BILLET-DOUX ✦ CLASSIC ROCK

58 - bob dylan ⁴

Requested by fuckmequeen ! Bob melts my heart, so there's no way I can't romanticize him.
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"¿Como estàs?"

Bob glanced awkwardly down at his hands that were fiddling uselessly with a cigarette he hadn't bothered to light since the plane took off. You had been giving him the easy questions, testing him on his Spanish knowledge. He figured that you hadn't yet found his hidden cache of Spanish-to-English phrase books that he'd been using to cram before this trip.

Typically, Bob liked to learn a bit of the language of a country before he toured there as basic common courtesy. This time it was different. Bob wasn't visiting Spain on a tour. He was vacationing with you – to meet your extended family no less! The last thing Bob wanted to do was make a bad impression. He could only imagine what your family thought of him already. There were plenty of stigmas floating about him that he was sure hadn't escaped Spanish ears.

"Muy bien," Bob said, tasting the words on his tongue. They came out rusty with a faint northern accent. "¿Tú?"

You wrinkled your brow in that faint, polite way meaning that Bob had made a mistake. He winced at his own incompetence, awaiting your verdict.

"That was good!" You leaned over the seat to give Bob a sweet kiss on his cheek. He could already feel his face pinkening with the fluttery, schoolhouse love he felt for you. "But 'tú' is generally used with people you're friendly with. Maybe try 'y usted?'"

Bob chuckled dryly. "Already counting on me n' your folks not bein' friends?"

You gave him that look. Bob couldn't resist but to reach out and pinch your cheek playfully, making you swat his hand away. Despite being as gentle as he was capable, your sensitive skin still acquired an irritated tint from the handling. Slowly this time, Bob outstretched his hand to cup your cheek and rub over the marking with his thumb.

"You know that's not true," you murmured, leaning into Bob's touch. "They'll love you, Bobby."

Sighing but choosing not to argue, Bob reclined back into his seat. His eyes were now fixed on the scenery flying by the window. It had been mostly clouds and the milky blue tint that characterized this level of the atmosphere. All of the buildings below were mere specks off into the distance until the plane made its way across the Atlantic Ocean.

Yet again his nerves struck him. What people thought of Bob never bothered him before. It was one of his core values, something that he was forced to teach himself so that the sharp opinions of family and friends wouldn't cut so deep. The apathetic façade that Bob had put up became part of him for so long that it felt strange to worry like this.

But this was your family. The people who brought you into the world. You, with all of your undying charm, good looks, and quick wit. Bob had to respect whomever was responsible for bringing you up, as he'd yet to come across someone as perfectly imperfect.

So in a last ditch effort to prove to your parents that he was good enough, Bob took up Spanish.

"¿De donde eres, Bob?" You asked, starting up another round of questioning.

He always admired the way that you were bilingual. You could switch from English to Spanish so easily – not to mention your accent did things to Bob that he didn't particularly want to admit. You seemed to realize that embarrassing fact early on and most of Bob's Spanish vocabulary was built on pet names he barely understood and simple greetings.