It's a few weeks later, and things are actually going pretty well.
You check on Alex nearly every night. It's become such a regular thing that he actually comes to expect it. When the house is silent and everyone else is asleep, you creep downstairs and join him in the living room. He's always waiting for you, flashing you a small smile (one that makes your stomach flip) and sitting up so that there's enough room for you to plop down beside him. You talk, and giggle, and touch—a lot.
Alex is constantly brushing your hair behind your ears, and you're always there to catch his hand quickly and lace your fingers together. Whenever you say something particularly endearing, he presses a firm kiss to your knuckles, as though he's trying to sear his affections into your skin.
You also cuddle into him sometimes (for the most part, you're too nervous to initiate it), snuggling against his side as he wraps an arm around you. You both whisper to each other as your eyes stare at the doorway, looking forward inattentively. And Alex will sometimes—if he's feeling remarkably affectionate that night—litter kisses across the crown of your head.
You enjoy the small exchanges. You usually head back up to your room after Alex falls asleep (though he tries to stay awake for as long as possible, until he's drowsy and saying things that make absolutely no sense). He whispers to you that he sleeps much better when you're there, with less disruptions and fewer nightmares, and the confession has your heart expanding to three times its normal size.
He's started to do some work around the house, claiming that if he was going to be staying there, the least he could do was help out. You've come home several times only to find him outside on the front lawn, pulling out weeds from the cobbled pathway that leads to your front door. Since it's daytime outside, he's careful with how you two interact, only giving you a small nod and casually leaning on the scoop of his shovel.
He's usually wearing a pair of black overalls, and nothing else. You can see the strong muscles of his back when you first approach him, and then the smooth skin of his collarbones and his shoulders when he turns around at the sound of your greeting. He always smiles boyishly at you, wiping off his hands with a rag that's usually shoved into his pocket.
One day, when you're feeling exceptionally needy, it happens. You're on your way back home, enjoying the warm breeze and the way the sun bathes your face in a cheery glow. Your feet ache a bit from standing so long during your shift, but it's something that you've gotten used to. You near your home, catching sight of a figure crouched in the rosebushes that line the property.
"Alex?" you say.
Alex turns around, looking up and shooting you a small smile. "Hey, love."
The pet name still makes your heart somersault in your chest. You don't know if you'll ever get past it.
"What are you doing?" you ask.
"Your mum was gonna trim the bushes. She's been quite busy today though, so I offered to do it instead."
"Oh," you say dumbly, biting your lip to suppress an endeared grin, "That's really sweet of you."
He smiles and shrugs, his gaze dropping down to your torso. You swallow heavily when his eyes rake down your body. He gives you a small, appreciative hum. "Look good, y'know that?"
It's that simple sentence that has your heart rate speeding up and your tummy frothing warmly. It's been a difficult day to begin with—throughout your entire shift, you could only focus on what it would feel like to be bent over the counter and ravaged. These thoughts aren't new to you—contrary to what most people think, you've got needs—but you've never been so tempted to act on them.
