#igby

Rain in New York could be treacherous, especially during the season’s cold front. 

Water would fall from the sky by millions, having no mercy for those who dared walk through it. The closer it got to those in the street, the more daring it would become. Sweeping sideways with the wind and sprinkling reminders of its presence on faces hidden under umbrellas. It would bounce off the pavement to soak through socks and ruin expensive shoes. Leaving its victims drenched and shaking from its chilling touch.

Igby hated this type of rain⸺the harshness and coldness of it feeling all too familiar as he splashed through puddles and received tiny wet slaps to the face.

Typically, he would never dare to trek through this type of downpour. For too long, he had been chasing the sun, trying to find affection in its sunkissed warmth and assurance. He had never been granted the peace of the sun's warming promise, for the chilling breath of his family curse was always present on the back of his neck. It would cascade down his back, leaving him with a constant spine-chilling need to search for anything to keep his dying fire ignited. 

A part of him wondered if the icy past that followed him would catch up to him one day. Would it freeze him instantly and forever? Would it cause his burning desire for freedom to die? Would he become as cold as his family? 

He didn’t want to stay in one place too long⸺fearing that if he did, his questions would be answered in the worst way possible.

For so long, he had felt the chill settle around him. Mocking him as he would add another layer of clothing to try and keep the cold from swallowing him whole. He wore his scarf so often for that very reason⸺for as long as he had it, he cursed the scarf draped around his neck for never doing its job, for never soothing him or comforting his shaking form.

That is until you.

You, who would take the fabric between your fingers to feel its used material. You, who reminded him of its presence above his shirt and below his jacket. You, who seemingly brought heat with just a touch⸺letting your warmth escape through your fingertips and travel into the stripped object, which would finally soothe the coolness on the back of his neck. 

You with the warm enough touch to cause his family's icy persona to nearly disappear. Maybe that was why, even though it was pouring down raining, Igby made his way to your apartment. 

Many of Russel's usual buyers had opted out of their deliveries on the storm-ridden day. Igby could still recall waking up on the sticky and crammed couch, a line of drool trickling out of his lips as Russel’s outdated phone jittered against its handle. A string of curse words stumbled out of the older man's mouth after each call, the weather washing away his usual profit. However, just as many began to cancel, others called for a supply to keep them busy during their time inside. 

You had been one of the many callers, telling Russel that it would be Igby’s jurisdiction if he wanted to travel through the storm to make his way to your apartment. 

You stared out your own window, twirling the telephone cord between your fingers and watching the rain as your drug dealer yelled across the apartment for his delivery boy. You could hear a quiet rustling noise on the other side of the line, but you couldn’t see the hazel-eyed boy tripping over himself and rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he hurried to the kitchen. Russel placed the palm of his hand over the receiver, relaying your message to Igby, who hugged himself against the room's chill. The dealer pushed the boy to go, bringing up the many cancellations of the day⸺not shying away from mumbling about how much you hated storms and that you would be all alone during one of the worst ones this season. 

Igby could only nod, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible as Russel used you as bait to get more money. What he didn’t know was that the younger boy was going to go anyway. The two of you had spent so much time together it would have felt wrong if he didn’t follow your regular schedules.

Smiling wildly, the artist sang into the phone, “He’ll be there.”

After the call, you shamelessly awaited the boy's arrival, looking past the racing raindrops on your window to try and catch a glimpse of the red and yellow scarf you had grown familiar with seeing on the sidewalk outside your apartment. You knew that the boy would tease you endlessly, just as he always did if he knew you were watching that closely for him. Yet, you couldn’t pull yourself away from the glass that separated you from the outside. That is until you could see the boy jogging toward the entrance of the building, pushing past the others who also sought shelter from the sheets of rain falling from the sky. 

Just as every time before, you had opened the door before he could even think of knocking. You were more prepared this time, immediately grabbing the dripping umbrella from his grasp and setting it aside. Your hands quickly peeling off his damp jacket and scarf before wrapping him in a blanket and taking a warm towel to his face to wipe off some of the remaining water droplets that clung to his skin.

“Jesus,” Igby forced out a chuckle, a shocked smile growing on his face as he grabbed at your wrist to pull the towel away from his hair. Tiny droplets of water clung to the ends, the added weight causing small pieces to fall slightly in front of his eyes. You watch his nose scrunch slightly before he speaks, “You could’ve told me to leave my shoes at the door if you were so concerned about me bringing water into your perfectly dry and tidy apartment.”

You roll your eyes at the sarcasm that drips from his lips onto your carpet just as the water slips from his shoes. The left side of your lip quirks up as you push the fallen pieces of hair out of the boy's face. His eyes shone brightly against his cold and pale features, his lips burning pink as they parted with the feeling of your touch. Even though he had just walked through the harsh cold rain, your touch brought forth the addictive warmth he’d become scared of growing familiar with. You place the small towel in his hands and put your own up in mocked surrender, “I just didn’t want you to be cold, you big baby.”

Igby laughs silently as he scrunches your towel through his hair, catching the blanket you put around his shoulders before it slipped off. You hold his eyes in contact with your own before walking toward the window seal where the two of you always sat. 

The brunette boy followed behind you, sniffing lightly as he pulled the blanket tighter around him. As the two of you sat together, Igby tried to ignore the burning in his thigh as yours pressed against his own. Glancing at your touching limbs briefly, the boy looked at your smile before following your gaze out the window, where people were hunched over and running for shelter from the rain. 

Narrowing his eyes with a growing smirk, the boy looked back at you, a teasing tone wrapped around his words, “It appears to me you like watching people suffer.”

“Suffer? They’re running in the rain. They’re not suffering.”

“How would you know? You haven’t left this room in months. You probably forgot how disgusting rain is,” The smirk on the boy's face was seemingly permanent as he tilted his head to catch your eye.  His teasing didn’t go unwelcomed by you, a smirk of your own sliding onto your features as you huffed out a laugh. 

Shaking your head, you look back down at the people holding umbrellas, newspapers, bags, and jackets over their heads. Raising an eyebrow, you look back at the boy, “Everyone looks the same when it rains. Everyone does the same thing⸺it’s cute.”

“Yeah, it’s only cute because you didn’t have to go through it,” The boy motions toward himself, emphasizing that he was still damp from his journey to your apartment. 

“You looked like everyone else out there. Quickened pace and hunched over⸺you looked cute,” You laugh softly, the both of you turning away as a blush crept upon your faces in a revealing shade of ardent. 

Allowing a crease to form between his eyebrows, the boy looked back at you with a humorous smile, “Were you watching for me?”

You didn’t answer, you didn’t have to. The way you refused to meet his eye and your soft laugh that was accompanied by a smile was enough for him to know. You hadn’t known each other for long, yet there was an easy nature that brought forth an understanding so strong you could identify each other's thoughts by just a simple action. Pulling a baggy out of his pocket, Igby tosses your supply into your lap as he bumps your shoulder, “God, you must have really wanted these drugs, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” You nodded with fake enthusiasm, matching his sarcastic tone with a wide grin.  

Igby smirks before leaning closer to you, his breath fanning your face as he speaks. You would blame the rosy pink color on your cheeks and neck on his body heat instead of what it really was, “Or did you really wanna see me? Hm?”

You smirked back and mirrored his actions, allowing the tips of your noses to brush together, “I don’t know. I gave you the jurisdiction over whether you wanted to come or not. And here you are. So I guess you really wanted to see me. Hm?” 

Igby breaks your eye contact as he smiles down at his lap, trying to ignore the heat that rushes up his back as he quickly returns his gaze to yours. Noticing his hesitation to speak, you continued, rubbing your hands on your thighs as you grinned, “I mean, come on, you must admit that I’m your favorite customer.”

“You wish.”

With wide eyes, you scoff loudly before letting it transition into a laugh and lightly slap the boy's covered arms. Igby couldn’t fight his urge to join you, your laughs silent but warm with connection. 

The two of you fall back into your familiar pattern of Igby telling his delivery horror stories while you listen intently, craving the sweet taste of human interaction. When he finished with the stories of today, he seamlessly transitioned into stories about what it was like to live with Russel, relishing the times that he made you laugh, soaking in every time you leaned in closer or pumped your body into his own. 

It was a type of intimacy he had never quite experienced. To be so comfortable with someone that he could openly complain, make jokes, and tease without fear of backlash was almost foreign to him. However, he liked it, he liked it with you. 

The rain continued to pour as you exchanged one story after another. Finding connections and making jokes to ensure that the moment between you lasts for even a second longer. It was the boy's small sniffles that caused you to pull the blanket tighter around his body. Rubbing his arms lightly, you watched closely for any indication that your touch was unwanted⸺it never would be, “Are you warming up?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Igby’s voice comes out hushed like a whisper, almost breathless, as shock ran through him at how gentle your touch was compared to anyone he had ever met. Licking his lips, his hazel eyes meet with yours, silence settling around you like the colors of the sunset settled in the sky. 

“Good,” Your voice is whispered just as his was, the both of you becoming increasingly aware that the moment was approaching its end. However, both of you were grasping for ways to extend it, even if it were just for a few seconds.

Hoping that the familiarity of your routine would be enough, you held the bag in your lap with a hopeful smile, “You wanna smoke?”

The agreement was just on the tip of his tongue, but it was muted by the rolling thunder that alerted the teens of the storm's presence once more. Looking out the window, Igby frowned slightly, not wanting to leave you just yet, “I doubt you want to hold an umbrella for that long.”

“We can smoke it in here,” Your reply was fast, nearly stumbling over the remaining words of Igby’s short sentence. You tried to appear nonchalant as you continued, hoping not to look too pleadingly for his company, “If you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

The confirmation came in the form of a boyish grin, the two of you moving to the center of the living room to gain more comfort as Igby lit the joint that had been rolled and placed between your lips. With the fiery spark at the end of the paper, the boy on the floor leaned against the expensive floral couch, watching you inhale. 

Any remaining tension or cold that remained between you was pushed out with your first exhale, floating away from the two of you in the form of twisted and traveling smoke. Igby watched as it dissolved into nothing and smiled at you lightly as you passed him the joint. 

You observed the boy closely as he inhaled deeply and tried to blow out smoke in the form of an O, only succeeding in doing so twenty-five percent of the time. However, he didn’t care that he had failed to have a higher success rate; all he could focus on was the sound of your giggles beside him. He looked down at you as you lay with your stomach on the ground and your ankles kicking in the air. You looked childish and carefree, and for the first time, Igby didn’t feel compelled to mention it because he, too, looked childish and carefree. 

Something that the two of you needed to be more often. 

As the first joint worked through your systems, you had changed positions. Igby had removed the blanket from his shoulders and laid down with his back against the carpeted floor, a throw pillow from the couch tucked under his arms crossed over his chest. His feet were far from the couch; his ankles crossed over one another as he stretched out on the floor. To the left of his head was yours, your back had now been pressed against the floor as well, but now your feet were kicked up and rested on the couch. 

You both held onto easy smiles, not a single muscle ached or twitched with the inkling of movement. Your minds swirled effortlessly with floating thoughts that replaced the attention of the heavier ones. 

Tilting your head slightly to look out the window, you watched as the rain persisted, freefalling from clouds with no destination, “I love the rain.”

Scoffing lightly, Igby closed his eyes and squeezed the pillow, his body feeling heavy with relaxation. But not relaxed enough to not argue with you, “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” You laugh, lolling your head to look at the boy rather than out the window. 

“No, you don’t. You hate storms.”

Shaking your head, you give the boy a confused look and chuckle softly, “When did I say that?”

“You didn’t. Russel told me.”

“Well, I don’t mean to rain on your parade, pretty boy, but I love the rain.” 

Igby rolls his eyes at your giggled pun, hoping it was distracting enough to hide the flutter in his chest at you calling him pretty boy, “Well, I hate it. It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s annoying.”

“It’s New York.” You laugh at the boy's complaints, “There’s an entire season here dedicated to rain.”

“Exactly! It’s the worst! That’s why I wanna leave, get out of here. Somewhere where it never rains. Where it’s never cold.”

Subconsciously, Igby pondered if that was the reason he spent so much time in your apartment. He had been to many places filled with light and accompanied by expensive heating equipment, yet your apartment was the warmest place he had found in New York. Your place, with its wandering ghosts of your parent's decisions and expensive untouched furniture.

That only left you. You had to be the warmth that filled the apartment. 

Turning your head to look at him, you watch his eyes trace shapes into the ceiling. His eased mind swirling with thoughts of sunny skies and serenity. Scanning his pale features, you speak quietly, not wanting to spook him from his thoughts, “So why don’t you?”

His eyes freeze on a spot on your ceiling, slowly coming out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice next to him. He turns to you with furrowed eyebrows, causing you to sit up on your elbows, which Igby is quick to mirror, “Go somewhere warm and where it never rains?”

“If I could, I would.”

Silence follows the truth of his statement, which makes Igby’s stomach turn. It was honest, but your lack of response jolted his heart into thinking you would scold him just as others before you have. Instead, you tilt your head in confusion after a prolonged moment of thought, “What’s stopping you?”

“I live with a drug dealer and deliver the drugs for him. What do you think is stopping me,” The boy huffs out a troubled laugh, his words intermixing with the harsh truth, yet his words held no resentment toward you, only toward his situation.

Pushing yourself further into a seated position, you examine the room before grinning at the boy. A helpful gleam dancing in your eyes, “Maybe I can help!”

“No,” Igby lies his head back down on the floor, his eyes returning to the ceiling. There was no compromising with him on this⸺it was the end of the discussion. At least for Igby, it was. 

“Why not? I have a bunch of shit here you can pawn, or I can grab you some cash.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t take his eyes off the ceiling. He simply states again, “No.”

“It’s no big deal,” Confusion was laced in your words, circling around your sincerity in offering the boy help to make his grand escape. 

Turning his head, Igby’s jaded eyes meet your hopeful ones before letting them narrow, “Okay, fine. One condition, though.”

He sits up, and you nod, ready to hand over anything to help him. He tilts his head and smiles sweetly, too sweetly. He knows he’s got you with his simple request, “You have to come with me.”

“What?”

“I mean, if you’re supplying me with the funds to leave, you might as well join me,” He speaks as if it’s obvious, his tone steady as his hazel eyes observe every emotion that glides over your features. He wondered if he should try to keep count of them, seeing as your face had changed many times within a few seconds.

You force out a laugh. It’s breathy and weak as you shake your head, trying to keep the wavering smile on your face, “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Igby’s Cheshire cat smile was met with a stern look from you. You didn’t find his mocked confusion entertaining, especially because all you wanted to do was help him. Rolling his eyes, the boy let his head fall backward, “Who cares about your parents?”

“I do.”

“They’re holding you hostage here. We could leave and never see them again,” Igby’s voice starts confidently before becoming a hushed promise. You aren’t sure whether or not it’s for you or him, “Any of them.”

You look down at your lap, ashamed by the words that follow his, “I can’t.”

Shifting himself closer to you, Igby’s shoulder rubs against your own as he leans down to catch your eyes, his voice whispered with finality, “Which is why I refuse to take you’re money.”

“Fine,” You nod, causing him to grin triumphantly before lying back down. You follow his example, frustrated at your lack of assistance, “Is there anything I can do to help you, though? Non-currency-wise?”

Smiling to himself, his hazel eyes connect to your side profile, “Wanna smoke another joint?”

You look at him with a blank expression before breaking into a grin and standing up in your spot to gather your supply. The boy kicks himself into the sitting position again and lets his eyes follow you silently until you’re sitting in front of him again.

He watches as you lick the paper before rolling it and holds the lighter out to light the end of it for you. Letting your fingers lightly wrap around his wrist to keep the flame steady, you peek up at the boy through your eyelashes. His lips parted as he sucked in a breath at the eye contact, blinking harshly to potentially ease the crackling tension that always surrounded the two of you. Maybe it was unwise to hold a flame so close to flammable chemistry that circled around you.

Taking the first hit, you blow smoke to the side before handing Igby the joint, “Where would you go?”

“Hmm,” He hums questioningly into the joint with his eyes closed, more focused on inhaling the relaxation than anything else.

“Where would you go? I mean, you’ve had to have thought about it.”

“Los Angeles,” He hands the burning paper back to you, “It’s warmer there. It’s sunny.”

“Maybe you could get a tan,” You hold the smoke in your lungs as you send the boy a teasing grin, “You’re very pale.”

“Fuck you,” He pushes your shoulder lightly with a matching grin, a beautiful laugh escaping his lips, causing you to stare at them subconsciously.

Igby watches you as well as you laugh and takes the joint from you, “Where would you go?” 

You give him a confused look, causing the boy to wave his hand around the room, “When you’re finally free from this hell hole? Where are you going to go?”

You blink and shake your head, “I don’t know.”

“Really?”

He doesn’t believe you, not entirely. Not when he has spent his entire life thinking about running away and getting out. But as much as you two had in common, you had many things that separated the two of you as well. Igby wanted out; you’ve only ever wanted an in.

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“What,” His voice raises in apparent disbelief, “Getting out is the only thing I’ve ever thought of. You really haven’t thought about it? Not even once?”

You look up thoughtfully, your lips pulling in indecisiveness, “I mean, I guess the beach would be nice.”

Igby sits in silence, relishing in the fact that you are so nonchalant about leaving the apartment. Shaking his head, he leans his head against the couch cushion, “You think the beach would be nice? Jesus. Yeah, you really haven’t thought about it, have you? You’re really weird, you know that?”

You shrug, not offended by his words, causing the boy to narrow his eyes, “Well, what about your friends? I mean, wouldn’t they want to see you? Have you even thought about seeing them when you get out? Or do you have them over when I’m not around?”

The boy plays like he’s hurt, a hand on his heart and a pout on his lips, causing you to chuckle before shaking your head, “No, no, neither. Um, once I stopped showing up at Russel’s afterparties, no one kept in touch. Except Russel, but that’s only because I’m paying him.”

You take the joint from Igby’s fingers, quickly inhaling it as he watches, “I don’t think I have many friends, really. Most of the people I used to know were just people to take bumps with.”

The pale boy whistles lowly and shakes his head with a smirk, “So, you really are a loser, huh?”

You throw your head back laughing and hand him the joint, “Oh yeah, how many friends do you got?”

Igby’s smile wavers slightly as he thinks back to the friends he made at boarding school, which consisted of mainly other troubled kids. Rachel, who he enabled and used for shelter. And finally, he thought of Sookie. His heart aching as flashes of her blonde hair and greyish-blue eyes raced through his mind.

“I used to have this one friend, Sookie. She was the worst⸺she was vegan and older than me and was the type of spoiled who didn’t think they were spoiled⸺but I really liked her. She helped me pass the ILSTs. She’s actually the only reason I even took them.”

You tilt your head to catch his eye, the remaining bit of feelings he had for her lingering around his words, “You liked her.”

“I already said that.”

“No,” You chuckle as you scoot closer toward him, “I mean you liked her. Had a crush on her.”

“Oh, yeah,” The boy nods, but his face screws up before he starts shaking his head. Unsure of his feelings as he began to unpack them in front of you, “Actually, I don’t know. I mean, we had sex a few times, but I don’t know. I guess I just, I just trusted her.”

You note the frown on his face and lean into his side so that he’d look at you, “And where is Sookie now?”

“Sleeping with my brother.”

You look down awkwardly before slapping at the joint in his hand so that he’d take a hit, seeing as he needed it more than you, “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” The lost boy chuckles before inhaling, holding the smoke in his chest as he speaks, “So if you’re gonna do me any favors—don’t sleep with my brother, alright?”

He passes you the joint as you smile lightly, a joke slipping past your lips, “Can’t promise that if he’s hot.”

Igby jolts as if you had just slapped him upside the head with a pan. You almost laughed at how fast his head turned toward you, disgust growing over his features, “Gross! He’s, like, older than you and–and you would hate him!”

“Well, how old is he?”

“Around the same age as Sookie.”

You tilt your head in thought, a visible expression of reflection on your face as you shrug, “I’ve dated older.”

“That’s disgusting,” Igby didn’t try to hide his thoughts as he expressed them verbally and physically as his face scrunched up. 

“Trust me,” You start before taking another hit of the joint, “I’m aware.”

Shaking his head, the brunette takes the joint between your fingers. Suddenly realizing that it was nearing its end, with his hesitation, you took note of the same thing, “Wanna shotgun it?”

Igby looks up at you, confused, causing you to quirk an eyebrow as you point to the burning paper, “The rest of it? Do you wanna shotgun it?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never really done that.”

Now, it was your turn to share your reaction of disbelief, “What? Really?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Igby tries to maintain a nonchalant stance, but he twitches as he begins to feel inexperienced. You smile lightly, “Why not?”

“Haven’t really wanted to get that close to someone else's face,” The boy quickly made an excuse, giving you an appalled look, “It’s actually—probably disgusting.”

“It’s not disgusting, it’s fun.”

Snorting, the boy mocked your excitement by raising his voice and waving his hands, “Yeah, I’m sure it’s so fun!”

You move so that you sit in front of him, his breathing catching in his throat as you grab his wrist that was holding the joint. Slowly, you bring his hand closer to your lips, letting them wrap around the joint and softly brush against Igby’s fingers. You hold your breath, letting the smoke dance around your lungs, and lean forward. Your noses touch briefly before you blow the smoke toward his lips. You watch as the smoke circles around his mouth but doesn’t enter.

Igby had been too busy holding his breath at your proximity, his eyes focused on yours as heat spreads over his body. You pull back laughing, “You’re supposed to inhale it when I blow it out.”

Having to break himself out of his trance, Igby blinks harshly and nods quickly, hoping you won’t back away and suggest doing something else, “Okay, okay. Try again.”

You do it again. This time, Igby brings the joint to your lips without your help, watching as you inhale it and leaning forward to meet you halfway. He was fully prepared to do whatever you needed him to do. As you blew out the smoke, he inhaled it, his eyes on your lips until the smoke disappeared into his lungs. Looking back up at you, he blows the smoke out of the side of his mouth. His lips tingling as the sensation mixes with the fire ignited in his chest. You smile at him and laugh as you speak, “I told you it was fun.”

“Shut up,” He laughs as well and brings the joint to his own lips, following what you did as he leaned forward, his nose crashing into yours as he moved quickly with excitement. You laugh at his giddiness before bringing your lips closer to his, letting them just barely brush together, sending a shock through both of your bodies. 

You both make eye contact, holding it for a prolonged second before Igby finally pushes out the smoke due to the burning in his chest. You inhale the smoke and blow it to the side, heat spreading across your face as you feel the boy's eyes watching you closely. 

After that, the two of you can only stare at each other, silently trying to calm your racing hearts and fluttered minds. The shock caused the energy in the room to shift, your bodies feeling like magnets being pulled apart but wanting desperately to regain their closeness. Igby seems to think first; wanting to get closer again, he tries to go for another round of shotgunning, but as he raises his hand to your mouth, you softly grab his wrist to stop it from coming near your lips. You slowly push his hand down as you lean toward him, your eyes locked on his hazel ones. His lips are parted, his tongue darting out anxiously as your lips come near his with caution. You hold yourself just an inch away from him, giving him an out, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he starts to lean forward, his lips brushing just slightly against yours until a loud ringing jolts the two of you apart. 

You close your eyes and place your hand on your heart as Igby turns around to look toward the kitchen, where the phone is ringing against its handle. He looks back at you with wide eyes, unsure how to proceed. You shake your head, making no movement toward the ringing device. Igby watches you, “Are you going to get that?”

“No, if it’s important, they’ll leave a message.”

The ringing finally stops as the answering machine picks up. Russel's voice singing through the machine, your name being the first thing to leave his lips, “Pick up the phone. Are you keeping my delivery boy hostage? Pick up! Tell him I have more running for him to do. Seriously? Pick up the phone. Give him back! He’s my delivery boy! You know I don’t like sharing. Igby, I know you’re there. Hopefully, you two aren’t getting pregnant. That’d be awful.”

Rolling your eyes, you stand up from your position and take long strides toward the phone as Igby slowly gets up and starts putting his shoes on, “Okay, okay, I’m sending him back to you. Jesus Christ.”

You could nearly hear the smirk on your dealer's face, “Was that so hard?”

“Fuck you, Russel,” You mutter into the phone, causing the man to speak happily before hanging up on you, “I love you too! And you’re welcome for the drugs, cunt!”

You hang the phone on its handle and turn to watch as Igby puts his jacket back on and grabs his umbrella. Jogging after him, you pick up his scarf that had fallen off the ground and reach out for him, “Wait!” 

He turns around and lets you put the scarf around his neck. His hazel eyes watch you closely as you pat the fabric down, running your fingers over the material just as you always did. However, just as he thought you were about to let go, you do something unexpected. Meeting his eyes, you smile softly before leaning forward and softly kiss the mole on his cheek. When you pull away, Igby has half a mind to chase your lips but stops himself with a scoff, trying to look down to cover the pink dusting against his cheeks, “You’re fucking weird, you do know that, don’t you?”

“Do you know if you keep insulting me, I may need to tell Russel I want a new delivery boy?”

Igby chuckles and begins to walk out the door, and just like every time before, you walk him out and lean against the threshold of your door. The boy pushes the elevator button, shoving his hands in his pockets to prepare himself for the cold rain he was about to encounter again. 

Looking over his shoulder, his hazel eyes connect with yours, causing him to pause in his action. Your smile wavered just slightly as his eyebrows furrowed, unsure of what was now swimming through his mind. Whatever it was, it caused him to make a sudden decision. 

He takes long and powerful strides, yet his hands are soft as they cup your face, your noses brushing against one another, and deep breaths mixing together in an urgent burning of anticipation. Igby drags his lips lightly against your own, silently questioning if it’s what you want. 

And you do. 

So you push forward and press your lips harder against his. The kiss is new and slow, something neither of you were used to. Too used to rushing the experience due to your counterparts being older than you. Now, all it was was warm and gentle. Your hearts combining in an act of fluttering like butterfly wings against the summer sun—so warm, so young, so carefree, and so beautiful.

Your hands grip at his scarf, pulling his body closer, needing the growing glow of warmth to encapsulate this moment. The elevator dings behind Igby, causing you to pull back, but he chases your lips, pressing them together again to cling to the comfort he has never felt before. 

With one last peck, he pulls away, placing his forehead against your own. His eyes locked on yours before they looked down at your plump lips, running his thumb over them soothingly. With every fiber of his body, he has to untangle himself from you and back himself into the elevator, having to catch the door before it closes on him. He sends you a final infatuated smile before the doors close. 

Igby blinks as he loses his eye contact with you and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the smile on his face expanding with every tingle he felt. He knew he was about to face the cold rain again, yet this time, he knew it wouldn’t bother him. Not when the burning of your shared kiss still lingered in his body. 

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