Now I See You | ✓

Twenty-Five

"Come here, then, sweetheart."

A small smile tugging at my lips, I perch on the edge of my bed between Aubin's legs, my hands resting on his ankles.

He's got his back to the wall, his legs extended all the way out, and I sit far enough away from him that he's got enough room to work with my hair that's cascading in a long, blonde wave down my back.

My eyes close as his hands tangle in my hair, starting to form the French plait that I love so much. "I hope you know you're going to be my stylist for the rest of my life."

I've told him this many times before, but I just like to remind him that he's got to be. The way he styles my hair is impressive, and the feeling of his fingers massaging my scalp as he goes feels incredible.

"Fine by me," he chuckles as usual, tugging on my locks a little.

It's Monday evening, which means Josie's at work, and Manal has gone out with some friends on her course. So, I invited Aubin over, under the guise of watching a movie together or something, but really, I just wanted him to do my hair.

He's had no complaints about it, though, and hums along under his breath to the song playing softly from my speaker. "Tell me about your day," he prompts, when the song changes to one he doesn't know so well.

I lift a shoulder in a shrug, giggling when he tugs on my hair again in admonishment, because my movement is disrupting his flow. "It was fine. I just had class and I'm working on this painting that I've got due at the end of the week."

"You gonna let me see it?" he asks inquisitively, voice hopeful.

He's always been interested in my artwork, and enjoys perusing any of the pieces of work that I've got around the flat. I know I'm good at what I do, but his enthusiasm never fails to boost my ego, even just a little.

I laugh lightly, my fingers slipping underneath the line of his sock and snapping it back against his skin. "It's still in the studio, Aubin. I'll take a picture when I go to work on it tomorrow, though, if you want."

"Yes, please. I'd love that. You know, one day, maybe you'll do a painting of me," Aubin suggests cheekily,

I repeat the motion with his sock. "Don't push your luck."

He finishes the braid swiftly. "Wouldn't dream of it. You got a hair tie there?"

Taking the one off my wrist, I pass it over my shoulder for him. "Thanks for doing that."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," he replies easily, hands settling on my waist once he's done, pulling me backwards so I'm flush against his chest.

So, the thing is, Aubin and I have surely way past the point of friends. I mean, it's not like we've ever been conventional friends, because up until a few weeks ago, we were friends who regularly slept with each other. Even since then, though, there have been moments like this, which don't really feel platonic at all.

I mean, do friends just hold each other like this, teasing each other lightly, putting their hands on each other like this? I don't think so.

It seems that Aubin's on my wavelength tonight, because he rests his chin on my shoulder, thumbs massaging the skin just above my hips, hands having slipped under my sweater.

"Aubin," I breathe out quietly, hands curled over his thighs as a shiver races through me.

"Mmm?"

He's distracted, I think. Maybe by me. Hopefully by me.

I twist my body a little, turning my head so we're eye to eye. "I miss you."

"I'm right here, sweetheart. Have been all along."