A (Marvel)lous thought

“You don’t look fine.”

It’s true. You don’t look fine. Far from it. You just came back from a mission that went sideways earlier in the night. You and John went on your own, prepared for what was supposed to be a stealth mission. The building was supposed to be abandoned besides a couple of patrols that came by every couple of hours or so. No security, no armed guard. Key words: Supposed to be. Val’s intel seemed to have left out the three dozen guards survelling the very facility she wanted you to break into. Bitch.

So now, you’re hurt. John, thanks to his serum, was almost completely healed by the time the jet landed at the Watchtower with nothing more than a couple cuts and bruises. You were a different story.

Your black eye was glaringly obvious, but thankfully the cut on your lip had finally clotted so you didn't really have to worry about that. The bruise forming on your cheek wasn't pretty and the large cut on your forehead was kind of deep.

Not wanting to deal with all the fuss and fanatics of going to the med bay and getting checked out, you stayed holed up in your room for the remainder of the day. Knowing them, they’d make you hold off on training and missions until you’re fully healed. But you’re the newest on the team, you don’t want to be a burden already. Once you figured the coast was clear, you made your way down to take care of the rest of your wounds.

You were in the middle of cleaning the cut on your forehead, hissing from the pain of the antiseptic when Bob snuck up on you. He had actually wanted to talk to you about what happened the moment you walked out of the jet clutching your side and facing the ground to hide your face from view, but you brushed him off the second he tried to ask if you were okay.

You go to move, wanting nothing more than to just go to your room and act like nothing’s wrong and that your wrist isn’t screaming at you in pain, but a gentle hand stops you, carefully resting on your shoulder.

Your eyes flicker to Bob, down his hand and back to him again, "I'm fine Bob.”

You try to step around him, but Bob steps in front of you, “I can help patch you up.”

Snorting, you brush him off again, “It’s okay, Bob. It’s just a couple scrapes. I'm not going to die from blood loss.”

He shakes his head at you, not amused at all when his eyes flicker over your bruised wrist, “Y-your wrist -”

“It’s just a sprain; it’s no big deal.”

“It can be if you don’t let it heal right.”

“Please, I’ll be fine-”

“Come on, just let me help, stop being so stubborn.”

You scoff, “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. Since I've known you, ‘I’m fine’ has basically been your catchphrase.”

You cringe at your words the moment they leave your mouth. You watch as Bobs’ face drops and he takes a step back. You shake your head at yourself and step forward, “Sorry, sorry, I can’t believe I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, it’s fine, just-” He lets out a frustrated sigh, rolling his shoulder as he bites down on his lower lip, “I know I’m not one to talk or ask for help. I know I’m a hypocrite for saying this to you, but you’re bruised up and you’re hurt and I can tell you’re trying not to wince while you breath so just, just let me do what I can. I want to help you, so please let me."

You open your mouth to say something about having survived worse than a sprained wrist, but then Bob squeezes your shoulder again and looks at you with his big puppy dog eyes, pleading for you to let him help. So, you begrudgingly nod and sit down, “Fine, but just the wrist. I can handle the cuts, but it was a bitch to try and wrap it on my own.”

Taking the win, Bob nods, a small smile on his face as motions for you to sit. Quickly, he grabs the bandage and medical tape before sitting across from you, his knee bumping against yours as he gently takes your injured hand in his. Your brain seems to glitch, heat blooming over your cheeks and down your neck as Bob leans closer and starts wrapping your wrist in the bandage.

Neither of you say anything at first. You chalk it up to Bob being too concentrated in his aide to be distracted, Bob chalks it up to you not wanting to talk to him. You both don’t seem to realize the real reason is actually neither.

Wanting to break the ice, you ask, “Where’d you learn how to do this? Your file didn't say anything about a… medical background.”

Bob chuckles and shrugs, “Can’t go out there on missions with you guys without the uh -” His nose scrunches as the memory of what happened he used his powers momentarily crosses his mind, but he blinks it away, “The other guy coming out so I decided if I can’t help out there, at least I can with like, the medicine and… stuff.”

You nod, watching him. In all the time you’ve been with the team, you’ve never been this close to Bob before. You were friendly to each other, but he found his confidant in Yelena, and you found yours in Ava. Not that you didn’t want to be more than that, but you just didn’t know how to talk to him. Every interaction seemed to end on an awkward note or by one of you making an excuse to cut the interaction short.

Blue eyes flicker up to you, and you look away. He finishes taping off the bandage a minute later, “There. All done.”

You flex your fingers, trying to get used to the feeling of your hand being bound. Bob watches, biting his lip as he waits for your reaction, “Thanks, Bob, I uh, I owe you one, I guess.”

Bob waves you off, trying to act nonchalant about it “No biggie.” But that doesn’t stop the feeling of heat rushing towards his face as a light blush of pink coats his cheeks. Shyly, he bows his head causing some strands of his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

Your uninjured hand twitches at your side. You want to reach forward and brush it back, but you’re not close like that. That's such an… intimate act. You don’t want to be weird. So, you just smile and wave.

“Good night, Bob.”

Bob wants to ask if he can walk you to your room. If you want to stay up and watch a movie. If you want him to take a look at your ribs too, but he knows you’ll refuse. Instead, he settles for a simple wave, his eyes following you out of the room and into the empty hallway, “Night.”

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“I don’t know,” Bob mumbles. The tips of his ears burn. He wonders if he imagined you calling him cute. “Nobody’s ever liked me that much, I guess.”

There’s a beat of silence. Bob realises he’s made a pretty pathetic image of himself (as if he wasn’t enough of a loser already), and he goes to amend, but you beat him to it.

“I find that hard to believe,” you say. You put your controller down on the duvet by your hip and twist to face him. You’re sitting side by side on the end of his bed, legs dangling over the edge. It’s a big bed — it’s a big tower. Bob’s still not used to living in the Avengers old headquarters, and he doesn’t think he ever will be.

Bob swallows and finally looks up at you. You’ve got this look on your face that he can’t put a name to. The forgotten video game glowing on the TV reflects back, colouring your features different shades of blue and orange. You’re really pretty. He’s really nervous.

An awkward chuckle tumbles from his mouth, “Why’s that?” He asks.

You shrug one shoulder. “‘Cos you’re really nice. And funny. You’re handsome too, if that helps,” you say, grinning a bit now.

Bob just blinks at you, flummoxed. Is he dreaming? He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

“Are you making fun of me?” He asks eventually. He doesn’t think you ever would, but he can’t fathom that fact that maybe, you’re telling the truth.

You shake your head vehemently. “No. No, what? I’m serious, Bob, you’re a great guy,” you say earnestly. Then, like an afterthought, “I’d kiss you,” you add quietly.

Bob short circuits. He truly can’t figure out if he’s dreaming or not. Surely, he is. Surely you, the loveliest, prettiest girl he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing, doesn’t want to kiss him. He searches for something to say but all that comes out is,

“Oh.”

You grin, not teasing but getting close. “You don’t believe me?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Bob flounders, “I—no. I mean, yes? I… I don’t know.”

Smooth, he thinks sarcastically, then promptly shuts his mouth before he can say anything else stupid. Meanwhile, you’re leaning closer, your thigh pressing into his.

”I can prove it, if you like,” you say in a quiet voice.

Bob’s heart hammers. “Prove … what?”

It’s a stupid question, but you’ve never made him feel stupid and he doesn’t think you ever will. You just smile softly.

”Prove that I want to kiss you,” you say simply. “Can I?”

Bob doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s not sure if he’s lightheaded from your proximity, your sweet perfume, your words, or a mix of all three. He finds himself nodding.

“Okay,” he says.

He watches in a sort of trance as your eyes flicker to his mouth and back up again.

“You sure?” You ask.

Bob’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He tries not to breathe too fast. “Yeah,” he nods.

You grin. Now Bob’s looking at your lips, the curve of your Cupid’s bow, your plump bottom lip. The tip of your tongue as it darts out to wet your top lip.

His heart thuds in his chest.

“Alright,” you say. “Shut your eyes, handsome.”

Bob slams his eyes shut and stays very still. He’s so nervous he can feel it in his bones, a warm sort of buzzing deep in his limbs. It’s unfamiliar and strange, but not uncomfortable. He feels you moving closer, and then feels your hand on his shoulder. Jolts of electricity go down his arm.

“You ready?” You ask in a whisper.

You’re so close now Bob can feel your breath on his lips when you speak. Meanwhile, he can’t speak, so he just tilts his chin up in response.

You take the hint. You press your lips to his and kiss him. Bob forgets how to think — your lips are warm, your kiss achingly soft. He doesn’t know what to do with himself but let himself be kissed, his heart pounding so hard now he’s sure you can hear it. You kiss him for longer than he’s expecting, your thumb pressing into the fleshy part of his shoulder. When you pull away, he wants more.

“How was that?” You whisper. You’re very, very close, so close Bob could count your eyelashes if he wanted to. The glow of the TV reflects warm orange in your eyes.

“Not a real kiss,” Bob murmurs. Your kissing has left him feeling braver than usual.

Your eyes glint and you grin, all Cheshire Cat-like. “I was just warming you up,” you say a little defensively. “You want to go again?”

Bob nods. His nose bumps yours. “Please.”

You kiss him again. You’re more sure this time, warmer, like you were waiting for him to ask for more. Your hand migrates to the very top of his back, your arm caging his shoulder as you push up into the kiss. Bob finds himself kissing back, though he doesn’t really know how, he’s just following your lead. Your thigh starts to squash his and he doesn’t care, ‘cos you taste like butter popcorn and something sweet, and you’re kissing him like you’ve wanted to do this about as long as he has.

You move closer, your kisses getting surer, and Bob’s hand starts to move of its own accord, an invisible thread tugging it towards your waist. His thumb skips over your sweater, and his hand aches with want, but he hesitates.

You break away from the kiss.

“You can touch me,” you murmur with a lopsided grin. “Go on.”

You reach down and take his hand in yours, pressing it to your waist. Bob swallows. You’re so warm, and his hand fits perfectly to the dip of your waist, his pinky finger sliding over the bump of your hip. If he’d known touching you would be like this, he’d have done it much earlier.

“S’that okay?” He asks you.

You nod. “Yeah. You can touch my face, too, if you want. Do you wanna try kissing me now?”

Bob does want to, very badly, but he’s afraid he’ll mess it up. “I don't know how,” he says honestly, past caring how pathetic he sounds.

You shrug. “That’s okay,” you say gently. Your hand returns to his shoulder and you push your palm up towards his neck. You lean close until your noses almost touch. “Just do what I did, okay? I’ll help you.”

You let your eyes fall shut. Bob, his heart rampant with nerves all over again, takes that as his sign and moves forward to slot his mouth with yours. It’s messy — his nose squashes into yours, and he’s not sure whether to part his lips or not. His decision gets made for him when your lips part very slightly under the pressure of his kiss.

“That’s good,” you murmur against his lips, nodding encouragingly. “Good job.”

You grab his neck and tug yourself closer. Your mouth is hot, your hand greedy at the nape of his neck. Bob remembers what you said before, and raises his free hand to very gently cup your jaw. You’re abnormally warm under his touch, and when he presses his palm to your neck, he can feel your pulse going almost as fast as his.

He pulls away from you an inch, suddenly concerned. “Are you okay?” He asks, frowning. “Your pulse is a riot.”

He must sound as clueless as he feels, because you give a breathless laugh.

“You’re making me nervous,” you say shyly.

Bob blinks. “Oh,” he says. He didn't know he had the capability to make you nervous.

You giggle breathlessly, lips all swollen and dark pink, and Bob decides he’s in love with you right then and there.

”Yeah, oh,” you echo, smiling like a fool. “Kiss me again, will you?”

Bob doesn’t need to be asked twice. His hand roves around to the small of your back and he kisses you again, and sure, it’s not perfect, but you make up for it by kissing him back so ardently that it’s a wonder Bob doesn’t pass out. Your hand pushes up into his hair, greedy as anything, and now he’s sure he’s gonna pass out. You tug at the strands of hair at the very nape of his neck and Bob makes a sound he can’t help. He whimpers.

He’s about to die of embarrassment when he feels you smile against his lips.

“Feels nice?” You ask, pulling back, but not before giving him a few short kisses.

”Sorry,” Bob says back. He’s almost certain he’s steaming at the ears right now.

You shake your head. “Nothing to be sorry for, handsome,” you kiss the side of his mouth, your fingers curling into his hair like it’s second nature. “You want me to keep going?”

Bob’s not sure he could handle it, but he nods anyway. If the others find him passed out or dead in his own bedroom in the morning, he’s blaming it on you.

-

Rain comes down in droves from the roof of the bus shelter, just as heavy as it beats over the pavement mere feet away from where you and Bob are now protected from it – although the damage has already been done considering you’re both drenched from head to toe, hair soaking wet and sticking to your cheeks, clothes uncomfortably heavy, skin freezing under the layers.

Bob mutters a curse under his breath when he looks at the curtains of water dropping, one that you can guess from reading his lips, inaudible under the loud downpour and the roaring of the thunder. “I think we’re stuck here for a while” he declares, gaze still on the road. It doesn’t, in the slightest, look like it’s planning on calming down soon, even less lifting. You will have to walk under there again eventually.

“Sorry I got you into this,” you apologize, Bob turning at the weakened sound of your voice, eyebrows lightly furrowed. “Hey, no, that’s okay” he nods, face shifting into gentle reassurance, eyebrows softening.

You sigh as you resort to sitting on the covered bench – the seat is damp too, but at this point everything is, so it doesn’t really make a difference.

His lips tug into a small smile at the way you look as you try to wring out your clothes even just a little, at how miserable he looks too when he catches a glance on the reflection of the plexiglass panel of the bus shelter behind you. Your gaze follows him when he comes and sits beside you, letting his hands awkwardly rest over his lap. “So… what’s the plan” he tentatively asks, gaze lifting at the overwhelming sound of the rain beating on the roof over your heads.

Your eyebrows lift at his question, taking a quick inhale of uncertainty that triggers a shiver to run down your spine. “Uh, wait until it gets better? Or just… Run under there” 

He snorts a small laugh, head shaking before it rests back against the wall of the shelter. “Yeah, let’s just wait”

“Really, I’m sorry, I had no idea the weather was gonna turn so fast” you mutter, gaze laying where your fingers, numb from the cold, are pinching at the fabric of your waterlogged clothes annoyingly sticking to your limbs.

“I was the one who offered to walk you home, so that’s kinda my fault,” he chuckles softly, running a weary hand over his cold, pale face. Pools of water have formed over the sidewalk, so even now that you’ve taken shelter and that rain technically shouldn’t hit you, there is no dry spot for you to hope to have rest from the rainfall.

Your shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “You didn’t have to” you say with a small smile you can’t suppress, head tilting in gratefulness when you look back at him. 

His face is framed by the wet strands of his hair but still lights up when he gives you a kind smile, or maybe that’s the lightning that strikes at that moment that just illuminates his face in a graceful way. “I don’t mind” he shrugs. “‘m happy to do it, actually” he huffs out, gaze sheepishly falling to his lap, the smile still lingering over his face.

Thunder roars again and brings your attention back to the dark sky, broad and threatening, looming over you like a menace, trapping you under its power. You feel so small, so helpless under that bus shelter that trembles with the force of the wind, and you can’t help but wonder how the hell you’re going to get home and when.

Bob glances at you, then hesitates before adding, voice just as soft as before, if not more, “You okay?”

You gaze back to him, “Yeah,” you nod. “Just cold. And kinda scared” you admit.

“Hey,” he turns to you, accidentally nudging your knee with his own, hand covering your wrist over your damp jacket. “I’m here with you and we’ll be fine” he nods with eyebrows raised and a small smile that’s intending to convince you. And it actually kinda works. “At least we’ll remember this,” he adds, making you snort despite yourself, shoulders loosening a little. 

He smiles at seeing you smile, but it fades slightly as he removes his hand when he realizes he has lingered a bit too long and when an idea crosses his mind. “Do you want my jacket?” he asks, not hesitating, already tugging at the zipper.

Your head shakes quickly. You cannot accept, not when his teeth are clattering despite his best attempt to make it seem like he’s not shivering from the cold too. “No, you’ll be freezing,”

“I’ll be okay,” he insists, shrugging out of it anyway, the fabric heavy in his hands. He handles your hair out of the way, your heart sinking at the way his fingers lightly brush at the back of your neck before he lets the jacket rest over your shoulders, passing on some of his warmth.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a look that is supposed to softly scold him. “Very chivalrous of you”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shoulders dropping as he settles back beside you again, now in just his soaked hoodie. “I try,” he says half seriously, though his lips are already betraying him with a smile. 

His arms fold over his chest, like he could warm himself up like this, and you immediately feel guilty all over again, tugging the jacket closer around yourself, frozen fingers curling into the sleeves. The rain keeps hammering down, the sound so loud it almost feels like you’re underwater. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks, you just sit there, breathing coming out in clouds of mist, shivering, listening to the storm rage around you, watching it hammer down over your covered heads. “You’re gonna get sick,” you eventually murmur at the way Bob’s shoulders tense with another shiver. His face scrunches in an expression that tries to tell you he’s fine, but you see the way he looks uncomfortable while actively trying to deny he doesn’t feel as cold as you do.

His mouth opens but the words fall from his mouth when he watches you inching yourself closer, snuggling up to his side, letting your head rest against his shoulder. The shiver that runs along his back isn’t from the cold anymore, and the sweet ache that fills his stomach isn’t anything resembling hunger either. It is something entirely different, and he knows it, can clearly feel the difference.

—

A loud sigh of relief escapes from your mouth once you reach the covered area at the front of your building. You have finally escaped the torrents of rain again, only this time, you really have, because you don’t have to think about stepping foot out there again, the only water you’ll have pouring over your head will be the warmth of a well deserved shower. 

Then, there’s Bob. Who has walked you home and has to go back to the Watchtower one way or another, and who’s clutching his arms, still standing under the curtains of rain because he will have to be under there to go back home anyways. You sigh again, for a different reason now, and step under the rain for a second to tug on his arm and bring him with you under the roofed area of the entryway of your building. “Don’t be stupid. I can’t let you go home in this weather” his face pales in confusion, blinking away the drops of water that have gathered over his eyelashes. You turn and open the door to your building, eyebrows lifting when you turn back to Bob and he’s still motionless, clueless and shivering from the cold, but safe from the rainfall now. “You’re crashing here tonight”

By the time you have reached your doorway, Bob has already thanked you a dozen times, stepping inside awkwardly and apologizing for drenching the floor of your apartment like you’re not doing the same.

The thunderstorm is nothing but a distant rumble now that you’re inside, the rainfall reduced to a rhythmic tapping against your window – other than that, it is somehow quiet, you’re finally home, the pressure of the threat finally lifts but you eventually really start to feel the exhaustion.

Bob is slow to move along, brain equally frozen as the rest of his body, and it’s only when you look up at him after toeing off your shoes that he takes the hint and proceeds to do it too. He’s still standing in the entryway when you take his jacket off and put it up to dry, beads of rain still clinging to it, slowly but steadily dripping onto the floor. 

“We can’t stay in those clothes. I’ll find you something dry to wear” you declare before disappearing into your bedroom. You’re handing him a pile of warm clothes and a towel once you come back, offering him the bathroom, and you eventually realize how tense you still are when you hear the door click shut and can finally exhale, face burying into the clean towel you picked for yourself, a heaviness weighing over your chest. Your heart is still doing that ridiculous fluttery thing it started doing back at the bus shelter, maybe even earlier than that if you really have to think about it.

You change into comfortable clothes, giving up on the blissful idea of your warm shower for now, drying your hair as best as you can manage. It's a challenge to resist the temptation of sitting over your bed because you know that if you do, you won’t be able to leave it. 

By the time you step out of your bedroom, Bob is already back from his shower, hair still wet but clean now. It’s equally strange and endearing to see him in your clothes as he stands there, fiddling with the hem of the left sleeve of your large hoodie, giving you a smile when you approach him. 

“Want anything warm to drink?” you offer, silently inviting Bob to get more comfortable in your space.

“Uh, water’s fine” he nods, giving you a weak shrug. 

“Haven’t you had enough water for today?” you chuckle, moving to grab him a glass, a smile growing over your face when he snorts a laugh, a brighter grin adorning his face when you hand him his water.

“Ironically enough I’m thirsty” he admits, voice wavering as your fingers brush when he takes the glass from your hand. It’s a second too long before either of you pull away and you both notice, but you both choose to pretend to ignore it, and he clears his throat, glancing down at the glass in his hand. “Thanks,” he mutters, gaze avoidant.

You give him an awkward nod, instinctively busying yourself by letting your fingers brush the still damp strands of hair away from your face. “Are you sure you still don’t want anything warmer to drink?” you offer, walking away from him to press the button on your kettle. “I’m gonna make myself some tea”

“Okay then” he nods, a faint smile over his face as he accepts, attesting to how tired he is. “Hey, just,” he starts, making you stop and look back to him as you grab your tea collection box from the cupboard. “Really, thank you for letting me stay over”

You give him a smile and a shrug, handing him the open box. “It would have been cruel to even let you wait for a cab"

He smiles again, like he's thankful all over again you allowed him a different fate, and picks a tea flavor from the box without thinking about it too much or he knows he will overthink his choice, setting his green tea bag over the nearest surface. “The weather’s atrocious but I still meant what I said. I was happy to walk you home” he admits with a sheepish grin. 

You respond with a broad smile, eyes crinkling with the width of it, and Bob smiles back without even thinking about it, a reflex, the muscles in his face moving on their own. His feet do too, instinctively following you when you move to grab two mugs. 

“Hey look, I uh… I actually wanted to ask you something” he continues, taking a deep inhale, gaze flicking back to your face, softening with hesitation as he leans his side against the counter. “Is it only me… that feels it”

You put the mugs down over the counter without looking, eyes back on him, head slightly tilting, eyebrows faintly lifting. Your gaze feels too intense over his face, and he hopes it isn’t visibly turning red from how hot his cheeks are growing as he awaits your answer. 

“Well it was a date, wasn’t it?”

His stomach twists, and he’s not sure if it’s relief or… the complete opposite. “Oh– yeah, I mean, yeah” he nods without waiting, giving you a small smile that’s meant to hide the fact he was taken by surprise. “Yeah,” he adds in a sucked breath, once more for good measure. “Just wanted to make sure” he lies in a mutter, trying to land back on his feet, busying his hands by fiddling with the hem of the hoodie you gave him. 

Unfortunately, you’re not buying it, but the expression you’re wearing over your face seems more amused than hurt. “You didn’t realize?”

Bob lets out a quiet, embarrassed huff, head shaking in self mock. “I mean– I hoped,” he admits, voice quiet and a little uneven. “But I didn’t want to assume and then make it weird if you didn’t–” The button of the kettle clicks and the rest of his sentence dies in his throat, but the implications of it linger as the hissing and bubbling of the hot water starts to quiet.

“You really thought I would have accepted an aquarium hang out followed by dinner with Walker?” you ask with a chuckle of amused disbelief as you pour the hot water into both of your mugs.

A small chuckle leaves his mouth. “Well, I knew what I was doing when I asked you but I didn’t know if you… Saw it like that” he quietly thanks you as you hand him his steaming mug, and your fingers almost brush again as he takes it from your hands – you let your own tea cool and infuse over the counter. Your bodies are abnormally close for two friends, and Bob’s heart picks up when he notices. “I mean, we’ve hung out before, and I wasn’t sure where the line stands between a casual hang out between two friends and a date, and I didn’t want to make it awkward for you if–” 

“Yeah, I get it. It’s delicate” you admit, cutting through his lengthy nervous explanations. “But you didn’t have to worry.” you smile, fingers brushing away the wet waves of hair falling over his face, the familiar scent of your shampoo invading your nostrils. “I like you too,” 

Your fingers linger at the side of his face for a second, and Bob feels like he’s about to combust, chest getting as warm as the mug he’s holding, face getting just as hot as he stares into the depth of your eyes, gazing at you like a defenseless puppy, until his brain allows the information to process and he knows he’s got that stupid smile growing over his face. “Great,” he mouths, barely above a whisper.

“Now you know,” you grin, huffing out a small laugh. He looks relieved, lips tugged into a satisfied smile, almost disbelieving. Your hand is long gone from his face but he still feels it clearly, like it has never left, like the warmth of it has settled into his skin, and deep down, he knows he would never want your hands gone from his face. “And you’re doing great so far” you declare in earnest, taking a sip of your tea that hasn’t infused enough yet, putting it back over the counter right away, too tasteless for now. “Walking me home and giving me your jacket.”

“Oh, cool” he puts his mug down next to yours. “It’s nice knowing I’m not making a complete fool of myself."

You huff out a quiet laugh, shrugging a shoulder. “You’re alright” you grin. “But you’re overthinking it.” 

He takes it more seriously than he should when you were really just teasing him. “Am I?” he asks, brows softly furrowing in earnest.

“Yes,” you huff out like it’s a given. “You didn’t even realize it was a date because you doubted I liked you back”

“Right” he grins, knowing you’re not letting go of this one anytime soon. He runs a hand over his forehead, exhaling through his nose. “So what should I do about it then,” 

“I don’t know,” you hum, inching yourself even closer to him. You’re standing so close to each other, and neither of you even remember how it happened in the first place. His breathing fails for a second when you start playing with the strings of his hoodie, fingers absent mindedly twirling them around, eyes meeting his from below. “Just… go with the flow”

He’s quicker with the signs this time. Everything in your gaze tells him what he has to know. His gaze flicks down to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes, like he’s checking if it’s really okay, like he’s eventually expecting you to laugh it off.

You don’t. 

“Can I–” he stops himself, a nervous breath leaving him as a small smile tugs at his lips. “I feel like I should ask.” your fingers pause at the strings of his hoodie, eyes fully lifting to his. The sound of the rain hasn’t felt this loud since he stepped foot into your apartment. “Can I kiss you?” 

The way the corner of your lips tug upwards betrays your answer. You nod, a full smile as Bob leans in – there isn’t much of a gap before he closes it. 

Your lips meet halfway, and he kisses you, soft and warm, easing the cold in your bones for the first time tonight. It’s careful at first, like he’s still asking even as he does it, but when you don’t pull away, when you lean into him just a bit more, something in him relaxes and he allows one hand to hesitantly rest at your side, unsure where to really set, the other gently holding the back of your head. 

You smile when your own hands rest over his chest, right where they were playing with the strings of your hoodie he’s wearing, feeling the quick beating of his heart under your palm that almost seems in sync with the hammering of the rain against your window.

When you pull apart, his face turns away like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, eyes avoiding yours as you still remain close, but the blissful, soft smile over his lips eases your worries. You gently brush away the strand of his hair when it falls over his face again, smiling when his face reddens under your gaze.

“Sorry” he chuckles.

“I don’t know what you’re apologizing for” you reply in a whisper, unable to help the smile that has grown over your face.

His head shakes, a small laugh leaving his mouth. “It’s just– I haven’t done this in a while and I forgot how intimidating it was” he admits. “I just hope it wasn’t too bad”

You tilt your head to the side, pretending to consider it, though the warmth in your expression gives you away immediately. “Mhh… it was okay,” you can’t hold it for long, breaking into a grin. “I’m kidding. It was great”

He knows you were kidding, but the hint of relief washing over his face still seems genuine, and you notice the way his shoulders loosen. 

His hand falls at your side, brushing with yours when it slides down from his chest, naturally fitting together – he thought about doing it on the way to your place, out here in the rain, but never actually expected he would.

“So now if I take you on a date,” he starts, glancing at you with a hopeful light in his eyes. “We’ll both be clear it’s a date”

You let out a quiet laugh, squeezing his hand lightly.

“God, I hope so.”

—

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