Chapter Text
Baxter is still rambling off a sleep-tinged apology, saying that he'll get dressed and then we can go, when I step forward and place my hands on either side of his face. Surprise that he likely would've hidden if he hadn't just woken up spread across his face. Being so close, I could feel the sharp breath he took with my hands.
My lips pull into a pleased smile at having caught him off guard but I let myself grow serious, trying to convey this as I meet his gaze and begin speaking.
"I really like domesticity." I start, and he only looks more confused. His emotions are so openly expressed on his face that I have to bite back another smile.
"Seriously. Lazy morning lie-ins where the sun seeps through the curtains, wrapping an arm around someone's waist in the kitchen while you're cooking together, slow-dancing late at night with no one else around. The sort of things you read about in cheesy romance novels. Domesiticy. I really like it." I brush a thumb gently against his skin in a calming motion as I speak, "And what I mean by saying this is that I don't mind."
His expression falls a little from surprise into a guarded expression again as if I'm saying this only as a pleasantry. He opens his mouth a little further to speak but I continue before he has the chance to, "Hey, listen to me. I like you like this." I put an emphasis on each word, trying to get him to realize I mean it.
"You're...soft. I like it." A fond smile pulls at my lips with only a tinge of amusement.
"So, if you want to stay in rather than go to the cafe you mentioned, I'm fine with that. I promise. You don't have to knock my shoes off every time we go out. You don't need to impress me." A look of what seems to be panic flits across his face and I know I've hit the mark.
"Consider me impressed already, with you. Because it's you that I like. We could stay in and I could read while you get some more sleep or I could try and make us both breakfast. It won't be as good as what we could buy from the cafe and I'd probably have to grab a couple things from my house, since I doubt you'd have what I need. But, I'm fine with that. I am. I'd like it just as much, if not more, than going to the cafe." I speak carefully, watching him react to my words. He looks conflicted, lips slightly parted and eyebrows furrowed, staring back at me like I've told him that I dislike ballroom dancing, except a bit more serious than that.
There's a moment of silence. He is standing like I'm a scared animal who will startle at a single breath and yet, still looking like he doesn't believe that there's even a possibility that I would enjoy just being with him. It's a look I don't like, and so I dip my head closer to his and press a gentle kiss to either side of his face, near the crease of his eyes and slightly above where I have my thumbs placed. It's gentle and in a way, I'm attempting to kiss his drowsiness, trying to convince him of my words.
He lets out a breath and when I pull back, he seems to have taken the time to compose himself. I frown a little.
"I promised you a cafe, did I not?" He says, with the flourish of his typical self, but he still has a tiredness clinging onto him and the look in his eyes still mirrors the panic of a few moments ago. Baxter steps back and I can tell it's his way of distancing himself. My lips are still pursed in displeasure as he promises that he can manage and begins up stairs to get dressed.
____
I feel myself remembering that moment as I stand at his doorstep on the day of his departure, the last day of summer. He's acting the same way he did when the tiredness was clinging to him and he was telling me that he was fine. The same way when he took a step back to distance himself.
He's acting like we're never going to speak again.
I feel my heart squeeze with nervousness as I smile, uneasily, and begin to speak.
"I know we started this as a casual thing, just for the summer, but I was thinking, and, well. Well, I really like you and I think you like me too. And it's not like we don't have phones. I guess- I was just wondering if we could stay in contact. If not dating, then as friends?" I say, hands shaking slightly. Despite my anxiety, I still feel hopeful that he might say yes. Until I see that look on his face.
The look in his eyes is the same one from that morning in his living room.
He doesn't step back but I know he's distancing himself all the same.
"I'm sorry but I think you've gotten the wrong impression. This was just a fling. We both agreed to that when we started dating. I'm sorry if I made you feel otherwise." Baxter says, a hardened expression on his face and speaking in a cool tone. I feel my lips purse as anger strikes through me, through the mess of hurt stirring in my chest.
"I really hate platitudes, Baxter."
He blinks at me and I wonder if he's thinking of how this moment parallels to that morning too.
For a moment, I think he might say something real, for once, but he just nods his head. "Goodbye, then." is all he says and turns away. I want to grab his wrist, force him to look at me, force him to stop running away. I want to scream at him or cry or beg.
I don't do any of those things. I watch him walk away and leave without looking back with the only sounds being the light ringing in my ears and the gentle crushing of gravel as the car begins to drive away. And then, I walk over to Cove's house and hope desperately that he opens the door and not his father.
I don't want to explain the look on my face to him, I don't really want to say anything. That's why I don't go to my moms or my sister either. So when Cove opens the door, the surge of relief I feel is almost staggering.
"Hey! What-" He begins with a smile, but doesn't get to finish as I throw myself into his arms and just start crying into his shoulder.
"Oh..." He breathes concern, automatically wrapping his arms around me and nearly taken off balance. Cove doesn't ask what's wrong, not that I could answer him, but he holds me, letting me cry, and only speaking when my breathing begins coming out too rapidly. He coaxes me into a semblance of calm and we sit down on his steps. Without the adrenaline running through me, I suddenly feel exhausted. Staring out at the street, I break the silence.
"Baxter left." I say, simply.
Cove raises a wiggly eyebrow besides me and I can feel his confusion. He knows this information and expected that I would be upset, but he wasn't expecting me showing up at his doorstep and collapsing into his arms with a panic attack brewing, I am aware.
"He told me that he was sorry I 'got the wrong impression' and that it was just a fling." I explain, the words leaving my mouth with a bitter taste.
Cove frowns beside me, letting out another quiet "Oh" with it. "He really said that?"
"Yep." I reply, popping the 'p'.
"That's bullshit."
A surprised laugh escapes my lips at his profanity. When I turn my gaze to him, his eyebrows are furrowed, lips pinched, and his eyes are narrowed in indignant frustration. I sigh, leaning my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes.
"I know."
___
I can't escape telling my moms once I get home. All it takes is one look at my expression, my puffy red eyes, and the way my breathing is coming out as sniffles, and they know something is wrong.
My voice breaks when I tell them what happened, not explaining every detail but enough to understand. They pull me into their arms with ready assurance.
I hear them later, talking about the situation and Baxter and decide, for my own mental well-being, to not listen. I call Elizabeth instead.
She is sympathetic too but far more willing to tell me to my face her thoughts on Baxter, livid and always my defender. Tired, I eventually tell her that I have to go and I am finally alone with my thoughts. I lay on my bed, stare up at the ceiling, and consider texting him. I'm not sure what I'd say, the hurt still so fresh. I stare at our texts, typing and deleting about a dozen messages before finally sending, simply,
You have my number.
The text is read, but never responded to.
___