☆ synopsis: Peter gets a normal coffee from a normal shop on a normal day. Then he hears his name.
☆ warnings: none (i think?), brand new day peter parker, loneliness, room temp coffee? mdni
author’s note: this is my first tumblr post. (it’s short - does it count?) hello!
It was just another order. Another name. You weren’t aware it would stall the queue, leave people piling into the doorway with frustrated huffs, or that you’d tipped his world completely, irreparably, on its axis.
“Coffee with milk.” You’d called, fighting with the plastic lid as you pried it over the cardboard corners. You’d passed it out to whatever hand reached for it first, glanced up politely, mind preoccupied with the next order until recognition derailed your rhythm.
“Oh, hey Peter.” A casual, polite hello. A nod to an acquaintance. A friendly smile. “How’ve you been?” A perfectly normal thing to say to a classmate. An unobtrusive, socially acceptable remark.
Or so you’d thought.
The gratitude tumbling out from his mouth was cut short, and he chocked on the rushed thank you so much! As he reached out for his order. His entire body grew still, like he’d been isolated in a pocket of time. Frozen. His muscles locked up, his eyes widened, and his fingers hovered over yours, close enough to feel the heat emanating through the cardboard. As he blinked slowly, pulling himself back into the present, something painful flashed through his expression. It was instantaneous, barely noticeable, but your smile turned cautious.
You waited, coffee extended between you like peace offering, until the silence became unsettling. Your eyes flitted from the man before you to the line of customers growing behind him.
Had you said something wrong?
He mustn’t recognise you. Surely school hadn’t been that long ago…Was it only you that remembered the quiet, smart, nervous boy who always saved a hello or goodbye for you each day? You’d shared a project together in your last year, hadn’t you?
“Sorry.” You began, conscious of yourself, the queue, and his evident discomfort. “I didn’t mean to-sorry. Your drink.” You presented the little cup again, as if maybe he hadn’t noticed it the first time, and felt his fingers flex over yours.
He was trembling.
Beneath the harsh lights of the coffee shop his wide-eyes seemed bug-like. He took the cup, but didn’t withdraw, and his lips parted and pressed together like he was trying to say something.
“Are you feeling alright?” You ask.
“What did you just say?” It came out as a pant. Almost a whisper. Though the urgency was sharp.
Someone behind him cleared their throat irritably. You glanced over his shoulder and started to feel hot under the scrutiny of the collective stares as they waited for you. Exchanging your weight, you looked at the little ticket with his order - one regular coffee, additions: milk - and stressed your lip.
“I asked if you were alright.” Suddenly conscious of yourself, your voice, and the way he stared at you like he was close to tears, you weren’t sure what else to say.
“Before that.” Peter said.
“Um…Coffee with milk?” You looked at the little cup as if it had the answer, searching for a grasp of whatever it was he wanted to hear. His stare was unrelenting.
The line behind him was getting longer, bunching at the door so much that the little bell had stopped ringing, instead propped open by the bodies crowded there. As much as it was nice to see a familiar face, clearly just for you, it was coiling your nerves. Each huff, each glower, every tsk that hissed out from behind your old classmate made your chest tighten apprehensively. You were going to get in trouble soon. You were sure of it. You itched to move on.
“No-“ Peter shook his head. The wobble in his voice startled you. He sounded…pained. Desperate. You looked back at him, brows curved, and rolled your lips together. He seemed close to tears.
“…your name?”
“Yes.” Peter gasped, grip visibly tightening on the flimsy cup caged by his palm. Your gaze flicked between the paper and his face. His eyes were rimmed with red, lips parted with anticipation. Buckling under the intensity of his stare, you glanced away.
“…Peter?” You offered weakly, unsure what else you’d possibly said in the few words you’d given him, until a voice cut through the strings of your conversation, and jolted you back to life.
“Excuse me, how long’s my drink gonna be?”
“Sorry.” You gushed, snatching a paper cup, a ticket, and snapping your attention to the next customer. “Y-yes, just a minute.” You rambled, and turned your head back to Peter, who washed his eyes over you like he was seeing you for the first time. “Sorry-“ you started, but you weren’t certain exactly what for. “Sorry if…if I did something. Feel better, okay?” You moved to the ticket, and then to the row that had appeared beside you. You didn’t have another moment to spare. “I’ll see you later, Peter.”
I’ll see you later, Peter.
The last thing you’d said before turning back to your station. Five simple, normal words. He’d heard them a thousand times. But that had been before. Now, they were words that cracked him open and punctured his lungs, like he’d been unable to breathe in the time since anyone had known his name.
He was washed out by the wave of customers moving from the store. The bell above his head chimed again like an alarm trying to drag him from a dream.
Through the glass, he watched you. Coffee, milk, repeat. Mundane, routine, and completely oblivious to his turmoil. Peter glanced at the paper cup, the liquid warm now instead of hot, and exhaled loudly through his nose. The traffic on the sidewalk dislodged him, and he was swept by the stream to his apartment, where he climbed onto the fire escape. He sat his coffee on the railing and watched it, like it might say his name all over again. It remained untouched, as if drinking it would pour away whatever impossible thing had just happened and leave him alone and forgotten all over again.
He hadn’t realised quite how little he’d existed until now. Each day without his name he’d faded a little more. It was like his soul was evaporating. Piece by piece, until only his suit remained and no boy inside to wear it.
i think the issue with a lot of actors nowadays (like zendaya, timothee chalamet, ryan gosling, etc.) is their face is so well known that when you watch their movies or shows, you don’t see them as the character they’re playing. no hate to anyone i mentioned! personally, i love ryan gosling and his characters, but he has so many little quirks and mannerisms shared in all his characters that i struggle to see his roles as the characters and not himself sometimes.
obviously this doesn’t apply to everyone, but i think the industry needs to slow down and stop casting the same people for every single role. the point of being an actor is to act and portray different characters, yet when you have the same face for different characters and an actor with little range or similar roles, they struggle to fill that role and you struggle to see them as that character.
i just needed somewhere to put this thought, but this is just my opinion on this issue i’ve found. feel free to comment or reblog if you have a different idea or think my take is shit, i’m open to different opinions!
hot take but i HATE when the reader turned 18 literally 3 days ago and the guy is 30 talking about how “ive wanted you for so long” ESPECIALLY if it’s their best friends dad like baby that man needs to be on a list..
The ex-captain could hardly believe that the woman who helped him all of those weeks ago, the one whose lack of self-preservation appalled and disgusted him, was now the person he was about to trust with sharp objects only inches from his jugular.
He had no idea why you were stuck alone out here in this cabin, but you were kind enough to feed him and give him a break from a life on the run. You even warned him about the town, which he definitely would've risked running through at some point if you hadn't. Nothing about you screamed "untrustworthy"... And John trusted his intuition enough to keep coming back to you.
Fleeing his own ex-teammates was exhausting, both mentally and physically. Both Simon and Kyle were after him now (on top of Graves and anyone else affiliated with Shepherd), and he ran into them more than once. But he was careful to not lead anyone here. He almost felt bad when he led them to the middle of nowhere, and left them on a beach a few hours away... Almost.
But then there’s you. John didn't want to get you involved in all of this, not the one beacon of light in the dark abyss that was his current situation. Coming to the cabin whenever he knew it was safe to do so almost felt normal... It felt domestic. You were someone he could come "home" to, even if he couldn't be as honest as he wanted to be.
And now, he was explaining to you how to trim his hair, his voice much gentler than when he was explaining how to stitch him up during your first encounter. He told you where to use the trimmers and when to use scissors. You were nodding along, soaking all of the information up.
“Got all of that, love…?” He asked, and he could've sworn that he heard your breath stutter for a moment. You gave an affirmative sound, and John relaxed a bit in the chair.
After you fixed the garbage bag on the ground to catch the clippings, you fixed a tissue strip around his neck. John tensed up for a moment, but not because of the pressure from the tissue collar... Your fingers brushed against his neck, and his pulse jumped in response.
"Sorry, I um... Is this okay? I should've asked." You started to take the tissue away, but he stopped you with his good hand.
"It's fine... It's okay. It's just been a long time since I've had someone do this for me." It wasn't a lie, ever since John started running he was only able to snip away a few annoying tufts here and there. And someone else's hands on him, to feel the skin of somebody else again, even a touch so light... It was startling.
The paper collar was fixed to his neck now, not too tight and not too loose, so you got to work. You started by carefully trimming away at his hair, deep in focus. As you followed the instructions he gave you before, John tried hard not to stare at you through the mirror above the sink. It proved to be a challenge though, you were so intent on getting this right. You actually wanted to do this for him, to help him. It made him feel warm in a way that he wasn't used to feeling... And he wanted so badly to ignore it.
Your fingers would brush against his skin here and there, and every single time his body would react. That warm feeling would spread through his chest, and he swore that if he started to fucking blush like a besotted school boy he would get up and leave. Thankfully, his beard covered up enough of his face that maybe you wouldn't notice.
As soon as you finished with his hair and he started to resemble who he once was, you combed his beard to get some tangles out. You looked a bit sheepish as you got a towel, soaking it in some hot water before bringing it to his beard.
"Is this alright...? I just have to... Put this over your mouth for a minute. Just a minute, to soften the hair." You explained, though he knew what it was for already. You looked and sounded so flustered, and he couldn't help but chuckle when you finally put the towel over the lower half of his face.
Nervous little thing...
It felt good... And you were being so gentle about it. You could've left the towel there, but instead you held it in place with your hands. Cradling his face... John tried to recall the last time someone was this careful with him, and he couldn't conjure up any memories. The minute passed, and you took the towel away. After combing through his beard one last time, you took the trimmer and carefully started to get to work on the mess that was his beard.
Hiding his blush was one thing, but fuck... He prayed that your eyes stayed on his face and didn't look down. As soon as you started trimming the coarse hair on one side, he felt your hand on the opposite side of his face. Your skin was so soft and warm... And above all else, you were so gentle. It made his mind wander away from the innocent moment and into a more dangerous territory. It didn't help when you moved to stand in front of him, leaning over to get a better look to check the length of the coarse hairs.
But then dirtier thoughts crept into his head, thoughts that had no right to be there while you did this completely innocent act of service for him. Visions of your fingers wrapping around his cock took up residence in his brain, how it would feel if your hands roamed and felt every muscle and every scar on his battle worn body. He needed to know how it would feel if your nails clawed down his back while he--
Stop, no, John scolded himself mentally, trying with all of his might to extinguish those ideas. He was already chubbing up in his pants, all while you moved from one side of his beard to the other. She's just being nice.
You chirped out a comment, something about how it was easier than you expected as you did some final touches. Just shaping his beard more now. Quickly, John found his voice. He'd been silent the whole time, praying to whatever god was listening that you didn't notice his inner turmoil.
"Looks bloody perfect, love," he said, and his voice came out rougher than he wanted it to. "Can't thank you enough."
"You can thank me by helping me eat the roast," you responded softly. "I think I made too much... It's an old recipe. Really hope you like it."
Too fucking sweet, too bloody soft and innocent for me, he tried to tell himself as you removed the towel and the tissue from around his neck. I can't just take what I want. I don't deserve her.
"I'm gonna get rid of all of this," you muttered, gathering the clippings in the garbage bag carefully. "There's a plastic bag for your hand if you want to take a quick shower."
Perfect.
"Yeah, I'll do that..." John got up from the chair and watched you a little too intently. He felt entirely like a starved wolf staring down an oblivious rabbit, he wanted to sink his teeth into you. To taste you until you were squirming.
But he waited. He watched you leave before he locked the bathroom door and practically tore his clothes off with his uninjured hand. John knew he had to take care of this, he wouldn't be able to act normal until he did. So he turned the water on, and wrapped his right hand up in the plastic bag. When he was sure that no water would get in, he stepped under the hot spray of water.
John's back muscles and sore shoulders were soothed from the gentle massage of the water as it rained down on him. The feeling alone made him groan appreciatively, it felt almost as good as what he was about to do. As the water washed away any excess hair from his head, he reached down with his left hand to grasp his aching cock. A soft hiss left him as he stroked up to the flushed tip, precum gathered on his fingers before he moved back down the shaft.
And so he finally did something he had absolutely no time to do before. While you took care of his appetite, he was starved for something else entirely. When was the last time John had someone under him? The last time he got off? He couldn't remember, all he could think about now was how you would feel as he worked his hand over his cock.
The pace that he set didn't start off slow or gentle, John needed a release and he needed it now. He closed his eyes, and all he could see were visions of you.
Oh, fuck... The beautiful vision of you. On your knees in front of him, wrapping those pretty lips around his throbbing length and taking him all the way to the base. Or laid out for him on your back, where he would push your knees up as far as he could get them while he fucked you nice and deep.
Bet she feels so fucking perfect, he thought as his breaths came quicker. His balls started to draw up, and he prayed that you couldn't hear a goddamn thing. I'd ruin her for anyone else... I'd... Fuck...
Pleasure coursed through him as he came from the thought of you begging for him. His legs felt like they'd give out but he was grateful they didn't. Thick, white ropes of his release hit the wall of the shower and beaded in the coarse hairs which led to the base of his cock. He had to rest his head against the shower wall, closing his eyes as he came down from his high. It was intense... Too intense, and the realization that none of the fantasies that played out in his head would become a reality made a pit of frustration form in his gut.
The frustration did nothing to stop him from getting hard all over again.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
Almost a half hour later, John was properly washed up and not as keyed up as before... Even though he had to get off one more time before he felt okay again. Now he was in a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and a black tee. The look in your eyes was curious when he finally entered the dining room, you definitely noticed how long he took.
"Sorry, I..." John trailed off, trying to string the words together carefully in his head before he let them spill out. "Not used to showering one handed, just had to take my time." He took his usual seat at the wooden dining room table,
Instead of asking any questions, you just smiled so sweetly and grabbed a big, red bowl for him. John watched as you filled the bowl up with meat, potatoes, carrots, and broth before setting it down on the table in front of him.
"That's fair, I've honestly never broken any bones but I could imagine that it's not easy," you mused before getting a bowl of your own and sitting across from him. "And that's your dominant hand too, right? Shit, I don't think I'd have the patience."
John was just relieved and grateful that you were on the other side of those woods that night. The two of you ate in a comfortable silence, the only sounds being from the silverware and the old radio playing softly from the kitchen. And when you were both finished, John tried to help put the leftovers away but you shooed him.
"I got this, Bear." You said, and as soon as the words left your mouth John could tell that you regretted it. "I mean... Yeah, I got it under control."
An amused chuckle left him as he moved into the living room, watching you from the couch as you tried to pretend you didn't call him 'Bear'.
"Bear, huh...?"
"Well, you... You can't give me a name, so I just made one up for you," you explained, flustered. "Because of the beard, and you did come from the woods... So..."
"I'm just like a mean ol' bear, that's it?" He teased as he laid on the couch.
"Not mean!" You called back as you did the dishes. "No, just very bear-like. It's a compliment if anything, I like bears."
John decided not to comment further, just laughed much to your annoyance.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
Some hours passed, and you didn't come to check on John... So he got up from his spot on the couch to check on you instead. He was half asleep, but awake enough to quietly head upstairs to your bedroom. Once again, it was left slightly ajar.
He peered into the room, which felt too big for one person. Posters of faraway lands and maps all over the walls, maybe some of them were of bands that he couldn't identify. And the bed was certainly too big for one person as well... With you laying right in the center of it. John leaned in the doorway, watching as you slept peacefully.
It'd be so easy to just lie next to her, a voice whispered at the back of his brain. Pull her close, hold her until morning...
Just more thoughts, another daydream that wouldn't become a reality. He watched for a moment longer before turning and leaving. As he left, he heard a faint buzzing sound... Thought he did.
Too fucking tired for this, John thought as he laid back down on the couch, pulling the blue quilt over himself. I'll see her in the morning.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
You were fast asleep, but your burner came to life as John fell back asleep...
The ex-captain could hardly believe that the woman who helped him all of those weeks ago, the one whose lack of self-preservation appalled and disgusted him, was now the person he was about to trust with sharp objects only inches from his jugular.
He had no idea why you were stuck alone out here in this cabin, but you were kind enough to feed him and give him a break from a life on the run. You even warned him about the town, which he definitely would've risked running through at some point if you hadn't. Nothing about you screamed "untrustworthy"... And John trusted his intuition enough to keep coming back to you.
Fleeing his own ex-teammates was exhausting, both mentally and physically. Both Simon and Kyle were after him now (on top of Graves and anyone else affiliated with Shepherd), and he ran into them more than once. But he was careful to not lead anyone here. He almost felt bad when he led them to the middle of nowhere, and left them on a beach a few hours away... Almost.
But then there’s you. John didn't want to get you involved in all of this, not the one beacon of light in the dark abyss that was his current situation. Coming to the cabin whenever he knew it was safe to do so almost felt normal... It felt domestic. You were someone he could come "home" to, even if he couldn't be as honest as he wanted to be.
And now, he was explaining to you how to trim his hair, his voice much gentler than when he was explaining how to stitch him up during your first encounter. He told you where to use the trimmers and when to use scissors. You were nodding along, soaking all of the information up.
“Got all of that, love…?” He asked, and he could've sworn that he heard your breath stutter for a moment. You gave an affirmative sound, and John relaxed a bit in the chair.
After you fixed the garbage bag on the ground to catch the clippings, you fixed a tissue strip around his neck. John tensed up for a moment, but not because of the pressure from the tissue collar... Your fingers brushed against his neck, and his pulse jumped in response.
"Sorry, I um... Is this okay? I should've asked." You started to take the tissue away, but he stopped you with his good hand.
"It's fine... It's okay. It's just been a long time since I've had someone do this for me." It wasn't a lie, ever since John started running he was only able to snip away a few annoying tufts here and there. And someone else's hands on him, to feel the skin of somebody else again, even a touch so light... It was startling.
The paper collar was fixed to his neck now, not too tight and not too loose, so you got to work. You started by carefully trimming away at his hair, deep in focus. As you followed the instructions he gave you before, John tried hard not to stare at you through the mirror above the sink. It proved to be a challenge though, you were so intent on getting this right. You actually wanted to do this for him, to help him. It made him feel warm in a way that he wasn't used to feeling... And he wanted so badly to ignore it.
Your fingers would brush against his skin here and there, and every single time his body would react. That warm feeling would spread through his chest, and he swore that if he started to fucking blush like a besotted school boy he would get up and leave. Thankfully, his beard covered up enough of his face that maybe you wouldn't notice.
As soon as you finished with his hair and he started to resemble who he once was, you combed his beard to get some tangles out. You looked a bit sheepish as you got a towel, soaking it in some hot water before bringing it to his beard.
"Is this alright...? I just have to... Put this over your mouth for a minute. Just a minute, to soften the hair." You explained, though he knew what it was for already. You looked and sounded so flustered, and he couldn't help but chuckle when you finally put the towel over the lower half of his face.
Nervous little thing...
It felt good... And you were being so gentle about it. You could've left the towel there, but instead you held it in place with your hands. Cradling his face... John tried to recall the last time someone was this careful with him, and he couldn't conjure up any memories. The minute passed, and you took the towel away. After combing through his beard one last time, you took the trimmer and carefully started to get to work on the mess that was his beard.
Hiding his blush was one thing, but fuck... He prayed that your eyes stayed on his face and didn't look down. As soon as you started trimming the coarse hair on one side, he felt your hand on the opposite side of his face. Your skin was so soft and warm... And above all else, you were so gentle. It made his mind wander away from the innocent moment and into a more dangerous territory. It didn't help when you moved to stand in front of him, leaning over to get a better look to check the length of the coarse hairs.
But then dirtier thoughts crept into his head, thoughts that had no right to be there while you did this completely innocent act of service for him. Visions of your fingers wrapping around his cock took up residence in his brain, how it would feel if your hands roamed and felt every muscle and every scar on his battle worn body. He needed to know how it would feel if your nails clawed down his back while he--
Stop, no, John scolded himself mentally, trying with all of his might to extinguish those ideas. He was already chubbing up in his pants, all while you moved from one side of his beard to the other. She's just being nice.
You chirped out a comment, something about how it was easier than you expected as you did some final touches. Just shaping his beard more now. Quickly, John found his voice. He'd been silent the whole time, praying to whatever god was listening that you didn't notice his inner turmoil.
"Looks bloody perfect, love," he said, and his voice came out rougher than he wanted it to. "Can't thank you enough."
"You can thank me by helping me eat the roast," you responded softly. "I think I made too much... It's an old recipe. Really hope you like it."
Too fucking sweet, too bloody soft and innocent for me, he tried to tell himself as you removed the towel and the tissue from around his neck. I can't just take what I want. I don't deserve her.
"I'm gonna get rid of all of this," you muttered, gathering the clippings in the garbage bag carefully. "There's a plastic bag for your hand if you want to take a quick shower."
Perfect.
"Yeah, I'll do that..." John got up from the chair and watched you a little too intently. He felt entirely like a starved wolf staring down an oblivious rabbit, he wanted to sink his teeth into you. To taste you until you were squirming.
But he waited. He watched you leave before he locked the bathroom door and practically tore his clothes off with his uninjured hand. John knew he had to take care of this, he wouldn't be able to act normal until he did. So he turned the water on, and wrapped his right hand up in the plastic bag. When he was sure that no water would get in, he stepped under the hot spray of water.
John's back muscles and sore shoulders were soothed from the gentle massage of the water as it rained down on him. The feeling alone made him groan appreciatively, it felt almost as good as what he was about to do. As the water washed away any excess hair from his head, he reached down with his left hand to grasp his aching cock. A soft hiss left him as he stroked up to the flushed tip, precum gathered on his fingers before he moved back down the shaft.
And so he finally did something he had absolutely no time to do before. While you took care of his appetite, he was starved for something else entirely. When was the last time John had someone under him? The last time he got off? He couldn't remember, all he could think about now was how you would feel as he worked his hand over his cock.
The pace that he set didn't start off slow or gentle, John needed a release and he needed it now. He closed his eyes, and all he could see were visions of you.
Oh, fuck... The beautiful vision of you. On your knees in front of him, wrapping those pretty lips around his throbbing length and taking him all the way to the base. Or laid out for him on your back, where he would push your knees up as far as he could get them while he fucked you nice and deep.
Bet she feels so fucking perfect, he thought as his breaths came quicker. His balls started to draw up, and he prayed that you couldn't hear a goddamn thing. I'd ruin her for anyone else... I'd... Fuck...
Pleasure coursed through him as he came from the thought of you begging for him. His legs felt like they'd give out but he was grateful they didn't. Thick, white ropes of his release hit the wall of the shower and beaded in the coarse hairs which led to the base of his cock. He had to rest his head against the shower wall, closing his eyes as he came down from his high. It was intense... Too intense, and the realization that none of the fantasies that played out in his head would become a reality made a pit of frustration form in his gut.
The frustration did nothing to stop him from getting hard all over again.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
Almost a half hour later, John was properly washed up and not as keyed up as before... Even though he had to get off one more time before he felt okay again. Now he was in a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and a black tee. The look in your eyes was curious when he finally entered the dining room, you definitely noticed how long he took.
"Sorry, I..." John trailed off, trying to string the words together carefully in his head before he let them spill out. "Not used to showering one handed, just had to take my time." He took his usual seat at the wooden dining room table,
Instead of asking any questions, you just smiled so sweetly and grabbed a big, red bowl for him. John watched as you filled the bowl up with meat, potatoes, carrots, and broth before setting it down on the table in front of him.
"That's fair, I've honestly never broken any bones but I could imagine that it's not easy," you mused before getting a bowl of your own and sitting across from him. "And that's your dominant hand too, right? Shit, I don't think I'd have the patience."
John was just relieved and grateful that you were on the other side of those woods that night. The two of you ate in a comfortable silence, the only sounds being from the silverware and the old radio playing softly from the kitchen. And when you were both finished, John tried to help put the leftovers away but you shooed him.
"I got this, Bear." You said, and as soon as the words left your mouth John could tell that you regretted it. "I mean... Yeah, I got it under control."
An amused chuckle left him as he moved into the living room, watching you from the couch as you tried to pretend you didn't call him 'Bear'.
"Bear, huh...?"
"Well, you... You can't give me a name, so I just made one up for you," you explained, flustered. "Because of the beard, and you did come from the woods... So..."
"I'm just like a mean ol' bear, that's it?" He teased as he laid on the couch.
"Not mean!" You called back as you did the dishes. "No, just very bear-like. It's a compliment if anything, I like bears."
John decided not to comment further, just laughed much to your annoyance.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
Some hours passed, and you didn't come to check on John... So he got up from his spot on the couch to check on you instead. He was half asleep, but awake enough to quietly head upstairs to your bedroom. Once again, it was left slightly ajar.
He peered into the room, which felt too big for one person. Posters of faraway lands and maps all over the walls, maybe some of them were of bands that he couldn't identify. And the bed was certainly too big for one person as well... With you laying right in the center of it. John leaned in the doorway, watching as you slept peacefully.
It'd be so easy to just lie next to her, a voice whispered at the back of his brain. Pull her close, hold her until morning...
Just more thoughts, another daydream that wouldn't become a reality. He watched for a moment longer before turning and leaving. As he left, he heard a faint buzzing sound... Thought he did.
Too fucking tired for this, John thought as he laid back down on the couch, pulling the blue quilt over himself. I'll see her in the morning.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
You were fast asleep, but your burner came to life as John fell back asleep...
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