he's got a lot to learn about the world beyond his screens. she's willing to show him the golden beaches and every secret corner of the city she loves. they just have to work out how they're going to survive when his existence is a secret from publi...
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CLAY IS WAITING IN the driveway for her. Irena's things have been packed since she woke up. Chris catches her just before she flies down the stairs.
"Talk to Mom before you go, alright?"
"If you want to talk to him just tell me that," she rolls her eyes. "Be nice, you idiots."
She rounds into the living room, fingers trailing along the bannister of the stairs. It's fairly early, but her parents had always been inclined to rise with the sun. More so her mother, who was an avid early-morning yoga fanatic.
"Morning Mom. I'm gonna head out now. Clay's here."
"So I heard," Helen half-winces, gaze traveling to where the front door has only just creaked shut. "They're just being brothers, you know? I do remember some times you were grateful they're the way they are."
"I know," Irena herself winces at the memories. Tear-stained foundation and worries about messing up her fancy dress. Weekend mornings of tired eyes wondering why she wasn't ever enoughfor some stupid lacrosse player who wouldn't text her back. Teenage boys were hell and she's glad to be past that stage of her life. But like her mother said, her brothers had always been there. Sometimes with more tough love than she wanted to hear, but she's turned out alright.
She perches on the arm of the sofa until they walk back inside. And...they're laughing. With Clay. Languid postures, no tension. Clay catches her eye and all she gets is a sly smirk. She scrunches her nose at him in retaliation.
"Good morning, Mrs. Gold," he quickly offers. The smile is sliding away. The memory of their last meeting is obviously still fresh in his mind. Helen is a lot more relaxed this time around. Less stress after a relaxing and enjoyable weekend with her children.
"Morning, Clay. Want some breakfast? Irena and Damon made waffles a bit ago. They're still warm."
"Ah, no thanks. I grabbed some Dunkin on the way here," he gestures vaguely over his shoulder to where his car is. His glaze flicks to hers again, then at the bags scattered around her feet. "Want me to carry those to the car?"
"Sure." Irena blushes when their hands brush on the handle of her bag. As if they haven't touched a hundred times before. As if she really is just still a naive teenager with a crush.
"He's alright," Damon huffs as Clay leaves through the door. "I expected more...athlete type, I guess? He's not exactly your type. What did you say he did for work again?"
Clay walks back through the door in time to save her. Irena hoists her purse, hugging her mother briefly before starting for the door. Her skin burns again as Clay's fingers find hers, twirling and combining until there is one welded point between them. The universe trapped in their grasp.
