#hot baths

           Ryan bought the excuse and couldn’t seem to put down his cranberry muffin. “You were right,” he said, looking over at the counter and seeming to consider whether or not he wanted another. “This is amazing.”

           Neal personally preferred the lemon loaf, and he ate his way through his own treat slower. “It’s the best in the neighborhood,” he reiterated mildly, popping a cool piece of fluffy, light yellow bread in his mouth and savoring the taste on his tongue. “My girlfriend loves their cinnamon rolls.”

           “Girlfriend?” Ryan wiggled his eyebrows at Neal lasciviously. Neal forced a little laugh to indulge the teasing. “Interesting. How long?”

           “We had our year-long anniversary a few months ago.” Neal smiled more genuinely as he remembered your cheerful, lighthearted date. You’d surprised each other with gifts you had denied planning, then spent most of the evening strolling in Central Park before going home together.

           Ryan whistled and polished off the last of his muffin, folding up the wrapper and setting it on top of his napkin. “A year. Caffrey’s monogamous.” He shook his head and Neal rolled his eyes. “Since when did you decide to settle?”

           “It doesn’t feel like settling when you have the right person.” Neal’s earnest response even caught himself by surprise. He was beginning to understand how Peter and Elizabeth had managed to stay invigorated and excited in their relationship rather than feeling stagnant after ten years of marriage. “I thought you knew that. How is Monica?”

           Not her real name, Neal was sure – Ryan had hesitated too long before sharing. They’d been together for three years when the conmen first crossed paths in Las Vegas.

           “God knows,” Ryan grumbled. Neal arched an eyebrow and he explained, “She left me. Fine by me,” he quickly added, “I don’t have to keep pretending I like her scrappy dog.”

           “I’m sorry,” Neal said, genuinely empathetic. Most of his contacts’ partners were either in the business themselves, or completely oblivious to what their lovers were up to. Monica had been one of the rare exceptions he knew of, and Ryan had been really happy to strike compromises to keep his lifestyle and the woman he had been over the moon for.

           “This life… it’s not something you can share with your friends at the PTA, man. I guess she wanted something more predictable.” The blond said ‘predictable’ with the same face that Neal made whenever he ended up drinking Peter’s cheap beer.

           After spending so long together, Neal would have assumed Monica knew and could handle the reality of being involved with men like themselves, but evidently not. It made him shift in his chair as he thought about you. He thought you were happy with him now, but it was only a matter of time before something from his past would come back to slap him in the face, and if you weren’t on board with that then no one would blame you for leaving him, an ex-con with a list of alleged crimes a mile long.

           Neal couldn’t imagine losing you to something he couldn’t change. Being a criminal had been a blast, until it got him in Sing Sing with Adler’s target on his and Kate’s backs. Now he wanted to be a better – or at least a safer – man. None of that could take away that he was firmly entrenched in the criminal underworld, and whether he went back to his old habits or followed Peter’s wishes and stayed on the “right” side, there were ramifications.

           Ryan snorted. “What are we, eight? Enough about girls.”

           The conversation moved away from their personal lives, which was just as well – Neal liked keeping his private. They discussed the hypotheticals of Ryan’s upcoming “event” and Neal tried to subtly discourage him from putting it into motion in New York, but if his old friend insisted, then it would probably show up on the artist’s desk in the bureau and Ryan would be reminded of one of the most important rules of conmen – don’t ever fully trust anyone.

~~~ Take Note ~~~

           As he laid in bed at three in the morning, very conscious of your presence on the bed, Neal struggled to think of anyone in his network who had a long-term partner that stayed. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but June and Byron had been the exception, not the rule.

           The thief turned his head to look at you, sleeping soundly in his arms, and kissed your forehead tenderly, leaving his lips pressed against your skin. Your hair smelled like his mellow, fruit-scented shampoo and the weight of your head on his bicep was a familiar and comforting sensation. You had more or less moved in, and Neal fell asleep faster with you than without you.

           It wasn’t as if Neal was the poster child for healthy relationships. Kate fell in love with him while he was pretending to be a completely different man, and Sara spent their brief fling continually teasing-but-not-really about stolen art. Amis-amants, she had agreed to call them. Friends. Not partners, friends. The only other woman who stood out in his history of flirtation and serial monogamy was Alex, and whatever they had been, they certainly were never really partners.

           The proof was right there, as clear as day in his head, that conmen and thieves didn’t get to have long-term partners. Mozzie had been single since long before Neal met him, Monica left Ryan, and he knew no one in the game who wore a wedding ring. Relationships ended before they got that far, even for those who were far better at being partners than Neal.

           Against those conclusions, though, Neal set you – his lover, his best friend, and his partner. You liked calling Neal your partner. It was how you introduced him. You said that the boyfriend label didn’t quite cover it anymore. Hearing your voice happily declare his importance to you – “this is my partner, Neal” – made him smile involuntarily while a thread of possessive pride made his heart flutter.

           He tightened his arms gently around you to comfort himself. He was a conman with a subpar romantic resumé, but you were still here, you were happy. You’d told him that you loved him and given him a goodnight kiss only hours ago. Neal just… he needed to talk to you. He needed to know you understood what his past meant for your future together, and he needed to know that you were still looking forward to that future.

~~~ Take Note ~~~

           Neal wanted nothing more than to have an honest, candid discussion with you about his concerns, but even though his brain kept telling him that yes, it really was that easy, everything else in him screamed against it. Admitting he was concerned meant showing you a vulnerability. He didn’t think you would see a weak spot and attack, but some stupid part of his ego scolded him that you didn’t want a weak partner.

           The words finally found a way out on a Saturday evening while you were sitting in a hot bath, the water so warm that your skin was pinking a little. When you had extra time and not a lot of energy, this was what you did together after showering. You sat between Neal’s thighs and leaned back against his chest while he set his chin on top of your stringy, damp hair and held his arms around your waist. The fact that you were facing away from him made it less scary to talk about feelings that made him feel less secure.

           “Y/N,” he said, slowly drawing his thumb across your stomach, “If you weren’t happy, would you tell me and give us a chance to fix it?”

           “Of course,” you replied almost instantly, shifting your head with surprise. “That’s how relationship-ing works, Neal.”

           Not in my experience, he didn’t say. He knew his experiences weren’t the norm. When Alex wasn’t happy, she disappeared for a few months to who knew where. When it was Sara, they broke up without hardly trying.

           “I don’t have the best track record with these things,” Neal confessed with a bit of embarrassment. He was officially in his thirties and he was only now in his first solid relationship. “Y/N, you – you’re the first one I’ve really – in the real world. No pretenses, no ulterior motives from either of us.”

           “I know,” you said. He couldn’t see your face, but you sounded like you were smiling, and you nuzzled your head against his neck. “And that’s okay. You’re trying. We’re trying together, because we’re a team. That’s the important thing.”

           Neal bowed his head, pressing his cheek to the side of yours and shutting his eyes. He paid attention to your body against his, smaller but strong. He felt so at home, and he didn’t feel any need to try reading between your words. You said what you meant, and he didn’t feel the urge to analyze you. It was such a nice, relaxing little haven to have a home where he could let his guard down and feel totally safe.

           “Is there something in particular you’re worried about?” You asked when he didn’t respond, your tone worried now but still diplomatic. “Or anything you want to talk about?”

           He sighed and laid his lips against your temple for a second before he briefly explained that he had met an old acquaintance for coffee. He phrased it delicately so that you would know exactly what kind of acquaintance it was and didn’t ask too many uncomfortable questions. Neal relayed how this seemingly perfect couple had been devotedly in love for several years, then the civilian had finally decided she couldn’t handle her partner being in the criminal lifestyle and left.

           “I’ll admit, it’s a little awkward when my friends and family ask about you,” you admitted when he was done. “I usually mislead them, actually. There’s so much context and very few people are willing to really listen to it after they hear “ex-con”. Even my best friends think you’re a voluntary consultant.”

           Neal had never really thought about what your friends were told before, but that made him wince. This didn’t sound like a very good answer.

           “But,” you said with emphasis, gently squeezing his hands under the water. “Their knowledge and opinions aren’t the most important. Mine are. I don’t condone the choices you’ve made in the past, and I don’t think Peter was wrong to arrest you.” Your voice was apologetic but firm. Neal thought that was probably fair. “However, I’ve gotten to know you very well, I think, and there’s a lot more to you than a runaway with an eye for shiny things and a knack for planning around security cameras. Especially since prison,” you added, your last sentence softer.

           “You know that someone from my past came and took Elizabeth. Kidnapped her,” Neal explicitly rephrased.

           “Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “That happens. Bad people do bad things. Maybe being with you makes me more likely to be a target for those bad things, but that’s my choice. I love you, and I think you’re worth that risk. I admire the man you’ve grown into. Besides, we both know I’m not a hapless victim.”

           “If you were upset about something with… that part of my life,” Neal slowly said, tactfully avoiding any red flag words. “I wouldn’t want you to assume I can’t change.”

           “I know you can change,” you replied matter-of-factly with pride. “James Bonds wouldn’t have confessed to major crimes to feds for the possibility of having a stable life with friends and a nine-to-five. You did, not that long ago. It was risky and arguably stupid as hell, but it paid off.” You hummed with your head tilted slightly. “Maybe people don’t really change,” you amended, “But they do mature.”

           Neal pursed his lips, unsure he liked that word. “You think I’ve matured.”

           “I know you have. You can’t live through the things you’ve endured without maturing. No one can.”

           “For the better?”

           You stretched your neck and kissed his cheek. “Absolutely. I understand your concerns, love, and I promise if it becomes a problem, I’ll tell you, we’ll work on it. For the time being, I’m okay with the arrangement we have. I promise.”

~~~ Take Note ~~~

           Neal woke up on a Monday morning on his own, a few minutes before his alarm was set to ring. He looked up at the ceiling, luxuriating in the soft sheets underneath his bare back and the mold of his soft pillow around his head. After a moment, he rolled to his side and turned off the alarm function before it unnecessarily blared and found a light blue post-it note stuck on the edge of the table. He peeled it up and read your handwriting, telling him you had to leave early, but loved him very much and hoped he had a good day.

           He touched your side of the bed with a smile on his face. The linens were cool, but not as cold as the rest of the bed. You’d been gone a while. He sighed, content, and stretched out like a starfish before getting out of bed to put on some coffee.

           The artist ambled to the kitchen in his pajama bottoms, his bare feet padding across chilled hardwood flooring. He checked for the green light on the dishwasher before pulling out the coffee pot and setting it underneath the coffeemaker. After adding filtered water, he reached into the cabinet over the counter for his favorite bag of European coffee grounds and pulled it down with an additional crinkling of paper.

           There was another post-it stuck to his coffee, with a winking face drawn on it in sharpie underneath another little note. I love the taste of coffee on your lips when we kiss. – Your Y/N.

           He quietly chuckled and decided to leave the note on the coffee bag. It would make him smile tomorrow morning, too.

           While the coffee brewed, he went about his normal routine, taking a quick trip to the bathroom to rinse with minty mouthwash and brush his teeth, comb the tangles out of his short hair, and shave the stubble off of his jaw. Slapped onto the side of the mirror at a little below his eye level was another note in pale yellow.

           Check out your eyes in the mirror, gorgeous, because I love your beautiful eyes and how much affection they hold when you look at me. – Your Y/N.

           He couldn’t stop smiling, which was somewhat problematic when trying to shave.

           Neal went back out to the kitchen and poured a mug of coffee, adding a bit of creamer in to help it cool down faster and to take the edge off of the bitter flavor. As he stirred it in with a little red mixer, he walked to his dresser to pull out clothes for the day.

           A flash of pink against navy blue caught his eye and he moved his clothes to the side until he reached his pinstriped suit with the dark vest you liked so much. He chuckled before reading the note, already knowing what you were oh-so-subtly hinting at, and lifted the suit out of the closet while peeling up the post-it.

           You’re so handsome that sometimes I almost get jealous of myself for getting to have you. – Your Y/N.

           The rest of his routine was peppered with notes that must have taken you a while to write and place where you knew he would find them. He finished his coffee and had breakfast, finding a couple of notes in other places in the kitchen. Then, after his shower, he found a smaller post-it pressed to his favorite cologne. There was another tucked into his wallet which he found when he double-checked that he had his ID and enough cash for lunch.

           The notes ranged from that playfully sweet comment on his looks to tender, meaningful reminders of precious moments you had shared together. The one in his wallet encouraged him to do good at work today, because “you help people because you have such a kind heart.” They were all signed “your Y/N,” promising him with every single note that you weren’t going anywhere.

~~~ Take Note ~~~

           You came home late that night after seeing a new movie with a friend of yours. You normally went to the cinema with Neal, but he wasn’t super into action-packed movies with explosives and guns, so he passed on it. By the time you came back, Neal had found more post-its in innocuous places, like tucked into the pages of the book he was reading, stuck on the bottom of the television remote, slapped onto the wall above the washing machine, and more.

           Neal’s heart kept fluttering and he felt like it was your first or second date all over again. Each note had come from your heart, warm and genuine. You said that you admired his clever brain and his curiosity, his thirst to learn (with another note on one of his atlases that it was sexy when he spoke to you in other languages).

           You said, in no uncertain terms, that whatever he may have done in the past, you were far more impressed by his peaceful soul and his willingness to protect those who needed it. (As he read that note, Lindsay Gless came to mind.) You had never felt safer than when you were in his arms.

           Another yellow post-it told him that he had earned your trust. This note was longer than the others, because it acknowledged that others had erroneously believed the same in the past, but you explained in carefully-chosen words that you loved him, and you were willing to take that risk on behalf of the good man, deserving of love and trust and partnership, that you honestly believed him to be.

           “Love, I’m home,” you cheerfully called, taking off your shoes and dropping them by the door.

           Neal stood up from the couch and wrapped you up in his arms while you instantly relaxed against his chest. He rubbed a hand over your back and kissed the top of your head before he felt your hands at his cheeks, and he happily let you move his head so you could press several kisses to his lips.

           “I love you, my Y/N,” he said, slipping his fingers through yours and gently keeping your smaller hand against his face. “Are you the more romantic one now?” He teased a little. You used to rib him for being such a romantic, but he couldn’t help that he liked to be sweet.

           Your smile was innocent, but your eyes were not. “I have no idea what you mean,” you lied plainly, but you gave him another, deeper kiss. “But if being romantic means being totally crazy about you, then oops. You caught me.”

~~~ Take Note ~~~

           A few hours later, you came back from the bathroom to find Neal getting dressed for bed and a lime green post-it note stuck on the screen of your phone. You stole a glance at your boyfriend’s back with a smile playing across your lips, but he was focused – or at least pretending to be – on combing the product out of his hair.

           You picked up your phone and after reading the note, you decided to leave it on, at least until the morning.