#swaino

The first time he’d flirted with you, you’d been ready to blow him off instantly; his swagger and smirk annoying you.

And yet, you hadn’t.

Because despite all his brashness and his swearing, if you look behind the macho exterior, you can catch a peek of who the man is on the inside. Someone who’s kind and honest, who cares deeply about his friends and his family. Someone you can trust with anything and who would do everything for you.

The main reason you don’t consider yourself fully in a relationship with him, is because you keep fighting about one particular thing. All the time. And it’s kind of a deal-breaker for you.

As much as you like Swaino, you hate how vain he can be, and particularly about his hair. You can easily admit that he has gorgeous hair, hair that you love to comb through or tug at. It has the perfect length just for that. But his hair is also the reason he won’t put on a helmet.

You’re walking home from the café, laptop bag slung over your shoulder, and as you had expected, you find Swaino, still straddling his bike, waiting for you in front of your place.

“Hey, Sweetcheeks,” he greets with his infamous grin, hair all over the place, and you hate that you still think that he looks good that way.

You still know that you have to put your foot down for good this time because you had just witnessed him driving far too fast for him to not protect his pretty head.

“I see you still haven’t gotten a helmet,” you reply, deciding to not beat around the bush.

Swaino’s head tips back with a loud groan as he pinches the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck. You really gonna attack with this right off the bat?”

“I just saw you literally flying by the café a minute ago, Terrance. So yeah, I’m starting right off the bat with this.”

Swaino grimaces at the way you say his first name. You call him by his last name more often than not, and he knows that you using this tone with his first name signifies that you mean business.

“Ah, come on.” He removes his shades and puts them away. “You seriously want me to cover this masterpiece of-”

“Yes, I do. And just so we’re clear? You’ll be spending New Year’s Eve with your sisters and not with me like planned if you don’t put on a goddamn helmet. And those?” You point to your breasts. “Are off the table as is the rest. Capisce?”

You’re ready to use his own way of speaking on him if it means that he’ll understand that you're being serious.

Swaino dismounts from his bike and walks to where you’re standing in front of the stairs leading to your front door.

“Are you threatening me?” He looks more shocked that you put it that way than about the threatening part.

“If it gets you to wear a helmet and, God forbid, protect your head, then yes, I am.” You cross your arms and level him with a flat look.

“You’re bluffing,” he says with narrowed eyes, looking you up and down to find confirmation that he’s right. “You love it too much. Love the way my cock feels inside your p-”

“Try me,” you cut him off and push him away from you with a hand on his chest when he tries to walk closer into your space, your eyes hard.

Swaino stumbles back a few steps, eyebrows lifted in surprise as he finally understands that you actually mean it. He stares at you for a long moment, biting over his lower lip while he obviously thinks.

“Fine,” he grumbles at length. “If only to show you that I really wanna spend New year’s with you.”

You chuckle as you let your arms unfold, appeased by him agreeing.

“Please, you just don’t want to have to deal with Patty’s breakup story again.”

The way Swaino groans and covers his eyes lets you understand that he’d completely forgotten about that detail, and makes you laugh even more.

“I’m definitely wearing a fucking helmet now.”

“It’s a date, then.” You step closer to him and peck him on the lips.

“What? I still can’t come up?” He asks, disappointed.

“Nope. Not ‘til I have proof that you held your word.” You walk backwards before turning to climb the stairs. “See you in three days,” you call once you’ve opened the door and look back at him, still standing where you left him and looking resigned.

Three days later, you hear Swaino’s bike from two streets down, and look out your window to watch him drive up to your place. As promised, his head is covered by a bright red helmet. Pleased, you grin and walk to the front door, ready to open it as soon as he knocks; which he does a few seconds later.

The sound that comes out of you at the sight of him after he has removed the head protection can only be described as a loud screech of laughter. He’s looking at you, unimpressed, and watches as you hold yourself up against the door jamb, cold wind drifting into your apartment all the while.

“You done?” He grumbles and finally walks past you when you don’t answer and keep laughing.

You only manage to close the door and lean against it as tears run down the side of your face from the force of your laughter.

“You look like a freaking Playmobil,” you get out before giggling again.

Swaino walks towards the first mirror he finds and swears colorfully while he frantically tugs and combs through his hair.

“I’m never wearing a helmet again.”

You can’t help snorting, but this time, you won’t fight him on it. You even walk up to him and start helping to get his hair into a semblance of what it usually looks like.