#bookerror

You snorted as you stood up. “Couldn’t have been that much if you were running so behind.”

“Ten minutes late is not—”

“That’s a long time!”

He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t you dare make a sex joke right now.”

He turned back to look at the tank, smiling. “I think Squishy would think it was funny.”

“Speaking of squishy…” You hugged Lance from behind, wrapping your arms firmly around his torso before pressing your cheek into the muscles of his back. Immediately you felt his hands over the back of yours, interlacing between your fingers.

“My swimmer’s body is not squishy.” Poutiness noted.

“There’s just the right amount of squish.” You pinched the slightest give of his waist and Lance yelped. “See, squishy and aquatic. Just how I like them.”

“Whatever,” he said under his breath, still grinning. He turned around in your arms to face you and moved his hands to rest on your hips. His hands were extra warm compared to the perpetual chill of the aquarium air conditioning. “I think you’ve been spending too long with the jellyfish.”

“Need I remind you, it’s because someone was ten minutes late.”

“I have something to make up for it.”

“I’d hope so.”

He rolled his eyes and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

“A kiss? That’s it?” —another forehead kiss— “Two kisses?” —a kiss on each cheek— “Four?” —a couple on your nose— “Oh geez.” Your exclamations dissolved into laughter. Then Lance started moving down to your neck—

“Hey!” You swatted him in the chest. “Not in front of the children!”

“The jellyfish are like 12 years old! They’re middle aged!” But he stopped anyway.

He stepped away from you to dig through his backpack and you groaned. “Ugh. Can you believe this, Squishy? Thinking he can get away with murder—”

“Dramatic much—”

“—Through physical affection! The lunacy! The disrespect! The—”

“Catch!”

Lance tossed a plastic baggie at you and you caught it easily. A smile ripped across your face as you saw what it was. It was a bag of—

“Gummy jellyfish,” he said, looking smug.

“Gummy jellyfish!” You all but screamed. You repeatedly looked in between the prized bag of gummy candy and your boyfriend. Complete disbelief running through you. “But how! The gift shop’s been sold out for—”

Lance shrugged casually. “Got a tip that they were restocking today so I just…” Lance fully unzipped his backpack and turned it upside down. Three dozen bags of gummy jellyfish slid onto the tile floor in front of you and you fell to your knees into the middle of the pile, jaw dropped.

You bewilderedly grazed your hands over all the shiny packaging. “I’m losing my fucking mind!”

“So I assume, from your reaction, that this makes up for it?”

“Oh, one hundred percent,” you said, absolutely elated. “Now help me pick these up.”

“Fine, fine.”

Once all but the candy bags were safely back in Lance’s bag, you both sat back on the bench in front of the jellyfish tank and ripped open the bag you saved. 

Sure, there were some drawbacks to being a little behind; but at least for you, the pros far outweigh the cons.

a/n: I’m back after I don’t know how many years of not posting any fanfic. Hoping to post more often. Thank you to my longtime followers for your patience ❤️ and hello to my new followers! Requests are open! Send them in!

Amidst the shitstorm that is the world right now, I hope my writing can offer some reprieve and a well-deserved break. I love you guys a lot, and I’m excited to get back into creating again.

See you soon!

He laughed and walked towards you. He sat on the couch arm behind your head and began stroking your hair. You hummed pleasantly at his touch and he smiled. “What are you reading? Is it another one of your romance novels?” 

“Yup! I think you might actually like this one this time.”

“Are you sure about that? The last one you recommended me was a bit...explicit for my taste.”

“...Okay, yeah...nevermind…”

“I thought as much.”

At your request, the Paladins had gifted you a box full of them on the last visit to the HQ. At first, he was stunned by the provocative covers of shirtless, muscled men and women in long gowns on the front covers. The material inside was just as lewd as the covers had him believe, if not more so at times. The Galra didn’t have romance novels like humans. When you lived in a society that valorized stoicism, bravery, and athleticism, there wasn’t much space for emotions, let alone the ephemeral, flittery ones like love.

He could see the appeal, though. In the latest novel you finished, you had read him one of your favorite paragraphs. He doesn’t remember the specifics because he was so enchanted with the sound of your voice. He always is. But it was something describing the feeling of being in love. The simultaneous nervousness that came with the initial crush before it developed into deep, unwavering devotion. Sweaty hands and dilated pupils. Thoughts of what your partner was doing. All the domesticity and intensity he felt with you.

It was nice to know these feelings were mutual in both your and his culture.

“May I join you?”

“Of course!”

You scooched forward and he settled in behind you. You settled your body between his long legs and rested your back against his broad chest. He wrapped one of his arms around your ribcage, the other relaxed on the couch back.

“You comfy?” you asked.

“Always when I’m with you.” He ran his nose over your temple and pressed a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

“—bomb…arrows.” The stage exploded. Your pixelated corpse bounced around the level, quickly followed by Peter’s. An obnoxious ‘YOU DIED’ flashed on the screen.

Peter dropped his controller in his lap and slouched on the couch. He covered his face with his forearms, no doubt a little disappointed with this stunning defeat. He grumbled to himself as the music from the game turned minor.

You slouched beside him. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

He sighed and sat up again. Despite his disappointment, there was still a cheerful grin on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I think that was the closest we ever got to winning.”

You smiled and sat with one leg crossed underneath you. “I think so, too.” You pressed the left bumper on your control and watched the in-game replay. You hissed as you saw your player explode again.

Your eyes slid to the opposite side of the screen. On the second rewind, you saw Peter get shot by an arrow to the back. “You could have easily caught that, you know,” you said, elbowing Peter in the side.

“I know, I know.” He rolled his eyes and exited to the game’s start menu. “Doesn’t help that these controllers are so tiny.”

“Knowing Nintendo, they’ll just come out with another console in a couple years. Then we won’t have to deal with these monstrosities,” you said, twirling your controller in the air.

Peter laughed, but it sounded distracted.

You turned your head to look at him, but he was staring straight ahead. His fingers were laced together, his forearms resting on his thighs. He was trying his hardest to look relaxed, but it only gave away how tense he was.

“Peter?” You leaned towards him. “Is everything okay—”

You felt resistance against your knee. You looked down and noticed it was basically resting on Peter’s right thigh. Oh shit.

“I’m sorry,” you said, quickly pulling your body away. You scooted to the far side of the couch until your back was pressed against the armrest. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Peter turned his head towards you. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, his mouth turned down at the corners by a tiny bit. “No, no, no, you’re totally fine. You could never make me uncomfortable.”

He was saying one thing, but his face told you a different story.

As far as you could remember, Peter was usually fine with physical contact. In elementary school, he was generous with hi-fives and hugs.

Middle school, he reigned it in a bit, pulling back his friendly impulses, especially with girls.

Then high school came and he…changed. It was complicated, to say the least. He was still the same bubbly and awkward genius. He had a lot of acquaintances, a couple close friends from the decathlon team and marching band. But this Peter kept his arms close to his sides, tucked in his pockets, crossed over his chest. He avoided physical contact at all times.

There were no more hugs. Casual arm over someone’s shoulders. Holding hands. Nothing.

Thinking about it, you only ever saw Peter hi-five and hug Ned and that was almost a year ago. Nobody else was ever let into that personal space bubble. Well, except for you. But even that was precarious.

Or you’d like to think so.

Peter’s dark brown eyes were still fixed on you. While his face had relaxed, his expression was neutral, almost unreadable. His body was still wound up, his hands pulled into tight fists that had his knuckles whitening.

Then the Parker apartment phone rang.

Peter shot up a millisecond later. “I got it! I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice too relieved for comfort. He jogged quickly towards the kitchen.

“Hey, May,” Peter said into the phone. He appeared under the threshold between the kitchen and living room, casually leaning on one side. He mouthed, “It’s May,” to you and you mouthed back, “No shit.”

He stuck his tongue at you before returning to the phone. “What was that, May?”

You only half-listened to the conversation as started cleaning up the game set up.

“Yeah, we’re doing fine,” Peter said. You felt his eyes on you as you tasked yourself with tidying the room. It sent a chill down your body. When you turned to look back at him, he held your gaze for a few seconds before averting them to the floor.

You swallowed a gulp and focused on reorganizing May’s many magazines. Your hands were suddenly shaky and nervous. Get a hold of yourself.

“No…Yeah, I know…How’s Happy?... Oh, you’re getting dinner with him tonight?” Peter asked. “Thanks for letting me know, I guess.”

You sat back on the couch and drew your knees to your chest. You looked at Peter again and spun your hands in a circle, hissing, “Hurry up.”

He rolled his eyes but cut the conversation short anyway. “Alright, alright. No drinking, no drugs. Got it…You be safe, too…No! That wasn’t a sex joke, May! God...Bye!”

You obnoxiously cackled on the couch. “So thoughtful of you Peter,” you called after him as he disappeared back into the kitchen. “Wouldn’t want May getting an STD.”

“Would you shut up about it?” Peter yelled back. “I don’t want to talk about my aunt’s sex life. Ever.” He walked back into the living room, now wielding four different take out menus. He fanned them out for you. “Since May isn’t coming back tonight...”

You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively. Peter groaned and slapped your shoulder with the menu fan. “Quit. It.” He tone was threatening, but he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “Choose a take-out place before I kick you out of here with no dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re a cruel one, Peter Parker.”

“I learned from the best,” he said, flopping back on the couch. He spread out the four menus over both of your laps. You looked over them and picked up the menu for the Japanese place. “Good choice.”

He gathered the three rejected menus and laid them on the table. Sitting back, he laid both his arms on the back of the sofa. He leaned towards you so that his chin grazed the top of your shoulder, the side of his body lightly pressing against your entire left arm.

“Watcha feelin’?” he asked.

“I’m always in the mood for tempura,” you said.

“You want to split some takoyaki?” Peter’s arm slid to wrap around your shoulders. You suppressed the urge to tense. You guessed you were successful since Peter was entirely focused on the laminated menu in your lap. “I haven’t eaten any in a while.”

“Yeah…sure.” His thumb began tracing smooth circles on your shoulder. It was distracting, to say the least. Strangely intoxicating at most. Was he even aware he was doing these things?

When he began running the back of his knuckles up and down your tricep, you shot up from the couch. Peter caught the menu as it slid off your lap. He looked up at you, an eyebrow quirked upward.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

You smoothed down your shirt and shorts with your sweaty hands. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I’m just gonna grab the phone. Seems like we’re about ready to order.”

He blinked at your retreating form as you scurried into the kitchen. “O…kay…” Peter tried not to think about your evasiveness too much as he sat back on the couch and began picking at the menu’s corners.

Recently, his senses have been unstable. Not that they were ever stable or normal ever since he got bitten by that spider. This was decidedly different though. That’s what Peter would tell himself anyway since his senses only did weird things when you were around. He only became aware of your effect on him recently.

It started with hearing someone’s heartbeat in the middle of class. He didn’t pay much attention to it, but it would randomly grow louder and louder until he felt like his head was throbbing. It was annoying at first. Then he found out it was your heartbeat—whenever he looked at you, your heart beat faster—and it became sort of a calming presence.

Weird. Yeah, he knows. But it made him feel closer to you.

A couple days after that, he noticed that he would feel a rush whenever his skin touched yours. He felt simultaneously hot and cold, the hair on his arms would rise, and his palms would suddenly become sweaty. And each time he would experience the urge to just wrap himself around you and never let go.

And sometimes, the impulse would be…less than innocent.

He tried not to dwell on those thoughts and feelings when they came up.

He watched you, almost reverently, as you walked back to the couch, the kitchen phone in hand.

You sat with your back against the armrest again, your feet crossed beneath you. Peter pushed down his disappointment that you weren’t sitting as close to him anymore.

“What’s the restaurant’s number?” you asked, pointedly staring at the phone’s number pad.

He looked down at the menu and read the number out loud to you. He picked at the bottom right menu corner as you placed both your and Peter’s orders.

The rest of the evening continued without incident, both to your and Peter’s chagrin. The take- out arrived and Peter put on a Netflix rom-com on the TV as you laid out the food. The both of you maintained an arms distance away from each other on the couch—a feat within itself since the loveseat wasn’t that roomy in the first place.

Comments and laughter were exchanged as the film’s love interests flirted and danced around each other. Both of you groaned as the classic scene of miscommunication threatened to jeopardize the relationship.

“Why can’t they just talk it out?” you asked, exasperated. “That would fix everything!”

“But then we wouldn’t have a movie,” Peter said, playing devil’s advocate. But then he shriveled underneath your glare and he cleared his throat. “That plot point could have been executed better, though.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

You tried not think to much about the irony of the situation.

The film faded to black and the credits rolled. Neither you nor Peter moved to shut off the TV or throw away the empty take out containers. As generic pop song after generic pop song played over the speaker, you finally looked at Peter.

“I think I’m gonna get ready for bed,” you said.

“Alright. I’ll clean up a bit first.”

“Sounds good.”

You were already under the covers of Peter’s bed when he finally walked into his bedroom. He had just gotten out of the shower, his hair wet and combed back. You watched from underneath drowsy eyelids as he settled into his sleeping bag on the ground.

This was your usual setup whenever you slept over—Peter was a gentleman and always offered you the bed. The first time you were hesitant to take his offer. This was his home after all. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer (there was his trademark Peter Parker persistence). He even called May in to help convince you that it was alright to take Peter’s bed whenever you slept over.

Peter whispered a “good night” to you as he pulled the top of the sleeping bag over his chest. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through social media and news articles. The screen’s blue light illuminated his face, his brown eyes squinting and moving quickly down the screen.

When he attempted to prop his head up on his hand, his elbow slipped on the hardwood floor and he smacked his nose into his phone. He hissed and muttered to himself, irritated. It was probably the discomfort on his face that made you call his name. You know…after you laughed a bit.

“Peter?”

He hummed and glanced up at you, his furrowed brow relaxing.

“Do you…want to sleep in the bed tonight?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. We talked about this, I’m okay with sleeping on the floor—”

“No, I mean…” You hesitated propped yourself up on your elbow. Peter sat up as well. “Do you want to sleep in your bed…with me?”

Peter just stared at you. He could hear your heartbeat speeding up and, with the help of the moonlight streaming through his sheer curtains, he could see your face reddening the tiniest bit. Your gaze was timid as you tried to maintain his eye contact. Then you habitually licked your lips and he grinned.

“Alright,” he said. He stood up, picked up his pillow, and stepped towards the bed. “Scoot over, bed hog.”

You moved back so your back almost touched the wall. The twin-sized bed dipped as Peter slipped under the covers and shifted around to get comfortable. He tugged the blankets a little too hard and it exposed your body to the cold air conditioning.

You pulled them back with a mock huff. “You better not steal all the blankets in the middle of the night,” you warned half-heartedly.

“No promises.”

You rolled your eyes and let your witty reply dissolve on your tongue—Peter was simply looking at you, completely relaxed. His gaze lazy as they roamed over your face slowly.

“You know, it’s okay if you touch me,” he said, voice low.

“You sure?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You grabbed a fistful of the blanket and began picking at it with your fingers. “I don’t know. I just thought you had an issue with physical contact.”

Peter had left the curtains drawn, allowing the moonlight to filter into the bedroom. It was faint, gentle enough for you to make out the expression on Peter’s face. He seemed to be grinning. There was a bewildered brightness in his eyes.

“If you need me to be explicit,” he began slowly. “I have no problem with you touching me.”

As if to prove his statement, gently brushed his knees against yours. When you didn’t pull back, he moved closer. Close enough that you could feel the warmth rolling off his body. Close enough that his head was almost resting on your pillow.

“So, would this be okay?” you asked, your voice soft as you scooted forward a little bit. You kept your hands folded against your chest, and this close to Peter, your knuckles brushed against his shirt. They must have grazed against the skin beneath because his breath hitched.

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

“What about this?” You ran your toes down the front of his shins.

“That’s also fine, I guess. Weirdo.”

You both chuckled, but his seemed a lot more forced. Peter was trying his absolute best not to betray the panic within him. This was the closest, the most intimate, he’s ever been with a person. Ever. It made him feel all kinds of strange emotions. Anxiety and restraint and desire—

The way that you were looking at him, with your lips slightly parted and your pupils dilated, it made him want things. He sensed the fluttering of your heart. Sensed the goosebumps running up your arms. Your breath becoming thick and heady. He probably would have noticed those things without his spidey-sense. Which only meant you noticed him reacting the exact same way to you.

He licked his lips as he spotted a glimmer of hesitation in your expression. They almost imperceptible way your nose twitched and your eyes blinked slower. His hand was right next to your thigh, and he gripped the bedsheet hard between his fingers as he finally felt you lift your head.

“What about this?”

You kissed him.

It was a little more than the brushing of lips, firm enough to be pleasant and reserved enough to be teasing. It was light and sweet and experimental. And yet it set Peter’s nerves on fire as his awareness of your body intensified exponentially.

When you pulled away, Peter looked absolutely stunned. His eyebrows were raised, his eyes wide, his entire body tense. He looked like he was staring right through you as he nodded his head stoically.

“Yeah. That was also fine,” he said slowly as if he was still processing. Then he gave you a nervous smile. A smile that you knew too well. It was the smile that he gave when Flash told a problematic joke. When Mr. Harrington gave well-intentioned but bad advice. When Ned let slip an embarrassing secret about Peter. It was a smile that seemed to spell your doom.

Your face warmed and you immediately regretted all the life decisions that led you to this moment. This moment with you in Peter’s bedroom. In his bed. This moment that would ruin—has ruined—your relationship. A relationship that was perfect the way it was. You completely fucked it up.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have—”

Then Peter kissed you. Peter’s kiss made yours seem like an innocent peck. His kiss was heated and wanting and almost manic as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him. He pushed his hands underneath your t-shirt and pressed one hand on the small of your back, the other smoothed up and down your torso.

You slipped a hand into his hair, tugging gently and twirling strands around your fingers. He groaned as you hitched your left leg over his hip. He instinctively ground into you. Surprised by that hint of pleasure, you moaned, and Peter slipped his tongue into your mouth.

Each kiss given and each touch exchanged was hungry and rushed, as if making up for lost time. You were the first one to pull away, panting and breathless. Peter simply kissed down your jaw to your neck. You muffled your sighs and moans into his pillow.

After a few moments of torturing the sensitive skin of your neck—and noting the particular spots that had you writhing—he finally pulled away. He slid back up the bed, so he was eye to eye with you.

You exhaled a deep breath. “Well, that was—”

“Fine?” Peter offered, grinning wildly.

You snorted. “I was gonna say,”—you stole a quick kiss from his lips—“a long time coming. But I guess ‘fine’ sums it up almost as well.”

“Whatever. Just come here.”

You snuggled into his chest, settling into a comfortable position where Peter could rest his chin on your head and both your arms were wrapped around each other. After a year or two of teasing touches, you couldn’t get enough of each other.

“So, what took you so long?” you asked.

Peter sighed, his hand drawing curls and curves on your back. “I don’t know. I was just scared I guess.”

“Fair enough. I know I’m absolutely terrifying.”

He pinched your side and you yelped. You lightly pounded his chest with a fist, and he laughed. “Not of you. And not scared of relationships, necessarily. Mostly just the intimate parts…” he trailed off and the hand at your back stilled.

He let out a long, deep breath. And while his body relaxed, you could still feel that he was holding something back. “I was scared I’d be…overwhelmed?” he said. His voice was quiet, and he was stumbling over his own words. “Or I was scared it would be too much—I don’t know. It’s kinda hard to explain…” Because how could he explain without giving everything away?

“Peter…” You slid away from him, enough to look up at his face. “You know you can tell me anything. I’m not gonna judge you.”

“I know. I know.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything now.” You cupped your hand to the side of his face. “Tell me whenever you’re ready.”

He smiled and turned his head to kiss the inside of your palm. You succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids after Peter’s tiny reassurance. And as the waves of sleep came for you, Peter held you tighter in his arms.

As he fell asleep, he whispered a single word into your hair.

He bumped his leg against yours. “Actually, it’s none of your business if I wanna read about the top seven face masks for summer.” He pulled his laptop back in front of you and exed out the article tab, but not before bookmarking it.

“Okay. Just make sure to invite me over when you try them,” you said with a smile. “The peel-off ones are the best.”

Peter grimaced. “That sounds unpleasant.”

“It’s not. Ned and I do them all the time.”

“What the heck?” Peter turned to his side to gape at you. TFTI. “When did that become a thing? And how did I not know?”

You shrugged. “We would just hang out in your apartment when you went on patrols. Sometimes it’s more fun to watch YouTube videos when you have fruit on your face.”

You crawled over to your backpack which you had put in the corner of Peter’s bedroom. He stared at you as you dug through the pockets, his expression half-heartedly offended and bewildered. Now that he thought about it, Ned’s face did look brighter and smoother recently. He was wondering what that was all about. You had just given him the answer.

“Heads up,” you said. You threw a thick plastic tube towards Peter. He caught it easily.

It was a peel-off face mask made with—

“Grapefruit? Really?” Peter deadpanned. “You know I’m allergic.”

“No, you’re not, you doofus.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Not liking the smell is not the same thing as being allergic.” You continued digging through your backpack for your second peel-off face mask. “Here. This one up to your standards, Parker?”

You tossed him your cucumber face mask. He turned it around to read the ingredients. He brought it impractically close to his face and exaggeratedly hummed to himself. He clicked his tongue. “No can do, babe. Says here it’s manufactured in a facility that processes grapefruit—”

“Oh, shut up,” you said with a grin.

Too lazy to go wash your faces, you and Peter used your makeup wipes to clean your faces. You sat next to each other in front of the mirror behind his bedroom door to put on the face masks. The mirror was pretty narrow, and he ended up elbowing you and you shouldering him to see better. It’s all smiles and laughter though.

Finishing up, Peter turned towards you and asked, “How do I look?”

“Like a newborn baby.” You ruffled his hair and he swatted your hand away.

He gave you a lopsided grin beneath his purple-gelled face that made you want to kiss him. And you would have, you know if you both didn’t have sticky face masks on.

“But at least a cute one, right?”

“The cutest.”

His grin grew wider. “If I’m the cutest, then you’d be the second cutest newborn baby.”

“Wow. Thanks.” You leaned your head to the side and looked closer at him. “You missed a spot, Peter.”

“What? I did?” Peter whipped his head towards the mirror. Lo and behold, in his excitement, he missed some parts of his face. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I did, huh?”

You shook your head with a smile. “It’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

You grabbed the cucumber face mask tube and squeezed out a generous dollop on the back of your hand. You grabbed Peter’s chin and moved his face to the left and right, spreading the extra gel wherever he needed it. Your touch was delicate and gentle, barely grazing over his skin.

Peter hummed underneath your fingers. He watched your face scrunch up in concentration as you focused on fixing his face. He loved seeing your eyebrows furrow the tiniest bit. How you slightly pursed your lips. The focus in your eyes. God, he loved everything about you.

And times like these, the both of you relaxing and messing around, reminded him just how much he loved you.

“Alright, you’re all done—”

“I love you.”

Your hands froze inches away from his face. The cucumber face mask tube slid off your lap. You just blinked at Peter. Did he just say what you thought he said? This wasn’t a dream, right? No. You remember waking up. And this couldn’t be a joke, Peter looked too serious for that.

You just stared at him, your mouth slightly open in shock. Or surprise. Maybe it was disgust? Peter couldn’t tell. Underneath the cool tingling of his face mask, he could face his face growing warmer. Each second you didn’t react his body grew hotter with embarrassment, his hands sweatier, his brain—he was a mess.

He didn’t think. The words just came out. It felt right to say them. But maybe it was too soon. Maybe he should have saved the l-word for a later time. Maybe he made a mistake.

Shit.

Peter laughed. His throat was dry, so it sounded more like he was choking. “Ha ha…just kidding. Wait—shit. No. I mean—"

“I…Peter…I—”

“No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” He shot up from the floor, his fingers fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt. Despite himself, he couldn’t shut up his nervous rambling. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He backed up against the door and gave you awkward finger guns. “I…don’t love you?”

You stood up. “What?”

“I do—I do love you. And I don’t love…Ah, shit.” He threw his head back against his mirror. It rattled against the doorway. You were afraid the glass was going to shatter.

You took a step towards him. “No, that was amazing, and I…and…And that was amazing. And you are amazing I just…” You took a deep breath and hugged your arms around your sides. “I don’t know what to say back.”

Peter didn’t want to say he was upset or disappointed that you didn’t say it back. He knew you loved him. He really did. “That’s c-cool. That’s alright,” he said. He tried to keep his insecurities to himself.

But Peter never had the best poker face.

“It’s okay. I mean…Yeah.”

You saw the corner of his mouth tremble and you groaned to yourself. “Augh, I fucked up, didn’t I? I really fucked up.”

He shook his head and waved his hands dismissively. “No, babe. It’s fine. Really.”

“Are you okay? Are we okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. We’re totally fine, yeah.”

“You sure?” You glanced down at Peter’s hands. “You’re still doing jazz hands.”

“Oh. Right.” Still facing you, he opened the bedroom door. “I’m just gonna wash”—he vaguely gestured at his entire body—“this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna take a shower?”

“N-No. Just wash my face. The mask is getting dry.”

He was supposed to peel it off. It was a “peel-off” face mask after all. But you just kept that fact to yourself as he opened the door wider. He looked at you with a clumsy smile and did a double-take when he saw your crestfallen face.

“It’s fine, babe. I promise,” he said, trying to stay strong.

“Okay…”

He left the door open as he walked towards the bathroom.

When you heard the bathroom door lock and close you threw yourself onto the bed. God, you felt like an idiot. “Why didn’t I say it? Why didn’t I say it?” You rubbed your hands down your face and when you pulled them away, you saw pieces of your mask stuck on your palms and fingers. You groaned and rubbed your face harder in frustration. “Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot—”

Because you did love Peter. You loved him so much. Believe it or not, those three words were on the tip of your tongue. You heard him say “I love you” and you wanted to shout them right back. But at the moment, you were stunned and grateful and giddy and so in love.

You had to fix this.

You gathered as much of the face mask peels as you could, tossed them into the trash, and walked out of Peter’s bedroom towards the bathroom.

The bathroom door was open a couple inches. Enough for you to peer into it. Peter was in front of the vanity. His hands methodically peeling the face mask away to reveal glowing, dewy skin. He shifted back and forth on his feet as he spoke to himself.

“Okay, Peter, you can do this. You got it. You got it.” He peeled the last of the mask away and threw it into the sink. “Sooooo, baby. I just wanted to let you know…What I said back there? Yeah, I meant it. And it’s okay if you don’t say it back. Like, you don’t need to say it—”

You stifled your giggle into your hand as you watched Peter talk himself up. It was cute how considerate he was. How much he cared about respecting your space and giving you time. It was one of the things you loved about it. Yeah. That you really loved about him.

You loved him.

And as you watched him stare at his reflection in the mirror, wet his fingers in the sink, wash off the remaining face mask. You thought he was absolutely perfect. Looking at him, spending time with him made you smile until your cheeks hurt. Laugh until your belly ached. He was awkward and perfect and funny and perfect and smart and perfect.

It was decided then.

You took a deep breath and as Peter turned towards the towel rack.

Three…Two…One…

You kicked down the door and yelled: “I love you!”

“Oh, shit!” Scared half to death, Peter slipped. He grabbed the towel rack to steady himself, but he ripped it off its hinges and took it with him as he fell on his back. May’s embroidered white towels covered his face and he groaned in pain. “Ow…”

“I’m sorry!” you hurried over to his side. You pulled the towels off of his face. Expecting to see him knocked out, you were pleasantly surprised to see him smiling like a huge dork. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I didn’t know that would happen.”

“It’s fine.” He chuckled and sat up, leaning against the bathtub. He tossed the towel rack bar to the side and patted the empty space beside him. You took it, sitting so your shoulder was pressed against his. “I probably should have seen it coming anyway. Peter-tingle and all.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

You both sat quietly like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Silently, Peter brushed his hands against yours, and you intertwined your fingers between his. He squeezed your hand once. You squeezed it back.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if you felt like you had to say it. I’d never want to make you do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

You shook your head. “I wanted to say it, Peter.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I love you, Peter.”

“I love you, too.”

You turned towards him. “I kind of like saying it.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, turning his body towards you as well.

“Yeah. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Then you kissed him. A sweet kiss that had Peter pulling you into his lap, your fingers in his hair, his hands caressing your face. You both pulled away breathless and panting.

He ran his thumb over your cheekbones. “Your face is soft.”

You smiled. “You smell like cucumbers.”

You were testing him, though. He could tell by the way your eyes slightly narrowed mischievously.

You smoothed your hands up his chest. He hummed as you wrapped them around the back of his neck. Your finger twirled around the curls there and you cocked your head to the side.

“You’re driving me crazy, baby,” he said. You tightened your grip on his hair and he groaned. Jesus Christ he was needy. “Such a tease.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. He threw his hair back in exasperation and closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to have your tongue in his mouth. He was getting hard just thinking about it.

“That’s not fair,” he whined. “You’re cruel, woman.”

You snorted. He continued grumbling complaints until you ran your nose up the side of his neck to sate him. He growled lowly when you brushed your lips over his Adam’s apple. Mimicking his movements from before as you trailed your kisses along his jawline.

With his eyes closed, he was extra sensitive to the location of your mouth. He grinned as it got closer and closer to his lips. And just as you got close to finally kissing him the way he wanted you to—you pulled away.

He growled, horny and annoyed. He laid back on his bed, pulling you with him. You muffled your laughter into his shoulder, hugging your arms around his chest.

“Oh, quit it,” Billy said. “You’re just torturing at me this point.”

“That was the plan,” you replied, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder. He glared down at you and you winked at him.

“You know, I didn’t have to work this hard for a kiss since…” he trailed off and you sat up, anticipating his answer. He tossed his head side to side in mock consideration.

You fell for his bait. “Since when?”

“Never. That was the point,” he deadpanned. You smacked his chest and he chuckled. “I mean, c’mon, look at me: does it look like I had to ask for kisses? They kind of just came to me.”

He expected you to have a short, sarcastic reply. Something that cut at his ego. Or, for you to at least roll your eyes or playfully hit him again. But when he looked down at you and you were completely silent, your lips pulled into a thin line…

He knew he must have said something wrong.

“Shit. I’m sorry. Did I say something—”

You shook your head cryptically, effectively cutting him off. He stared at you as you pulled away from him and sat up. You slid off his bed and began silently gathering your stuff from off Billy’s bedroom floor.

“Why’re you leaving?” Billy asked, cluelessness and panic evident in his tone.

Your eyes cut towards his digital alarm clock on his nightstand. He looked at the clock—it was twenty minutes to ten. Right, your curfew. And here he was overreacting that you were leaving because he fucked up.

Relief rolled over his shoulders. But still…something was off. The timing of your exit seemed a little too convenient considering your unfinished conversation.

“Let me help,” Billy offered anyway. Billy shot up from his bed and began stacking your textbooks and notes into neat piles. He put your eraser and pen back in your pencil case and handed you everything to put in your backpack.

You zipped up the main pocket and hauled one strap over your shoulder. Then you turned towards the bedroom door to walk out.

Any other time he would have followed after you. But now, Billy didn’t want to end the night on such an awkward note, though.

He reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Wait.” You froze and slowly spun around, an eyebrow raised. “Are we okay?” he asked, quietly.

You gave him a reassuring smile and held his hand. You squeezed his palm and he squeezed yours back. While he was grateful for your assurance, he somehow felt like you were holding something back.

“Come here for a sec,” he said.

You pulled off your backpack, set it down, and sat beside him on the side of the bed. He held both of your hands and rubbed his thumbs along the back of your palms.

“Billy?” you asked, concerned.

“I’m sorry if my bringing up the other girls I’ve been with upset you,” he began. You shook your head again and he smiled. “I know you pretend it doesn’t hurt or annoy you, but you don’t have to hide that from me. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“I’ll do my best to not bring it up,” he continued. “Which is fine, since I just want to focus on us, anyway. You’re important to me, you know that?”

You nodded, a soft smile on your face.

“Good. And if it’s any consolation, I’d probably get hurt or annoyed if you ever talked about the boys you’d been with.”

You tensed up. Billy noticed and looked into your eyes. You looked back hesitantly, your face gradually growing redder and redder. He registered your bashfulness and then everything clicked for him. Why you weren’t one-hundred percent comfortable with PDA. Why you froze up when he mentioned one of his exes…

“Oooooohhhhh,” he exclaimed. “You haven’t been with everyone else.”

He didn’t even phrase it as a question.

You groaned and pulled your hands out of Billy’s to hide your face in your palms. He laughed beside you, none too smoothly transitioning into a fit of coughs when you glared at him from between your fingers.

“What? I’m kind of grateful that I’m the only guy you’ve been with,” he said with a smirk. Great, he was gloating. “Means I don’t have to go beat up your exes if they’d treated you badly.”

You sighed and fell back on to the bed, rolling over so you were face down. This way, your boyfriend couldn’t see how embarrassed you were.

“Oh, don’t be like that, babe.” You felt the mattress dip as Billy laid beside you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against him. He pressed kisses into your hair, whispering how adorable you were. He bragged about how since he was your first boyfriend, therefore, he was your best boyfriend. That was stupid logic.

Then he grew still. “Wait…” he said, thinking. “Does that mean you haven’t had your first kiss yet either?”

You groaned into Billy’s duvet. It sounded a lot like: “What do you think, genius?!”

“Alright, alright,” he said with a chuckle. “Could you at least look at me when I say this?” he asked, a rare fondness in his voice.

You rolled over so you were on your side looking at him. At least now your blush had calmed down and you were no longer steeping in embarrassment.

Billy cleared his throat. “Excuse my cheesiness, okay?” He took a deep breath and looked into your eyes with a look of pure devotion. “No relationship or twenty, I don’t care. I’d never want to push you or rush you. It’s important to me that you’re comfortable with me. You know…because I…” he trailed off and your eyes widened. “I…I really like you…”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward into a lopsided grin. You knew it took a lot out of him to admit that. Maybe it was his show of vulnerability or the shyness seeping into his demeanor. Perhaps it was both of those things and everything that Billy had done for you ever since you started dating. Whatever it was, you felt like this was the best moment out of any.

So, you kissed Billy Hargrove.

He was stunned as you finally pressed your lips against his. After a moment, he finally got a hold of himself and kissed you back. He moved his mouth against yours, gentle and soft and tender. It was everything he dreamed about and more.

He was grinning like an idiot when you pulled away.

It was nice to see you were grinning back at him.

He caressed your cheek with his hand. A tiny part of him felt giddy and fluttery when you leaned into his palm.

And in true Billy Hargrove style, he asked, “Does that mean we can make out whenever I come over now?”

You rolled your eyes and slapped his hand away. You got off the bed and put on your backpack, nailing him with a look that said: way to ruin the moment.