vellichor short

Brown Couches

Aaron didn't often talk about his work, but when he did, he almost glowed. He loved his coworkers, and in the few months that Billie had known him, she knew his coworkers so well, they felt like friends she had had in another lifetime.

"So Garcia is like, a computer whiz?", she asked, neatly pushing another stack of books into their place.

"Quite literally. She doesn't often get into the field, but she's really helpful.", he said, idly tossing a baseball from hand to hand. He was sprawled comfortably over one of the many occasional chairs she had lying around.

They had established a schedule of sorts. Whenever he would drop by, he would help her around the store, cataloging, organizing, or simply chatting with the customers. His presence had gotten so integral that oftentimes, regulars would ask for him. Where's that handsome young man you're always with?, Frannie, a petite older woman who frequented her store, had asked earlier that week. Who?, Billie had returned, feigning confusion even though she knew perfectly well who she was referring to. You know, the man who always comes by, with the tie. Oh dear, now you're blushing! I won't ask again, Frannie had said, shooting her a knowing wink. Billie had continued scanning Frannie's books, ignoring the warmth flooding her face.

She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "So she like hacks stuff? Like bank accounts and paper trails?", she asked eagerly.

He looked at her amusedly. "Something like that. Garcia hacks things that she's not supposed to hack more often than the things she is, if I'm being completely honest."

She laughed and pushed another book into place. "What's the best thing about working for the FBI?" she asked, her back still to him.

He sat up slightly and watched as she moved down the shelf. He considered for a moment before saying, "Just knowing that I'm helping people. When they're most vulnerable." He set the baseball down with a muted thunk, stood, and walked toward her to help her put a book on a particularly high shelf.

She let him take the book from her, and watched as he slid it into place. He had taken to leaving his jacket in his car, which unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective) meant there was more of him to see. The muscular arms, barely hidden under recklessly folded sleeves; the angular column of his throat; the hard planes of his chest that she could clearly see when he reached up to put books on high shelves. She quickly looked away before he could catch her, busying herself with a pile of books on a nearby shelf. It's totally normal to gawk at your friends, right? She looked at him, just in time for their eyes to meet, and she tore her eyes away again, flushing. You liar, she scolded herself, trying to compose herself before he could profile her again.

They had been curled up on occasional chairs that faced each other. She had been reading with her legs draped over one of the armrests, while he threw the baseball back and forth. He had been reading as well, but he had given up earlier, claiming that The Picture of Dorian Gray was far less entertaining than arguing with her. But they're so ugly, he had said, trying not to laugh. Shut up. Brown is a perfectly normal color for a couch, she had murmured, her eyes never leaving her book. He had traced a fingertip meaningfully over his chair before saying, It is not! Where have you ever seen a brown couch? He had paused, then, Do you have brown couches at your place? She had looked up at him, imagining him curled up in her couch at home in sweats, or pajamas. He would walk over to her and gently kiss her forehead. Or her cheek. Or her- You're blushing, he had observed. She had scrambled into a sitting position like that would make the warmth spreading through her face go away. No I'm not, she had denied. He had watched her thoughtfully for a moment. You are. And your pupils are dilated, and- He had broken off to look down, embarrassed. They had both avoided looking at each other for a moment. Then, Sorry. She looked at him, surprised. He had murmured it so quietly, if she had shifted at that exact moment, she would have missed it. I do, she had said into the sudden silence. He cocked his head at her. I do have brown couches in my apartment. He went back to teasing her, and they both decided to pretend like he hadn't just profiled her. But neither of them would forget.