now you’re in his apartment, and all the feelings come rushing back and fuck this was a bad idea. He wanted to treat you and welcome you to Denver by cooking you dinner.

And with you sitting on the counter watching him float around his kitchen, taking ingredients here and there, everything feels awfully domestic, and it’s just a lot. Gabe is just - he’s acting as if there’s nothing wrong. Like everything is normal and this is how things are supposed to be. He’s just talking about something stupid Nate did the other day at practice and asking you about everything that’s happened in your life since you saw him last, almost 8 years ago now, and it’s a lot.

“Gabe.” The one word stops him immediately, and he lowers the heat on the stove to come over to you. “Come here, you idiot, I missed you.” Big hands on your thighs push them apart so that he can squeeze in between your legs and just, hug you.

“Hi,” he mumbles into your neck. “I missed you, you know? It’s been so long, and I was so happy to hear from you. God, I’m so happy you’re here, Y/N. You’ve changed so much, but somehow you’re still the same and I’m just-”

“Are you done?” you laugh into his hair. You can feel a groan leave throat, the vibrations that you feel from him making you feel things you shouldn’t. “You’re rambling again, G.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, “You’re definitely still the same.” You scratch lightly at his scalp. And then your stomach grumbles.

“Shut up!” you smack Gabe’s arm as he laughs uncontrollably.

“Hey, relax,” he giggles. “Let’s get some food in you, hey baby?” Gabe leans in for just a moment, the kiss is so quick that you almost feel like it was a dream. The tingling in your lips says otherwise and you’re left feeling breathless. Gabe turns to the stove again before he tenses, as if just now realizing what he’d done.

“Y/N, I-” he turns to face you again, eyes wide and cheeks red. You’re just sitting there, frozen, lips parted. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“Can you do that again?” you look at him with a shy smile. His mouth opens, processing your words. You bite your lip when he takes too long to answer. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked -”

His lips are on yours again before you can finish your apology.

You don’t get to eat for another hour.