the first thing james noticed when he let himself into your apartment wasn’t you — it was the pile of unfolded laundry balancing on the arm of the couch, the half finished mug of tea on the coffee table, and three different notebooks spread across the floor with sticky notes poking out from every page.
then he found you at the dining table, shoulders drawn up, pencil tucked behind your ear as you stared at your laptop with the same expression someone might reserve for an impossible puzzle.
“you’ve been here all day, haven’t you?” he asked, setting the grocery bag on the counter. you answered with a distracted hum, not even bothering to glance up, which told him everything he needed to know.
he walked over and rested a hand against the back of your chair. “when did you eat?” you waved him off with a lazy motion, muttering something about being busy. james smiled to himself, already recognizing the stubbornness settling in. “that’s not an answer, baby.”
you sighed dramatically before insisting you were fine and that you’d grab something later. “later,” he repeated. “your favorite word.” you tried to hide your grin, but it slipped through anyway. “i’m serious.” “so am i,” you replied, tapping your keyboard again.
without another word, he disappeared into the kitchen. you assumed he’d given up until the unmistakable sound of cupboards opening and pans clinking reached you. five minutes later, the smell of garlic and butter drifted through the apartment, pulling your attention away from the screen despite your best efforts.
james leaned against the doorway, arms folded. “come eat.” you shook your head immediately. “i just need another twenty minutes.” he checked the clock. “you said that forty minutes ago.”
“i’m almost done,” you insisted. “you always are.” he wasn’t teasing; if anything, his voice carried the patience of someone who’d had this exact conversation dozens of times. “you’ll think better after you eat.” you clicked your tongue, refusing to move.
“james.”
“what?”
“stop treating me like i’m helpless.”
that should’ve ended the conversation, but pride had a funny way of making simple things difficult. you crossed your arms and looked back at your screen, pretending to reread the same sentence for the fifth time. james didn’t argue. he simply walked over, slid the chair beside yours out, and sat down.
the silence stretched comfortably between you until you finally sighed. “you’re not leaving, are you?” he smiled without looking up from the notebook he’d picked up. “probably not.”
you tried to outlast him. ten minutes passed. then fifteen. every few minutes he’d glance over, watching you rub your eyes or erase the same line repeatedly. eventually he reached across the table and nudged your pencil away. “you’re making the same mistake because you’re tired.” you frowned. “no, i’m not.” he quietly turned the notebook toward himself, circled the spot you’d missed, and slid it back.
you blinked at it for a moment before letting out the smallest, most reluctant laugh. “…’kay. maybe a little.”
“there she is,” he said, standing up again. “come on.”
this time, instead of arguing, you simply groaned dramatically as you followed him into the kitchen. the food was already plated, and he’d somehow remembered exactly how you liked it without asking. he passed you a fork before taking the seat across from you. “see?” he said. “the world didn’t end because you stepped away for fifteen minutes.”
you rolled your eyes. “you’re so annoying.” “i’ve been called worse.”
halfway through dinner, you caught him reaching for your empty mug. “i’ll wash that,” you said automatically. james was already at the sink.
“sit.”
“james—”
“sit.”
there wasn’t an ounce of sharpness in his voice, only the kind of calm certainty that made arguing feel pointless. you watched him rinse the dishes while talking about something funny that had happened at work earlier that week, purposely steering the conversation away from deadlines and assignments until you were laughing hard enough to forget what had been stressing you out in the first place.
when everything was cleaned up, you wandered back toward your desk only to find your notebooks stacked neatly, your charger untangled, and your scattered pens gathered into a mug. james noticed your expression immediately. “before you complain,” he said, “i didn’t touch the order of your notes. i know better than that.” you looked over the desk, realizing he’d somehow organized the mess without actually moving anything important.
“you’re impossible,” you murmured. “experienced,” he corrected with a grin.
the work that had felt impossible earlier suddenly came together much faster than expected. james stayed beside you, not hovering, just existing in the same room with a book in his lap and one leg stretched out toward your chair.
every so often he’d glance up to ask if you wanted more water or if your neck was hurting from sitting too long. the questions were small, almost forgettable, but they made the evening feel lighter. there was something comforting about knowing someone cared enough to notice the things you forgot to notice yourself.
by the time you finished, the apartment had gone dark except for the warm lamp beside the couch. you leaned back with a satisfied sigh before turning toward james. “i guess… thanks.” he raised an eyebrow. “guess?” you laughed and walked over, slipping your arms around his waist.
“thank you.” he rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, holding you for a long moment without saying anything.
then, almost absentmindedly, he brushed a few strands of hair away from your face. “you don’t have to do everything alone,” he murmured. “i know you’re capable. that was never the point.”
you looked up at him, feeling slightly embarrassed that he’d been right from the beginning. “i just don’t like asking for help.” james nodded as though he’d known that long before you admitted it. “then don’t ask.” you blinked. “i’ll notice.”
his smile was small, warm, and impossibly reassuring. “you don’t have to earn being looked after.” before you could think of anything clever to say back, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and reached for your hand.
“now,” he said, intertwining your fingers with his, “how about we spend the rest of the night doing absolutely nothing?”
pensieri the layout is ass i’m sorry 😢 i made it in a rush because i haven’t posted in so long :P
