Live A Little

Rain

Oren throws a sweater over his head, even though it is, debatably, too hot outside for it. He tousles his hair, crawls towards himself in his mirror, rolls in his bedsheets, trying to channel every sex star he's ever seen. It's not bad, but not as good as his usual. He sits back on his heels, pouts. Confidence is not oozing from him as it usually does. It is, instead, curled in the corners of his lungs, like molasses left too long stagnant. He huffs, blows his nose. Allergies aren't sexy.

Blowing his hair out of his face, Oren searches for his pants in the whirlwind of clothing that used to be his desk chair. He's not really feeling well, and, normally, he wouldn't go out today, but the bubbly anticipation in his gut won't let him quit. He gives up looking for pants for the time being, instead laying back on his bed in the sweater and his underwear. He considers sending Beckett a selfie at work, laughs so much at the thought that he absolutely has to.

Oren takes a few dozen photos, flips through them to find the most aesthetic one. The windows are open, because the morning still holds some of the nighttime chill, and a/c isn't quite in Oren's budget right now; the small breeze has added some preternatural magic to his hair. He texts Beckett the best photo, which happens to be the one where his hair looks wild and his hands look like they could do something dangerous, and a bit of his midriff is showing.

To: Beckett

Excited for our date tonight ;) can't wait

Not two full minutes later, Oren's phone buzzes, and he tries not to let himself smile too much about it.

Beckett doesn't even say hello. "You tease."

Oren laughs, and it's surprisingly loud in his empty bedroom. "Aw, don't act like you didn't like it. Send one back?"

Chuckling in a quiet, blushing way, Beckett says, "Hush. See you later."

He's not much for words, that one. Oren thinks it's cute, pulls himself away from the edge of endearment. If there's one thing that Oren has learned, it's that rich men don't even know who they want you to see until the fifth date at least. He's trying not to trust this one too quickly, trying to hold something back so he doesn't get hurt.

But, he has a date tonight. A real date, not a booty call, not anything kinky or slapped together. An aquarium date, which he's wanted to have since he was sixteen. No man has ever let him pick a date before. He flicks through Beckett's Instagram for the second time this morning, sighing at his jawline, the curls in his older photos, the sharp lines of his shoulders in suit jackets.

He's not smitten, no way. He's just appreciating the scenery, as they say.

****

Beckett lays out the third potential outfit of the day, pouts at it. It's been so long since he's had to dress casually that he's unsure of how to do it properly. He's gone with black jeans with a black t-shirt, dark boots, and a jean jacket over top. It's a common result from the internet on what to wear on a date, so it's what he goes with. He unzips his pants, and feels his phone vibrate in the front pocket.

From: Oren

If it rains can we make out outside?

Rolling his eyes, Beckett texts back a quick 'Sure', and continues getting dressed. He wonders if Oren actually wants a sexy picture back, decides against even trying it. He checks himself out in the mirror, tugs on the jacket. He considers re-styling his hair, checks the time. Too close. A beanie will do.

Jittery, Beckett drums his hands along the stair railing. There's still half an hour before he has to leave, and he doesn't know how to pass the time. He decides on a cup of coffee, even though it'll only make his heart beat faster, and he isn't sure how he'll ever get his hands to stop moving.