Would You Rather

53 - WYR: open a jar of snakes or a can of worms? (pt. 1)

had to split this one in half bc it was TEN THOUSAND WORDS

FINLEY

 I've seen Fidan in jeans... maybe five times. He normally comes over after practice or after games and I completely understand why the man wouldn't want to put on jeans just to take them off again, especially after a long day and especially for a booty call.

It doesn't matter. What I'm saying is that he looks good in jeans. He really is kind of built in a way that makes my vision go a little blurry. His legs are just... really nice. They're really fucking nice.

And I sort of can't stop looking at his tooth and it's making me a bit sad, more than a bit. Kind of a lot sad. I feel like I'd be acting at least a bit more balanced if I wasn't on my period. That appears to be the huge issue as of recent. My clingy almost-crying nature near this man in the last twelve hours that has rebounded all over from do-you-think-this-is-too-much to come-home-with-me to cuddling this morning to the hot flash I had realizing that the man had slipped off into his room to, well.

It's nothing.

I'll be normal again when this goes away and the semester starts again. Right now I'm having a hard time deciding between staring at his legs and asking him if maybe he wants to get that tooth fixed so it doesn't remind him of his dad every time he sees a picture of himself smiling or something sappy and extraordinarily depressing.

I stand next to him in the doorway of Ivan's, three whole apartment buildings over from Fidan's place. We walked so we could drink freely, and he's snowy up to his shins and I'm not much better. Fidan pulls his beanie off his head, his Turkish hair still untamed and messy from bedhead and not made better by the beanie. I have half a heart to drag his head down and try to fix it but I would rather be caught dead in this hallway than caught preening over a man, of all things, by people who I know only as mutuals. He can take care of himself.

But also he is my boyfriend. Technically. I think. I should probably make sure he doesn't look-

"Fidan."

He picks up his head from untying his boots. "Hm?"

I drop my coat onto the bench and reach forward, pushing his hair back, running my hands through it, trying to get it to settle in a way that doesn't scream I've been experimenting with Faraday and more along the lines of day off, didn't style it. It's less easy than it looks and he's smiling, watching my concentration as I try to force it to lay flat. Or flatter. Goddamn this man and the sheer volume of hair that he manages to have. It's not even long at the moment. A bit shaggy, yes, but not long, and somehow it's the type of thick that would make any girl jealous.

"Having any luck?" He teases, quiet in the entryway.

I keep my eyes off his dropped eyelids and his lip between his teeth. I apparently will fuck with his hair and preen over him around people but I will not make out with him in this hallway before we've even said hello. Absolutely not.

"I am not having any luck." I mutter, getting the urge to spit on my hand and use that to try to slick back his hair but I won't go that far.

"You can leave it."

"You look like a mad scientist."

He grins. "I think you're the mad scientist of this duo."

"How do you wrangle this hair normally?"

"Helmet."

"Besides the helmet."

"Hopes and prayers."