The Day the Sky Fell

Before

The night Beck and I made love, things changed. Wildly. Not in a bad way, not really, just in a super...duper...strange way.

"You babysit quite a bit, don't you?" Beck asked that night, lounging back on the couch and watching me. Our bodies were turned towards each other, his socked feet resting on the spot next to my hip, mine the same way. "If you're not at the restaurant, you're there."

"Mrs. Michaels needs me a lot," I told him, running my fingers along the top of the blanket. It was velvety soft, warm—perfect for the chilly November evening. "Which is fine. Cassie's really great, and I love spending time with him. He's a good kid."

Beck rested his hand on my foot. He had dinner ready for me when I came home from the diner tonight, much to my surprise. He'd made sub sandwiches, with extra mayo and tomato—exactly how I liked it. In the two weeks since we officially 'moved in together'—it took much longer than that to transition all my stuff over, but two weeks since I started sleeping here—things just found their normalcy quickly. He'd cook dinner, I'd do dishes, we'd watch Criminal Minds until we were both too tired to function. We slept together, but not slept together. A state line ran down the middle of the bed. Neither one of us had crossed it yet. Beck's eyes slipped over mine a little lazily. "He sounds pretty important to you."

"He is," I said seriously, nodding. "I've seen him grow up, you know? Watching him makes it feel like I have a little brother." He was a good kid. He had his moments, sure, but he was a good kid. "Speaking of brothers, have you spoken to yours lately?"

The lazy quality to Beck's gaze diminished slightly, but the light touch on my toes didn't disappear. "I have. I spoke with my younger brother a few days ago, actually."

I sat up, leaning forward. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It was only a five-minute phone call, really," he said, shrugging it off. "Just a check-in to make sure we're both alive, really. It didn't mean anything."

I knew him well enough to know that his lack of conversation meant something, but I didn't know if he'd appreciate me prying. Not yet. What I've learned from Beck is that he liked to keep things to himself, liked to ruminate on things. Sometimes he'd get envelopes in the mail and he'd read them and they'd leave him...quiet. He didn't talk about them though. He just woke up the next morning as if he hadn't read whatever he'd read.

"You're trying to psychology me," Beck said after a moment, drawing my mind back to the present.

"Psychoanalyze," I corrected gently, wiggling my toes underneath his hand. "And I'm not. I'm just thinking."

"About me?" His voice was hopeful, fingers sneaking their way up the bare skin of my ankle, moving to my calf. Following his fingers was heat, a warmth that raised goosebumps.

I bit the corner of my lower lip to keep from smiling like an idiot, especially as his hand kept traveling up. He leaned forward to reach higher. "Conceited much?"

"Never."

"Psh." When his fingers found the inside of my knee, hidden underneath the blanket, my breath stalled a little. "That tickles."

"Tickles?" he demanded. Beck pulled his legs back from where they touched my hip so he could readjust how he sat. He leaned over me, using his elbows to hold his weight off me. It created divots in the sofa cushions underneath me, and his body heat was a whisper against my skin. "I must be doing it wrong. I don't think it's supposed to tickle."

I stared into his gunmetal eyes, trying to find any trace of purple in their depths. "What are you trying to do?"

When I first saw Beck, I was immediately drawn in by his looks, sure. But upon coming closer, the air seemed to charge, like lightning about to strike me down. It felt like that now as we looked into each other's eyes, like any second I was going to be electrified.