Lead & Follow

En Tournant

Part 1: Lead

Sixteenth Movement, En Tournant

En Tournant

en tour·nant ¦äⁿˌtu̇r¦näⁿ

ballet: while turning —used of the body or of movement of the leg inward or outward

🖤🤍

Baxter is balanced precariously on a mossy old log when he turns to look at you, and extends a hand.

"I'll keep you steady," he reassures you with a dashing smile. "If you'd like to try."

Your gaze flickers from his pale hand and to the roaring water between you. You're an experienced swimmer, but the rushing current makes you nervous, "Uhm–"

"No pressure," he adds calmly, and he makes the dangerous endeavor look easy, safe. 

You correct your thoughts: it's still perilous, but being with Baxter is what makes you feel secure. 

You take his hand, and he gently leads you across the log. His confidence makes you feel like nothing can go wrong, so when your sneakers slip against the slick moss below your feet, your breath catches, and your heart drops into your ass.

" B-Baxter ," you whimper, and your eyes go wide with panic. His expression is similarly distressed as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against your chest.

"I've got you," he murmurs soothingly into your hair, and you sigh against the collar of his brown polo shirt. "The sea may intimidate me, but this river would rue the day it dared to make a grab for you."

You gaze up into his face, and the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he delivers such a grandiose threat is a welcomed distraction from your recent brush with death, "Sir Baxter, I thought I was the brave knight here."

"Indeed you are," he murmurs as he runs a calming hand through your silky [h/c] locks. "And I your humble admirer…with a touch better balance, thankfully."

"You're lucky I'm too terrified to move," you snort, and you resist the urge to compromise your temporary balance by flicking his nose.

"I shan't waste the opportunity," he smirks, and he dips his head to place a soft kiss on your lips. 

You smile against his mouth, "Who's really the incorrigible one here?"

The peculiarity of the situation isn't lost on you; if this were any other summer, you'd probably be cooped up in your living room, catching up on your favorite comics, or Groundhog Day- ing your way through the season. Every day would be beautiful, but identical–beach, mall, the tropical-themed restaurant for every brunch, rinse, and repeat. 

But that was what your life looked like sans Baxter. His sudden arrival into town had set off a ripple-effect through your days in just about every way. You were in your first relationship, spending most of your time in the company of an amorous tourist, and now you were hiking in the middle of a mountainous forest–had nearly tumbled and croaked doing something risky just to curry some favor from a pretty face.

You sigh, an hour or so later, when you're huddled up with said tourist and sharing a quick bite to eat as you reflect upon the series of events which lead you to this moment.

"How's the olive nut?" Baxter asks after swallowing a mouthful of his own sandwich. "If it doesn't suit your taste, I'm happy to trade."

"Nah, it's good!" you assure him as you wipe your mouth with a paper napkin. You eye the handsome male before you, and stifle a laugh. "What'd you pick again?"

You think this might be the very first time you've seen him break his strict color-code; his outfit consists of a brown button-up polo shirt and khaki shorts, and when you'd met him in the lobby earlier to rendezvous for your hiking trip, he'd sheepishly informed you that there'd been a mix-up, and that he'd packed some of his roommate's attire by mistake.

Of course he can remember napkins in the woods, but not his own clothing in his suitcase, you muse as you conceal a grin behind your half-eaten sandwich.

When he'd initially revealed the blunder to you, you'd been this close to asking if he just so happened to have packed his clothing in the morning. 

"Benedictine," Baxter says simply, as if he hadn't basically brought snazzy finger sandwiches to a nature walk.

"Cool!" you exclaim as you tear your remaining lunch in half. "I know the cream cheese makes it have a similar vibe, but cucumbers sound really refreshing right now."

"Great minds think alike," he quips, and he mirrors your actions. Alone together in the middle of the Californian wilderness, the two of you make a toast with toast and split your hotel-kitchen prepared luncheon.

You sigh, and it feels like releasing a breath you've been holding for weeks . The other shoe has dropped, the vibes are immaculate.  

The moment isn't padded with pretense or contingent on a glamorous setting to smooth out the bumps; it's two smitten kids, and a clear blue sky.