Cinnamon, Blueberries, & Other Subjects to fill a Book of Poetry

Chapter 21: History

"So, boyfriend." I grin and he makes a pleased little noise that makes me want to smother him in kisses and attention until he tells me to fuck off. The only reason I am refraining from doing so is that he's currently covered in oil or grease or what have you, I don't pretend to know what he's currently tinkering with beyond how attractive he is in a jumpsuit, and I have to be back at work in an hour. Otherwise, I'd do it without hesitation. I had gotten much more comfortable with open affection while walking through the shops around his house and the auto shop and Reese had told me he was very proud of my progress. I had kissed him then and there and had only nearly had an anxiety attack when his friend walked into the garage and wolf whistled at us, which was still progress in my eyes.

Currently, I was pleased just to keep my hands to myself and watch him work. I've never been handy, count it up to another one of my many failures as a good man, but watching Reese, it was like second nature to him. It wasn't just cars too, after being allowed to poke around his house I realised he had a habit of tinkering with things. Anything with a motor in particular, but he seemed to be able to work with just about anything.

"You're good at this." I praise for maybe the sixth time in the past half hour.

"So you've said." He flashed me a cheeky grin as he wiped sweat off his forehead, smearing more car muck on it. He'd need a shower later, but he'd probably still smell like it when he went home. I didn't mind, I liked the smell, it smelled like him. All of his clothes always sort of smelled a little like the auto shop, a fact I'd pointed out before promptly stealing one of his non-cropped hoodies.

"It's true. You're amazing to watch."

"Like the view, huh?" He shot me a playful wink, but I didn't miss the blush that crept up to his ears.

"Well, yes, you're gorgeous, that's an added bonus, but it's interesting to eatch you work." The blush got brighter as he grumbled and turned back to the car, but I saw the way his mouth twitched. He liked recieving praise and compliments, I'd realised, he was just bad at accepting them. "How did you get into this sort of thing anyways? Cars and engines and all that." He shrugged, glancing my way,

"Family thing. How'd you get into poetry?" I sighed. He avoided answering questions like it was a full time job, but I wasn't going to let him just brush past the subject.

"I was always a writer, Fran gave me a book of poetry when we started highschool and I just ran with it." I felt my leg bouncing as I shot him a pointed look, "you don't really talk about your family." He frowned, but sighed defeatedly as he leaned against the car he'd been fixing.

"You know about my tia, she's the only important family I have- had. My ma died when I was born." I don't miss the way he cringes at his own slip up, running a hand through his hair, "but my.. dad. My dad taught me how to fix shit, apparently he learned from his dad. It was a 'bonding experience,' I guess, wanted to pass something down to me."

"Were you two close." He snorted, crossing his arms,

"He wanted us to be."

"And, you?" I know he doesn't like to be pushed, but I desperately don't want to let this moment of vulnarability pass.

"I mean.. yeah, he was my dad, I wanted to hangout with him I guess. But he ended up being a piece of shit and then he shipped out, so that was that." His face is twisted in an expression I don't quite recognise, but clearly this is a hard subject for him.

"Shipped out?"

"Army. He.. he never came back." He turned back to the car, intently fiddling with something I was reasonably sure he'd fixed already. "I wasn't a kid when it happened, sophmore year. I knew what that meant. But, y'know, not all bad. Got to live with Tia Laura. Always loved visiting her house. Was in fucking highschool, but she told me it was going to be like a sleepover every day." I wanted to reach out and hug him, comfort him somehow, but then he laughed dryly and shrugged. "Then she died. So, talk about a white lie." I knew he was being dismissive on purpose, this hurt him.

"Angel.." Apparently that was enough to push him over the edge because he, buried his face in his arm and started shaking. He was crying and I couldn't help but feel guilty, making him talk about something awful just to sate my curioisity. I stood up and put a hand on his back and didn't think twice when he turned and buried his face in my neck, hugging him tighter. Right now I couldn't care less about keeping my clothes clean. "It's alright. I've got you. Just breathe." I murmur, the same tone he uses to help me calm down, sprinkling in a couple words of praise and adoration that were just ridiculous enough made him snicker. I was glad to make him laugh, this was my fault after all so it was the least I could do.

"You're a dork. Sayin' that bullshit in public." He sniffled, face still buried in the crook of my neck. I shrugged lightly, trying not to jostle him.

"I'll gladly embarass myself for you, Angel. You deserve every word." I can feel his smile against my skin as I press a kiss to the top of his head, willing myself to be a good deal calmer than I felt. "Better? Do you need me to get you something? Water?" He shook his head, rubbing his face with the back of his sleeve and frowning when he pulled away to look at my clothes.
"Shit. Sorry. I messed up your shirt." I frown, glancing down at the various smudges,

"It's fine. It's just a shirt. Nowhere near as important as making sure you're okay." I reassure, reaching out and cupping the side of his face. He smiled, leaning into the touch,

"I- thanks, Sammy. Sorry to unload that whole sob story on you.."

"It's fine. I want to know more about you, Angel, the good and the bad." I will him to understand how much I mean it, but he just sighs and I guess I'll have to accept that as acknowledgement for the time being. Hopefully one day he'll realise I mean it.

"You can take mine. My shirt, I mean. I'll wear my work clothes home, I get off soon anyways."

"Are you sure?" It would be nice to not have to answer questions about why my shirts covered in muck when I get back to the office, but I don't want to impose. Especially after causing him so much stress.

"Yeah, it's just a shirt. You can bring it back to my place later." He smiles reassuringly, kissing me quickly before gesturing at the clock, "You should get going or your boss is gonna tear your head off."

"She's not that bad." I smile, taking the shirt from his bag. It's orange, of course it is, but it's better than nothing.

"Agree to disagree. That lady needs to chill, she rides you to hard." He rests a hand on my hip for a second, smirking, "that's my job." I feel my face heat up, even moreso when I see the look he's giving me, and I'm half tempted to take a half day. Reluctantly, I resist the urge, instead giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I'll see you after work." I call out as I hurry back to my car, getting a two finger wave and a smile in response. Once I'm back at the office, I keep catching myself glancing down at the shirt I'm wearing. Reese's shirt. It smells like him and it's definitely on par with his odd style choices. Still, I can't help but grin. Maybe neon isn't so bad.