Get Outta Your Head

Gotta Let It Show

Notes: Okay so I am so sorry about the ridiculous wait for an update, life just seemed to keep happening but I've have finally found an evening to sit and finish this chapter which has been sitting in my drafts for months. I do hope it is enough to, at least, marginally redeem me. 

~ A x  

The bath water is too hot but you can't be bothered to lean forwards for the mixer tap so you wipe the sweat from your temple and blow a sticky strand of hair from your face instead. The lavender oil does little to remove the grit of a ten hour flight so you're too busy working salt scrub into the crook of your elbow to hear the doorbell ring. Your only indication that someone may, in fact, be trying to enter is the incessant yapping from the Jack Russell pegging it hell for leather up and down the landing.

"Who is it, Bandit?" You call, but when – to no surprise – your dog hasn't suddenly acquired the power of speech, you pull the plug and clamber out of the bath, reaching for your dressing gown as you drag wet feet across the bath mat. You're half way down the stairs when your phone starts ringing – somewhere upstairs and far off. You curse every deity that comes to mind for the constant stream of interruptions and feel a momentary pang of heartache for such a waste of a Lush bath bomb. Bandit nearly takes the skin from your shins when he hurls himself at you, twisting mid-air before bounding back towards the door with relentless energy. He turns back to look at you, just to check you're keeping up.

"It's not going to be anyone you know, Band." You say, raising a wry eyebrow as you twist the lock back and pull the door towards you.

Gary is stood on your front step with his phone to his ear.

Bandit is out of the house like a sky rocket.

You almost want to slam the door back in his face. You wasted a Lush bath bomb. For this. His midlife crisis is still suiting him well though and instead of the floral number he had on just over a day ago, he's now stood on your doorstep in grey washed jeans and a leather bomber jacket that probably cost more than it looks to be worth. He smiles sheepishly and pulls his phone from his ear when he sees you, turning the screen in your direction so you can see the Caller ID at the top.

"I didn't know if you were in." He smiles by way of explaining why he needed to ring the doorbell and call your phone and you just raise your eyebrows in a way that you hope says, well here I am.

Bandit is losing his shit at Gary's feet. You want to tell him to fuck it off in the nicest way possible, but you're also confident that he still won't understand. It takes Gary all of fifteen seconds to succumb to the whining and scoop the dog off his feet, laughing from somewhere genuine, deep in the back of his throat when Bandit gives him a sloppy greeting across the cheek.

"Hello." He coos, camp and amusing and heartachingly warm. "Hello pal, I've missed you! Yes I have, yes I have!" Bandit is clambering at his chest and you secretly hope that he'll scratch the jacket. "Who's a good boy then, eh?" Gary carries on, scratching behind the dog's ear until he turns utterly to jelly and dials the excitement down to a tepid three out of ten. When that commotion is over, you step aside and gesture Gary in. He sets Bandit down when he bends to untie his laces. The little dog scampers away instantly, intent on finding his next adventure. Gary watches him go with a look that you imagine a parent might display when they watch their first born in their first Nativity play. You roll your eyes and he grins when he notices.

"What?" He shrugs out of his jacket and throws it over the bannister like he lives there. "He's cute."

"You're soft." You reply and kick his white trainers closer to the skirting board with your bare feet. "Why are you here?"