Cabin Fever (BXB)

we bond over italian food

There was nothing I didn't like about it. It felt so intimate. It all felt like him.

"I...don't have a vase, I think," he whispered, crossing towards the kitchen.

"That's okay," I said absentmindedly, taking off my coat and shoes, putting them neatly by the front door. "I like it."

"You don't have to be nice, Micah," he said. "It's a mess. I know it is. I-I did try cleaning up a little, but – "

"Simon."

He looked at me as he pulled a pitcher from one of the upper cabinets.

"I like it."

He scoffed and turned away, filling the jug with water. "I didn't have anything planned. Do you want to order food?"

"What do you normally do on a first date?"

"Uh..." He hummed. "...so after the second rimjob – "

"Hold on, let me take notes. " I pulled out my phone. "I like notes. They make me feel organized."

Simon snorted. "Micah, no."

"No notes or rimjobs?"

"No, there – no. It's a first date. We do first date things."

"But can I take notes?"

"I...guess?"

"Wait, do you like rimjobs?"

"I'm not answering that."

I wrote "LIKES RIMJOBS? TBD" in my notes. And there was only a small part of me weirded out by it, considering the note was right next to another with all my weird animal questions, like "Why do ducks have corkscrew penises?", "What kind of weight do penguins need to be to be able to fly?", and "Can giraffes choke on their tongues?".

"What do you want to order?"

I inhaled. "You can't go wrong with Minnelli's. I like their pastas."

"I'm down for Minnelli's."

We ordered from Minnelli's – he got chicken and I got pasta. We got sides to share. Simon got dessert – a good square brick of tiramisu cake, which I've never had before – though I knew I wouldn't be able to eat it because Minnelli's pasta fills you up faster than gassing up a car. I think he got it to keep me around for longer, so I don't complain.

When the food comes, he plates it for me even though I'm fine with eating it out of the Styrofoam box. He grabbed a cup and put a few flowers in it like a small vase. When Simon was done setting up, he looked nervous and uncertain and so freaking cute that I kissed him.

"Don't," he said. "It's been a while since I've – "

"I love it, Simon. I really, really do." I looked down at the table, my hands on his chest. I wanted to pull them back because I'm not completely sure what's okay with him, but I didn't. "I don't know how more perfect it can get."

It happened faster than I thought it would. Another look crossed his face, and then he kissed me. One hand under my chin, the other pressed against my back. Simon tipped into me, his lips pressed slowly and carefully across my face, as if gauging my reaction, waiting for me to run.

I kissed him back, holding his face. His shoulders. His neck. My hands shook. I wondered if he knew how hard my heart was pounding against my ribs, or how haywire my brain went when my tentatively swiping my tongue across his lips (or even worse, how my brain short-circuited when his mouth opened to welcome my tongue). I didn't know if this all would end me, but by God, I didn't want it to stop.