Lifetime

Closer

Sleeping with his arms wrapped around me was like floating in the middle of the universe, but I woke with a startle, his arms slipping from around me and making me jolt into the reality of being in his bed. He chuckled at my sudden movement, his voice groggy as he brushed his fingers over my messy hair.

"Sleep some more. I'll make breakfast." He leaned over me. In every story I read and movie I'd watched it would have been a moment where he kissed my forehead or maybe my mouth if he was so in love with me that morning breath was a non-factor. He looked like he wanted to, staring into my eyes for nearly a full minute before he stood, his bare feet shuffling down the hallway.

I couldn't imagine being able to fall asleep again after the deep, blissful slumber of the night, and laid awake thinking about everything I adored about him, easily overriding the parts that were a mystery. I tuned in to the sound of him brushing his teeth and his movement down the hall, the refrigerator and cabinets opening in the kitchen as he began cooking.

When I finally willed myself out of bed and to the bathroom, I found an unopened toothbrush waiting for me, and by the time I joined him he was setting the coffee table with a tray of French toast and bacon.

We ate in silence other than the initial moans of satisfaction that moved past my lips at the first few bites. "Thanks, bacon is my favorite." I stood when we finished, gathering up the dishes against his objection.

It only took him a second to jump in front of me, running water and grabbing a sponge just as I set the last plate in the sink. I giggled at his insistence and headed to the living room in search of my phone, left behind on the floor and in need of a charge.

I slept longer than I thought, unaware that we were approaching afternoon when he finished in the kitchen, the front of his shirt wet with that little circle of water that always appeared after washing dishes.

"I should get back to my apartment, out of your hair." I started to make my way toward the door to get my purse and shoes.

He reached out to grab my hand, making me turn back toward him, his eyes squinting with question. "Stay again if you can." He stepped closer, so that we were just a forearm's length apart.

"Okay, but I need to go grab some of my stuff." I replied, continuing with gathering my things.

He didn't hesitate to pick his coat from the rack, patting the pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet. "I'll take you." He stood firm, pulling on a pair of shoes before opening the door for us.

If I hadn't been hyper conscious of the fact that I was still wearing his clothes on the ride over, Faye sure made it evident when I walked through our apartment door, Yoongi waiting in the car while I packed a bag.

"I told you not to sleep with him yet!" She exclaimed, gesturing her hand toward the shirt and pants I wore.

She followed me to my room, laughing when I pulled off his pants, revealing the heeled boots I wore underneath. "I didn't hook up with him." I shook my head at her, switching his t-shirt with a sweatshirt of my own and pulling on a pair of jeans. When I grabbed an empty backpack from under the bed she crossed her arms, her face a silent question with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

"I'm going to spend some more of the day with him." I grabbed a handful of underwear from a drawer. You could never pack too many pairs of underwear. "And maybe for the night again. I don't know, we didn't really talk about it in depth." I scurried around the room in a hurry, picking out a few pieces for lounging around and a pair of jeans.

"Don't forget me." She put a hand to her chest, dipping her head to the side before waving her hand with a dramatic flutter. I chuckled at her antics as I moved to the bathroom to pack a few essentials.

I zipped my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. "I will never forget you!" I called out, waving my hands theatrically as I mocked one of the scenes from our favorite movie to watch, Titanic.

She cackled, hugging me before leading me back to the front door. I was still laughing to myself, a big smile on my face when I got back in Yoongi's car.

"What's funny?" He asked, pulling from the spot he'd found on the street.

"Just Faye." I chuckled to myself, catching him glancing to the side to look at me. "Eyes on the road mister."

He stopped in front of the record store down the street from his apartment building, coming around to open my door. "Let's get some new music." He suggested, holding the door to the shop open for me.

Of course, he was greeted by name when we were inside, the cashier leaning behind his counter to lift up a copy of The Chronic. He rushed to the counter, taking a look at the sealed album with a smile that made his nose wrinkle and gums show.

He set it back on the counter to be held until we checked out, waving two of his fingers at me so that I followed him to start exploring the milk crates filled with albums, all organized by genre. "Pick out a few for us." He nodded, adding, "I'll let you know if it's something I already have."

I suddenly felt nervous, like he was testing my music taste, but started to comb through a few crates, feeling better when he separated from me to browse the section of new releases. When I had three cradled into my arm he came back over, cocking his head to the side in curiosity as I handed them to him.

"I have this one already." He tucked the copy of The Marshall Mathers back into its place, his lips pressed together in thought as he nodded at my other two choices.

"How'd I do?" I asked, raising a questioning brow at him.

He chuckled. "These are great. I just wanted you to pick out something you like." He motioned his head toward the register, passing the copies of The Blueprint and The Score that I'd selected to the cashier.

We finished up at the store and made the short drive back to his apartment where he immediately took my backpack to his bedroom while I hung my purse and camera bag by the door. He'd changed into a plain, worn t-shirt when he returned, moving to put on The Score while I sat back on the couch.

"I'm going to try putting together some of this furniture finally." He dropped the tool bag he carried to the floor, shoving the coffee table out of the way and a box with a small bookshelf pictured in front of me.

It only took him twenty minutes of reading the directions for me to take over, supervising and giving instructions. He chuckled as I sang slightly off key to Lauryn Hill and joined in with me for Wyclef Jean's verses, drawing out the last part of my name when I got so caught up in the music that I missed a step, scolding me as it led to him putting on a part backwards.

He managed to put together the bookshelf, small dining table, and desk for his music equipment before calling it a day on building furniture. I pulled out my camera, loading my favorite memory card as he moved on to working on some music, using his computer and drum sampler to string together sounds so effortlessly that I saw it as genius.

I laughed when he held up a hand, covering his face after the first few photos I took of him. "Come on, I may be capturing your future album cover right now." I reached out, tugging his hand down and discreetly snapping a few more as he worked.

It didn't take long for me to learn that he was always doing something, on phone calls with other artists, writing down lyrics, and mixing beats between cooking and napping. We spent the next month together, going on grocery trips, working in tandem, and filling every moment with our shared love for music. I divided my nights between his and my apartment, admittedly resting sounder with his arm draped across my waist, in the little universe that became us.