All Things Considered [🗸]

21. queer-ass places

IT TAKES ME A WHILE to remember how I ended up here.

My legs are sprawled onto my bed, my back is pressed against the flooring of my room and my head is resting on someone's foot.

Sunlight pours in through the window, and my hand shields my face from the glare of the sun, eyes attempting to flutter open. 

The first thing I process is that the time on my watch is 10:59. The second thing I process is that music is playing downstairs. The last thing I finally process is that I'm laying on someone's foot. On the ground. In my room.

Sitting up,  I rub at my eyelids before trying to register said person. His arm's flung over his face, chest rising softly, lips slightly parted. And in seconds, everything finally hits me: stoned Paxton, a glass of water, laying down on the floor.

Paxton doesn't stir. Despite the music blasting from downstairs, the guy doesn't even shift. It's ironic as fuck that he wakes up at 6:00 AM to go to swimming five days a week. Even with the scent of French toast rising to the atmosphere. 

Lowering myself down to his ear, I whisper-shout, "if it's possible, could you please wake the fuck up?"

Nothing. 

"We still have cupcakes left over," I try, and wait a beat. There's an incoherent murmur that slips from Paxton's lips, followed by the rubbing of his eyelids and another incoherent murmur. 

He finally allows his eyes to flutter open. "Red velvet?"

Dumbass. "Yeah," I say, leaning over him as he glances up at me, arms behind his head and eyes resting on me. Something in my stomach does a faint somersault. I clear my throat. "Just gotta eat breakfast first." A pause. "If you're hungry."

His lips twitch, lazy eyes opening and closing once. "Damn. Such a caring boyfriend."

On a regular basis, I would likely tell him to shut the fuck up. Instead, I toss a pillow at his head, shoulders falling into a shrug after it hits him square in the face. "Well, you helped me out with the deliveries, so."

"Yeah?" Paxton asks, and his grin shows some teeth this time. And really, there's something about the lazy grin paired with his distracted eyes that has my gaze flicking away. I refuse to think about why.

Paxton did volunteer to help me, which in all honesty, I never expected. Sure, Paxton likely wanted something to do seeing as we're spending more time together due to our arrangement—but it was still helpful as fuck. 

"Yeah," I finally respond, back pressing against the side of my bed as I glance at him. "It'd usually take, like, seven hours to do it all by myself." 

"I can believe that," Paxton says, lips twitching. "You're not exactly the fastest, Dion."

"Fuck off," I say, eyes narrowing. However, I blink for a second once a fact dawns on me. It's such a subtle change, it took a while for me to notice. "You called me Dion."