#tpwp

Dante was sprawled out on the couch. It was later in the afternoon, so it shouldn’t have surprised Gene that his brother had dragged himself out of his room to play whatever game piqued his interest. Gene knew that if Dante saw him wearing slacks and a button up, then he would either be teased or questioned to no end. He hoped his brother was so engrossed in his game that he didn’t notice.

Gene was never so lucky.

“What are you all dressed up for?” Dante’s head was tilted back and his gaze followed as Gene strolled across the room behind him.

Gene ignored him. Maybe if he didn’t say anything then Dante wouldn’t either.

He ran through a list in his head, feeling like he was forgetting something. The basket was on the counter, his pack of cigarettes and lighter next to it. His keys were by the door. He’d spent a ridiculous amount of time last night trying to curate a playlist you would like, so he already had the music picked.

He pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips, and slipped the pack into his pocket before patting himself down. He had his wallet. His shoes were cleaned, his clothes were pressed . . .

What was he forgetting?

As Dante spoke, Gene flicked his lighter. He cupped his hand around the flame to keep it from extinguishing as he raised it and lit the stick in his mouth. “Is it a girl?”

“Mind your business, Dante,” Gene replied, his words muffled with the cigarette in his mouth.

“Oh, it is so a girl.” Dante paused the game and readjusted so he could face Gene on the couch. “Who is it?”

“Dante.” There was a warning edge to Gene’s voice as he flicked his lighter off and pocketed that as well. For a moment, Dante quieted and Gene thought he would be fine to continue about his day without anyone being nosy.

And then his mom came in from the garage. The nosiest person he knew. In her arms was a bouquet of pale roses and daisies. The feeling of forgetting something finally dissipated from Gene’s shoulder as Maria strolled into the kitchen and set the bouquet on the island counter.

He had almost forgotten the flowers.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said. He slid the flowers toward himself and opened the basket, rearranging the contents so he could display the blooms.

Maira circled the island, stopping when she stood on the same side as Gene. She leaned against her arm on the counter, tapping her fingers against the marble.

“So what are the flowers for? Is it a girl?” she asked, tilting her head. Her blue hair just barely brushed the countertop.

Gene’s gaze flicked to hers. Of course she would know. She always knew, she was his mom.

He shook his head. “It’s no one.”

“Mentiroso.” Maria reached over and pulled on Gene’s earlobe. He hissed and swatted her hand away. “Don’t lie to your mother. You’re out here with a basket and flowers and dressed all nice. You hardly do that when I ask.”

“Mamá, déjalo.” Gene took the cigarette between his pointer and middle finger and puffed out the smoke. The smell of tobacco drifting toward his nose reminded him of what he had been trying to do for a while now. “Shit.”

He reached across the counter for the ceramic ashtray and slid it closer. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and pressed the lit end against the tray, snuffing it out.

Maria raised a brow. She exchanged a glance with Dante, who looked just as confused. “Bad cigarette?” she questioned.

Gene shook his head, picking up the tray and walking it to the trash can to dump it. “No. She-“ Gene paused. When he looked at Maria her eyes were wide, but she didn’t seem surprised. Gene blew out an exasperated breath before continuing. He had already outed himself, might as well say more. “She doesn’t like when I smoke. The smell bothers her, and she’s brought up a bunch of health problems.”

“Really?” Maria popped her hip and exchanged another glance with Dante. Gene wished his brother paid this much attention when their mom was giving him instructions in the morning.

Gene gave a strained hum of affirmation. He knew what his mother was thinking because she had also expressed her concerns about his smoking problem when she first found out. Regardless of what she’d said, he continued to buy cigarettes under the table, occasionally stealing from his father’s stash. Maria allowed it as long as Ricky wasn’t home.

“I seem to remember Phoenix Drop Elementary having an annual assembly to discuss the troubles of smoking and doing drugs,” she recalled. She looked down at her nails, picking at the pearly polish. “Y’know what, your middle school actually had one every year, too. And Phoenix Drop High sends out—”

“Mom.”

Maria held her hands up in surrender, her golden bangles jingling together. “Just saying.” She glanced away, playfully avoiding her son’s gaze before looking back at him with a gentle smile. She gave him a once over, noting that his usually unruly hair was neatly done and he was wearing clothes she normally had to force him to wear. And he was wearing them by choice. He smelled nice, too. Maria could pick up the notes of black cherry from where she stood.

She knew there was someone, there was no doubt about that. She imagined for a moment what you looked like, what your personality was like. Probably nice and gentle for Gene to want to present himself as such.

She was almost bewildered. She had been convinced that her eldest son wouldn’t have shown any kind of interest in romance. Leave it up to her troublemaker to pull a wild card on her and turn the tables.

“I want to meet her.” Maria’s voice was gentle, her gaze upon Gene full of fondness. Gene gave her a soft smile. He picked a daisy from the bouquet and handed it to her.

“You will, Mom,” he said. Maria took the flower with a roll of her eyes. “We just . . . We’re taking it slow. She wants to keep it private for a bit, and I don’t mind that.”

That’s what he had agreed to over the phone, and he was going to stick by it. You may have been used to the publicity that came with being the closest thing to a high school celebrity, but you still had your own qualms with it. Besides, Gene preferred to keep things about himself unknown. It made it harder for people to retaliate when he pissed them off.

Maria sighed and twirled the stem of the daisy between her thumb and index finger. She hummed thoughtfully, reluctantly coming to terms with the secrecy. She wasn’t even getting a name. She pushed herself off the counter. “Alright. Be good to her, Gene.”

An amused breath fell from his lips as he grabbed the basket. “I will, Mom. Don’t worry.”

He fished the pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his pocket and set them on the counter. He grabbed the basket and flowers and was out the door before another comment could be made.

He knew that as soon as he was gone his mom would sit with his brother and theorize who he had a date with. Dante would offer the list of very limited options and with the help of Maria they would narrow it down to one person. There was no doubt that by the time he got home they’d be singing your name left and right.

But that was a problem for later. Gene didn’t need to worry himself with that now.

—

You were freaking out. Unfortunately for her, Julie was a witness to the way you were scrambling about your room in search for . . . something. She wasn’t sure what, but evidently it was important.

“Y/n, are you gonna keep running around? Or can I go now?” She had been holding onto a necklace you’d haphazardly handed to her. You’d said you needed her help actually clasping it around your neck, but right after she wrapped her hand around the chain you walked to the other side of the room.

“No.” You were out of breath and looked more frazzled than Julie had ever seen you. It was alarming, almost. She’d never seen you look so worried or bothered about anything—not even your drill routines or previous dance competitions. “Just give me a second, Jules. I’m looking—”

The doorbell sounded. Clearly it was the worst sound you’d ever heard because Julie watched your expression morph into panic. You looked down at your feet (which would have been clad in Julie’s pair of red Mary Jane’s, but you couldn’t find the other shoe), and then to your wrists (you had been wanting to wear various bracelets and bangles, however similarly to your left shoe you had no such luck in finding what you wanted), and then at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was still up in the messiest bun/ponytail thing Julie had ever seen.

You cursed at yourself, and then continued to mumble as your scrambling turned into pacing. Finally, you looked at Julie. The two of you held eye contact for a moment before you smiled.

Julie knew what that meant. “No.”

“Jules, please.”

“I’m not entertaining your boyfriend while you finish getting ready.”

“He’s not even my boyfriend! He’s . . . a friend.”

Julie raised a brow at you. Friend sure was an understating word for how much effort you were putting into looking nice. Clothes were strewn all about your room and Julie was cringing at the mess of jewelry and chains on your desk, as well as the scattered makeup on the floor in front of your mirror.

“Julie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Y/n.”

“I’ll do the dishes for a week.”

Julie groaned. She hated doing dishes. Who didn’t, really? But now that the offer had been placed on the table, she was really weighing her options.

She folded under your pleading gaze. She heaved a sigh, letting the dainty necklace you had given her fall onto the floor with various other items before trudging out of your room.

When she opened the front door, Gene was fiddling with the cuff of his shirt beneath his coat. There was a bouquet of lightly colored roses and daisies clutched in his hand. The only word Julie could think of to describe the tall senior was nervous. She had no doubt that he was just as distressed as you were while he was getting ready.

At least that’s what she assumed. She could never get a decent read on him and didn’t think he looked all that different from normal.

“Gene,” Julie said, giving him a once over. He looked nice, though that really shouldn’t have been a surprise. From what Julie had seen, Gene was the only one that followed the uniform dress code to a T. If he put that much effort into his clothes at school, then why wouldn’t he for the girl he liked?

“Julie.” Gene nodded at the younger girl, his voice coming out breathy. If she didn’t know better, Julie might have thought that Gene was recovering from a jog.

The two stood awkwardly for a moment. Gene had stopped fidgeting, but Julie could tell he was itching to move his hands in some way. After a very long, very boring, very drawn out second, Julie opened the door wider and let Gene in.

“Y/n’s still getting ready,” she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. Gene walked right past her and instead of settling himself on the couch like she thought he might’ve, he just . . . stood there. Awkwardly. Shockingly rigid, too. If Julie hadn’t seen him walking, she might have thought he was a taxidermied statue. Or something.

Gene was avoiding her gaze. She thought nothing much of it, and to avoid the thick tension that came with her sister’s friend standing in the living room, she excused herself and said she was going to get you.

She opened your door without knocking. When she did, she found that you were in a completely different outfit. While you had previously been wearing leggings and a large sweater, now you were wearing a flowy white dress with poofy sleeves. Sure, you had been debating changing out the leggings for a maxi skirt, but Julie hadn’t expected you to change this much.

“Why’d you change?” she asked, looking around. And now she didn’t see the leggings or the sweater you had been wearing anywhere. They must have fallen into the eternal pit of darkness that your closet had become over the past few hours.

“Because I looked stupid, Julie.” At least your hair was fixed now. Two pieces framed your face and the rest was tied beneath a bandana Julie had made you. However, along with your outfit, you were also completely changing your makeup.

“Y/n, he’s gonna be standing out there forever at this rate,” Julie groaned.

“Go talk to him! Gene won’t bite, Jules.”

“He looked about ready to bite you the other day,” she mumbled, shuddering at the memory of an after school interaction she had been unfortunate enough to watch. Your neck heated and as you blended concealer into your undereyes, you stood from your crouched position in front of your mirror and moved to push Julie out of your room.

“Shut up. Five minutes.”

You slammed your bedroom door in your sister’s face. Julie air strangled you through the door before composing herself and walking back out to the living room. Gene still looked tense, but at least he had decided to be tense in a dining room table chair.

“Five minutes,” Julie said, to which he nodded. That five minutes really felt like five years, and Julie spent every second of it wishing she knew how to actually start a conversation. She really wished her dad was home. Or her mom—she was good at conversing with anyone.

When you finally came out, Julie thanked Irene. If it had just been you and her, she might have fallen to her knees and clasped her hands together to praise the goddess. Instead, she turned and left you to deal with the thick and awkward tension Gene had brought into your house.

Neither of you said anything. You and Gene just looked at each other for a moment. You patted down the skirt of your dress as you admired the way Gene had dressed. Gene picked at one of the rose’s stems as he took in the fact that you had actually dressed up. For him.

That was something he never expected from anyone.

A soft smile stretched across his face. Along with your white dress, you wore lacy stockings and brown boots. Gene kept his gaze lowered as he stood up, and he kept it on your feet until he was standing in front of you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said. Any remnants of nerves he had were gone, hidden by the usual cocky façade he normally presented. He held out the bouquet of pale roses and daisies to you, a wide grin stretched across his lips. “Got you flowers.”

He had considered telling you his mom made them, but he’d already decided against it. It would make him look pathetic and he didn’t want to scare you off by saying he’d already told his mom about you—even if it was just a little bit.

Your lips curled into a smile as you took the bouquet. Your hands brushed his own and your breath hitched. You let the touch linger for a second that bordered on too long before actually taking the arrangement from his hands.

“They’re beautiful,” you replied, meeting his gaze. It was uncharacteristically soft. Worried? No, that wasn’t quite it, but there was definitely something in his unusually sweet sapphire eyes that dissipated once you said that. “Thank you.”

He gave you a nod. You expected him to make a joke or tease you in some way, but he didn’t. He just cleared his throat and kept smiling softly at you.

“So,” you started, hoping to clear some of the tension, “where are you taking me?”

“Well—” His voice caught. He cleared his throat again, watching as you stepped into the kitchen and opened the cabinets in search of a vase. He followed close behind, hovering in the doorway. “Since this is short notice I couldn’t get a fancy reservation.”

“Naturally,” you replied. Finally, you found a tall vase in the cupboard beneath your sink and filled it with water.

The corner of Gene’s lips quirked up, and he watched you arrange the blooms in the glass vase. “I thought you’d like a picnic date, though. Just in the park. Nothing too fancy, since we’re really only testing the waters.”

Gene couldn’t see your smile, but he did see the way your eyes crinkled over the blossoms. It filled him with a sort of pride to know that he’d been able to pull something you’d like together.

“That sounds nice,” you said, stepping out from behind the vase. You took the short strides so you were standing in front of him again. You had to look up at him, even if just a tad, and the fact that you needed to do that stupidly made your heart flutter. He was still looking at you with all the gentleness in the world. “You also look nice, by the way. Handsome.”

Gene smiled at you, a charming one that curved up. You were already anticipating the tease. “Yeah, bunny? You like when I dress up?”

You shrugged, trying to play nonchalance despite the heat settling on the back of your neck. “You clean up nice.”

“Maybe I’ll do it more.” He winked. “Just for you.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard a cabinet slam. When you turned to find the source—your younger sister, who was trying very hard not to look in your direction—you found that Julie was being obnoxiously loud about finding the bag of Doritos.

When she finally did turn to look at you, she was opening the bag. “Irene, the sexual tension between you too is more obvious than . . .” She paused, reaching into the bag as she thought. “Never mind. I’m not well versed enough to be able to compare this to something else. But it's weird. Get a room.”

It didn’t take long for you to urge Gene out of your house—if only to save yourself before Julie’s comments became more . . . embarrassing. You accidentally slammed the door behind you, you were so flustered.

For a moment, you just stared at Gene. You leaned back and let the front door carry your weight while Gene stood in front of you. He was trying to bite back a stupid smirk. “Don’t mind her,” you said, forcing a short-lived laugh. “She’s, uh, fourteen. Y’know. Fresh out of middle school—real immature.”

“Right.” Gene laughed. As an excuse to hide your face, you turned back around to lock the door. “Well, if a fourteen-year-old can recognize the tension between me and you, then maybe we should—”

“The park!” you shouted abruptly, spinning around on your heel and stepping ahead of him to his car. “Let’s get going.”

Gene laughed again as he followed. Somehow, he reached the car first and opened the passenger door, gently closing it behind you. You fastened your seatbelt and readjusted so you didn’t feel so awkward while he walked around the car.

By the time Gene had turned his key in the ignition and started reversing out of your driveway, the soft melody of Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” was playing through the speakers. It was quiet. Romantic. The memory of dancing with Gene at homecoming made a fond smile stretch across your lips.

The stroke of serendipity ended when the song cut off. You assumed Gene’s music app was simply buffering, but the second you thought that the volume increased and the sound of a saxophone blared through the car.

You had to stifle a laugh when you recognized the song as “Thrift Shop.” Gene reached to turn the volume down, though it seemed that any time he did it would spring right back up. He fiddled with it for a second before momentarily pulling over to disconnect the bluetooth from his phone.

You let a chuckle slip past your lips. Gene looked up from whatever he was typing on his phone to shoot you a half-serious glare.

“Something funny?” he asked, raising a brow and tossing his phone back into the cup holder. You shook your head as he put the car back into drive.

“No. I just didn’t take you as someone that would listen to Macklemore”

Your tone was teasing. No matter how hard you tried to bite it back, a smile pulled at your lips. Gene would never tell you, but he’d let his phone play whatever unexpected thing came up if it meant you'd give him that same look.

“My brother seems to think he’s hilarious,” is all he said. “He caught me leaving the house looking like this.”

“Oh no.” There was no worry or concern in your voice, and when you leaned over the center console to shamelessly stare at him with those lined eyes, Gene had to pretend he didn’t want to just kiss you. “How woeful it is to be caught dressing nice for me.”

“Well, Dante has a big mouth. I tried not to make it too obvious that I was going out, especially with you. He wouldn’t have shut up otherwise.”

You smiled. That was what you’d wanted and Gene was complying. “The music was him?”

“Probably. So, clearly I failed.” Gene clicked his tongue. “He takes one computer programming class and suddenly he’s the all-knowing IT guy that can hack into anything.”

“How did he hack into your music app?”

“Fuck if I know.” Gene shrugged. “I know I’m the one that brought him up, but I’m not sure how I feel about talking about my brother, who still relentlessly flirts with you, while we’re on a date.”

A laugh fell from your lips, the noise sounding light and airy. “Scared I’ll be charmed just at the mere mention of his name?” you teased.

“Yes, actually.” An amused breath fell from Gene’s lips. “Dante has a way with girls, as surprising as it is.”

“So do you, apparently,” you pointed out.

His eyes flicked to you. It was lucky that you had stopped at a red light, because his gaze lingered on you for far too long to be considered safe while driving. His lips quirked up. His tongue ran over the edges of his teeth before he clicked it against the roof of his mouth.

“Apparently I do.”

—

The park was weirdly empty for a Sunday afternoon. It was chilly, yes, but not so much that someone would have to bundle up in a million layers just to generate warmth. You thought the quiet was just a nice little gift from Irene, and if you were being honest, you were thankful for it. The fewer people there meant less chance for someone to be snooping on what you were doing.

Gene had set out the blanket—a cream and brown checkered length of fabric that felt like it might have been a tablecloth at some point. It was worn and obviously well loved, but the feeling of the used canvas beneath your fingers was grounding. It kept you from going too far in your own thoughts.

The food he’d gotten for it wasn’t so much of a meal as it was a collection of things you could snack on. It made sense, considering it was halfway through the afternoon—too late to eat lunch but too early to even think about dinner. A tray of fruit he’d popped the lid off of and set down, an assortment of tiny sandwiches and cookies that he bought that morning and repackaged. You couldn’t help but smile at his effort of a last minute date.

“What?” he asked when he caught your gaze.

“Nothing. Just impressed.”

“You didn’t think I’d be able to do this?” You bit your tongue. There had been no doubt that Gene would have been able to pull together a quick date. Whether or not he chose something other than a quick party was up for debate. “Bunny, that’s terrible. I care about you, you know.”

“Well, yeah. I dunno I guess I was expecting like . . .” A party. Sneaking into a club or bar. You didn’t doubt that Gene would’ve made sure you enjoyed the date even if you did go there, but you had truly anticipated something more in his lane. “Not this?”

“I think you have extremely low standards for me. Laurance really messed me up in your head, huh?” he teased.

“Let’s not talk about my ex on a date.” You chuckled. Gene had settled the blanket in an area that was more populated with flowers, so while the two of you talked you reached to pluck them from the ground. “He’s irrelevant.”

“Of course. But tell me, bunny”—he flashed you a smile—“I’m still better than him, right?”

You hummed in faux consideration as you reached for his hand and wrapped the short chain of flowers around his pinky. “That’s up for debate. Are we talking morally or in terms of how you’re treating me on this date? Because the answer is very different. Laurance has never blackmailed anyone. On the other hand, though, he never picked me up.”

“Laurance can’t drive, sweetheart.” Your heartbeat faltered. Something must have changed in your expression because Gene’s smile widened, but he didn’t comment on it. “Besides, you must like me enough. What are you doing? Proposing?”

Once you had tied the ring of flowers around his finger, he lifted his hand, turning it as if he wanted a closer look. His gaze was soft when he lifted his eyes to meet yours.

“A flower ring,” you replied, shrugging like it was a common thing that everyone did. “When I lived in Scaleswind, my whole family lived by a pretty flower meadow. My grandma taught me and Julie how to make lots of flower accessories.” You looked at him expectantly, gaze flitting between his own and the florals on his hand. “Do you like it?”

Gene considered your question, tilting his head and giving you a once over. The action combined with the way he was looking at you vaguely reminded you of a fox. “I think it’s very you.”

You scoffed. “What does that even mean?”

And suddenly, as Gene laughed in response, you imagined this date going very differently. Maybe it was a hint to what you hoped would happen in the future, where Gene laughed with ease and pulled you closer to him. Somewhere later in this blooming relationship where he’d press his lips to yours and you’d smile into the kiss and tug him down with you.

You found yourself smiling when, instead of saying anything, Gene plucked a flower from the grass and grabbed your right hand. You didn’t say anything as he wrapped the long stem around your ring finger, adjusting it when he finished so the blossom was displayed proudly. When he pulled away, you hummed as you admired the makeshift ring.

Gene really wasn’t as bad as everyone made him out to be.

You wondered if anyone would believe you when those words left your lips.

After a moment, you decided you didn’t care. Let him save the soft parts of himself for you, if he wanted. You liked it like that.

—

The rest of the date continued smoothly, much less awkward than you had been expecting it to be. When you seemed to grow restless of sitting in one spot, Gene offered a walk around the park. You were quick to agree and helped him clean up the picnic, offering to carry the basket.

He didn’t let you. He was very adamant about that. Even held it above his head when you reached for it.

That didn’t matter. When you started collecting flowers as you walked, Gene was more than willing to let you decorate his person with them. Well, maybe not willing. But he didn’t say anything to reject the small, colorful florets.

You grew increasingly more touchy. What started as barely there brushes against his knuckles became lingering contact as time dragged on. Fingertips ghosting against his collarbone as you tucked flowers into his shirt became deliberate touches left on his arms and hands. Gene—the ever observant man that he was—noticed.

He played into your not-so-subtle way you slowly started to cling to him. He intentionally gave you openings to touch him, flexed his arms beneath your palms, even thought he was slick when he discreetly tangled his fingers with yours.

He wasn’t slick about it, but you let him pretend he was.

It wasn’t surprising when, as you were walking up the driveway to your house, Gene’s arm was loosely wrapped around your shoulders. You talked in hushed tones, your boots crunching against the gravel beneath your feet as the final rays of the golden sun filtered through the skies. When you reached your front door you turned to Gene, hesitant and unwilling to leave him.

“Star rating,” he said after a moment, flashing you his perfect teeth. “One to ten. Go.”

You giggled, humming in consideration and tapping your pointer finger against your chin. “Eight. I could have done without Macklemore on your playlist.”

Gene clicked his tongue, shaking his head playfully. “Damn, two points off because of Macklemore. I’ll be sure to tell Dante to play something more romantic next time.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t play something like WAP,” you chuckle.

“I’m sure our mom was watching.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you, similar to the night before. You didn’t want to go in your house and Gene didn’t want to leave, leaving you in limbo and dancing around what was left unsaid.

His gaze dropped to your lips. Your palms were getting sweaty and in an attempt to discreetly wipe them you clasped your hands behind your back.

“Be honest.” His voice was low. Dangerous in a way that made your heart feel like it would stop. It took obvious effort for Gene to lift his pretty blue eyes back to yours. “How much would you hate me if I kissed you right now?”

Your breath caught. “Not at all.” Your voice barely came out a whisper. “I could never hate you.”

Gene’s eyebrow quirked, just barely. You wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t looking so closely at him. “Can I?”

You couldn’t even fully nod before he was leaning forward, connecting his lips to yours in a kiss so gentle it felt like a dream. Your eyes fluttered shut, barely able to kiss back before he pulled away. Your eyes flick open, surprised at the brevity of the action.

Your surprise didn’t last long. Gene—unable to resist the doe-eyed way you looked up at him in shock—pulled you closer to him with a hand on the back of your neck and connected your lips again. It was heated this time. More intentional. Gene was kissing you like he needed you to breathe.

Your arms snaked around his shoulders, hands tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him impossibly closer. He was a good kisser, though you couldn’t decide whether or not that fact shocked you. He nipped at your lips with just enough pressure to draw desperate breaths out of your lungs. He tilted his head the right way and held onto you like you might disappear if he let go and . . . Irene, he was really good at this.

“Nervous?” he teased, letting out an amused breath when your brows furrowed. “You’ve got sweaty hands.”

You softly groaned against his mouth. Of course he would notice something like that. “You’re so mean.”

“Clearly you’re into it.” Gene bent his knees, bracing his arms around your thighs before lifting you. You gasp when your feet lose contact with the ground.

“Shut up,” you managed to say between being kiss-drunk and in awe. “You’re warm.”

It was a weak excuse and Gene knew it. He chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours while he brushed your lips. “Sure. That’s what we’re going with.”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

Gene raised a brow, mumbling, “Yes, ma’am,” before kissing you again. Over and over. Short, quick ones this time—though they didn’t lack the emotion of the earlier ones. “That was hot. You being bossy. Telling me to shut up. Do it again, yeah?”

“You guys are disgusting.”

You squeaked, breaking away from Gene faster than light. You attempted to push him and nearly fell in the process, considering you were still in Gene’s arms and not exactly on the ground, but the dark-haired boy tightened his hold around you to steady you. You turn to Julie, who was standing in the front doorway. You hadn’t even heard it open.

“Julie!” you shout (definitely too loudly) as Gene carefully drops you back onto your feet. He lowly whistled, turning his head to look out at the street instead of meeting Julie’s very judgemental gaze. “How, uh . . . We’re you just watching?”

“No. I was trying to scare you when you walked into the house but you were taking forever.” Julie rolled her eyes. “I peeked out the window to see what was taking so long and you had your tongues down each other’s throats. It was like a mother bird feeding her baby or something.”

“We weren’t-”

“Dad’s home, Y/n,” Julie hissed through her teeth, raising her brows so high they nearly reached her hairline. You heard Gene quietly curse, though you weren’t sure why. “Be glad it was me who saw you guys”—she stuck her tongue out and gagged in a sad one-man recreation of what you had supposedly done—“and not Dad. Or Mom, for that matter.”

That would’ve been your worst nightmare.

“Okay, Jules. I get it. Uh . . .” You glanced at Gene. You couldn’t just ditch him, even if you were already at your house. But you felt awkward giving him a proper goodbye with your sister in the doorway. Especially since she just watched one of your more . . . heated kisses. “Give us a minute?”

Julie raised her brows to the heavens again. “Do not start making out again.”

“Irene, Julie. We won’t-“

“I’m watching.” She squinted her eyes before closing the door. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. The back of your neck was inexplicably warm, and it took a moment for you to actually gather your thoughts before you could face Gene.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “She’s . . .”

Gene waves off your vague hand motion. “It’s alright. Younger siblings are nosy as fuck.” You offer a soft hum, knowing that Dante’s own curiosity and snoopy tendencies knew no bounds.

Gene was smiling at you fondly. When you finally brought yourself to meet his gaze, he said, “I really wanna kiss you again, pretty.”

Your eyes widened, but you smiled. Nodded. Gene leaned down once more to connect your lips sweetly and tenderly. He was soft against you, the rings of his snakebites pressing against your lips—although not uncomfortably, just. . . in a way that belonged entirely to Gene Accardi.

Julie knocked on the window. You pulled away from Gene with a reluctant groan, shooting a glare at the window. Julie was nowhere to be seen. The coward was probably hiding behind the curtain. You rolled your eyes.

“I should probably go,” you said, looking back up at Gene. There was a glint in his eyes and he was staring at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world. “Thank you for the date.”

“Thank you for going out with me.” Gene stayed close even when you finally opened the door and resumed Julie’s former spot. He leaned against the doorway, looking down at you. “How’re you feeling about us?”

You gave him a sweet smile. “Let’s keep going slow.”

Surely, you thought, he was going to tease you. Because while the date itself was slow, the racing of your heart that had just happened was definitely not.

But he didn’t say anything about it. Only raised a brow as if to remind you that he could and was choosing not to. “Tell people we’re seeing each other now?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. I want it to be just us for a bit.”

“Alright. But if I catch that fucking freshman trying to flirt with you while you’re at practice again—“

The bell-like sound of your laughter cut Gene off. The noise made his lips curl up, and his head tilted as he listened to it.

“Nathan’s just the water boy,” you said. “He needed a PE credit but the normal class didn’t fit in his schedule.”

“He needs to take a hint and back off, is what he needs to do.” You laugh again, your eyes crinkling at the corners in a way Gene finds beautiful. When your laughter quiets, his expression softens. “Have a good night, Y/n.”

He had been using your name instead of bunny more often lately, though you still hadn’t gotten used to the sound of syllables that belonged to you leaving his lips.

Your lips curved, heart fluttering. “Goodnight, Gene.”

He gave you one last wink before you finally closed the door. You listened for the footsteps walking away, but didn’t hear them until you turned the dead bolt and locked the door.

To your dismay, Julie was still close by. Clearly she had heard the entire conversation, but there was nothing to be done about that. It was her own fault, at this point. She could have walked away whenever she wanted.

She pointed to the corner of her lips, whispering, “Fix your lip gloss. Dad’s in the living room.”

You were quick to raise your hand and swipe at your lips, passing it off as an itch as you stepped further into the house with Julie. She was a liar, by the way, because not only was your father seated comfortably in his usual spot, but your mother was also curled up in her chair.

You consider jumping out the window. Instead, you give them both a smile and take the two seconds before they start asking questions about who he is to mentally prepare yourself.

Although, you hadn’t prepared yourself to get another conversation about safe sex from your mom. Or the demonstration she prepared with a cucumber and a wine flavored condom that had obviously been sitting around for years. That was not something you had been expecting.

sorry for the long wait guys i got swamped with schoolwork 💔 hopefully this update is worth it

anywaysss this is the end of “part one” so to speak. shit is gonna start hitting the dan real soon i don’t think y’all are ready

but anyway have a good day or night!! i hope you guys continue to be kind and understanding in my update schedule, though i’m gonna try to get part nine out next month

okay love y’all 💜

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