Me, You, and Mason

15

Darcy was trying not to be weird about it.

Although she wouldn't consider it to be a mistake, she wasn't quite sure what this would mean for her relationship with Sage.

Would they both act like it didn't happen? She wasn't even sure if Sage really meant to say it himself, but he acted as casually about it as he would about anything else.

Maybe it wasn't a big deal after all, so she decided not to harp on it any longer.

She avoided bouncing off the walls of her mind by turning to her writing. With a growing pile of vignettes, written of a love she could only imagine up until this point, Darcy allowed her worst fears and her highest hopes to topple onto pages.

Sage was as cool as a cucumber all the while, his body strewn across her loveseat with his own bundle of pages.

This was a date, technically. They'd declared it as such.

Between the meal they cooked together and bonding over their respective writing projects, it felt even better than dining in or parking somewhere. And with Darcy being more conscientious of her pockets— and Sage's— she found this to be a perfect compromise to being fiscally responsible and romantic.

Such romance only spurred Sage's songwriting efforts onward. Trying a method where he'd write lines and sentiments first and string them together with a melody later, Sage was in a zone.

His channel of creativity was clearer than ever with his muse mere feet away, especially now that he'd made his love evident. Regardless of her more-awkward-than-usual behavior that resulted, he was glad that she was aware of his deepest feelings.

Now, he just needed her to know it wasn't a hoax or a slip of the tongue. Although spoken without thought, it put a firm flag of declaration in the soil of their relationship. Sage just hoped that its presence so soon wouldn't scare her off. After all, "love" was a hard word given the fact they still didn't have an official title.

He stared at her. Initially, it was to ponder metaphors that captured the shade and perfection of her rich brown skin.

But somewhere along "whiskey" and "umber," he lost himself in the way the heads of her eyebrows smooched when she was typing.

And how her head tilted as she raked her brain for more words. And the purse of her lips as she switched tabs to search for synonyms. And how every so often, she'd change her position— from crossed legs and a pillow-propped back to bent knees and a pillow-propped head.

After a while, his eyes found his own page, filled with rhyme clusters and misshapen lyrics. And just as he'd written one more, Darcy broke their silence.

"How's the showcase shapin' up?" she asked with eyes skimming for synonyms.

"It's been a rough couple of days, honestly, but it'll be alright. I reconnected with the other guys that played behind Dime with me, at Bloodstone. So, now we're workin' on the arrangements of the songs and shit."

"All new stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Can I hear your old stuff?"

"It doesn't sound like the new shit at all."

"That's okay," she shrugged.

"Okay," he grabbed his phone and sent her a link.

"I'ma listen to it now, if that's alright," she smiled slightly.

"Please, not out loud. I might die of embarrassment," he chuckled nervously.

"What's there to be embarrassed about? I'm sure it's really good. Shit, there'll prolly be something I like," she connected her headphones.

He watched her anxiously.