Must Have Been the Wind (Alec Benjamin X reader)

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I'm not usually like this

Alec's POV

I led her down to my apartment and held the door open for her. She muttered a thank you. I could tell she was still very much so shaken-up. She hadn't really spoken since the first time I went upstairs.

The time that she pretended to be ok.

I still wasn't sure what happened.

I'm not sure I want to know.

"You can just have a seat anywhere, I'll go get the stuff." I said, as I walked towards the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet.

(Y/N)'s POV

His apartment was adorable.

The wall was still a classic red brick, but it was adorned with pictures and shelves and polaroids strung on lights.

The couch was a pale blue color, with green and blue throw pillows. There was a glass coffee table in front of me, and a flatscreen TV about 5 feet across from where I had sat down on the couch.

There was a guitar on a stand in the corner to my left, and a keyboard in the corner across from it.

I stood up, hesitantly, and walked over to the wall where the polaroids were strung.

The first one was a picture of a boy, about 9 or 10 years old, give or take, and a girl who looked to be about the same age, maybe a little older.

"That's my sister and I."

I turned around, a little startled. He was standing close behind me. My face was looking right at his chest, not more than a foot away.

I could feel myself blushing.

I didn't meet his eyes. I just kept looking at his chest. He was wearing a dark green hoodie, with drawstrings and a pocket in the front, may I add.

He paused to stare at me, very lingeringly might I add. I still didn't meet his gaze but I could see his eyes out of my peripheral vision.

(AN: read this in a southern accent.) Boy was he gazin'. (AN: or boy was he gay, son...)

"We uh," he cleared his throat slightly, to talk more smoothly, "we were at a carnival in Arizona. I was 10. She was 12. (AN: I tried to look up how old Logan Benjamin was but there's no mention of her age or how much older she is than Alec so. I guessed. 🤷‍♀️)

I glanced down at his hand, he had a bunch of gauze, a few bandaids, a wet washcloth, I'm guessing with soap on it and some Neosporin.

"Should we, uh" I said, motioning towards his hand, still not wanting to look up at him in fear of the romantic tension becoming unbearably awkward.

Or perhaps the opposite.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure."

We walked over to the couch, and I took off my sweater, my t-shirt still underneath.

He picked up the washcloth.

"This may sting a little." I nodded.

When I felt the sting of the soap on my wound, I didn't cry out, or wince or even bite my lip. I just closed my eyes a little as a tear rolled out.

It really f***ing hurt.

After about 20 seconds, he took it off, and I gasped at the relief.

"I'm sorry." His voice sounded pained.