It was Sunday, a day when both of us had nowhere to be and nothing to do making it difficult for me to dodge Braxton and a lot easier for him to corner me into a conversation.
I considered going to the library and begging Jade for her shift but that would make it obvious that I was going to extreme lengths to not be alone with him.
"Julia."
His voice startled me and I looked around for where he was. He was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, looking at me questioningly.
"What?"
"What're you doing? You've been looking at the coffee table for quite some time now."
"And how long have you been looking at me?"
I wanted to slap at my mouth for speaking my mind. It was just something I thought of when he said that. But the words were out before I could do anything about it. Now I made things between us more painfully awkward that they were before.
He continued to look at me with an unreadable expression on his face. Just when I thought he was going to let silence answer my question so that we might move on from this moment as if I had never asked him, he spoke. "Quite some time now." The way he said sounded like he was talking about longer than a few minutes than what he implied with the coffee table.
I got up. "I was thinking of cleaning around the house today."
"You don't have to do that. The others can-"
"I'm one of them," I reminded him. "I want to repay you for giving me room and board in any way I can."
I went and got a rag to start wiping down the furniture. I started with the coffee table.
"It's my house," he said suddenly. I looked up at him, unsure at what he meant because that much was obvious. "So I shall help you."
Before I could protest against it he got a rag of his own.
"No, you shouldn't. I'll do it!" I reached for the rag in his hands but he held it away.
"I will do it. Don't stop me. I'll be in the kitchen."
Then he left. A few moments later, I heard the panicked surprise of the maids in there and then him insisting on cleaning by himself.
I couldn't help but smile. He was so kind, so perfect. How could he be human? Humans made mistakes and some were monsters in a man's skin. But Braxton was a different kind. He seemed too good to be true.
We kept to ourselves as we cleaned every inch of the house. He was dedicated to getting every speck of dust off of every surface. He would scrub at a spot for minutes until he was satisfied and would sometimes come back to the same place because somehow it had gotten dirty and needed to be cleaned again.
After a long time, we both find ourselves in the store room outside the house near the garden. I spotted our flowers growing nice and healthy, the ones we'd planted that one time when I was trying to cheer him up because all his bandmates but him were getting collaboration offers. I made a point to water them daily. They were blooming prettily and seeing it a fond smile found its way to my lips.
We started to sort through the things. Our previous streak of silently working without interaction ended in the storeroom where I needed to ask him about every item-whether it was junk or something useful.
After that came the cleaning up of the items which wasn't in the junk. He had an old book rack in the room completely covered in dust. It had cobwebs and spiders all around. It was obvious this room had not been opened in months much less cleaned.
I got started on the rack while he examined a trunk full of music instruments which looked like they were in a bad shape. We had discovered it hidden deep underneath broken tables and wardrobes. He took them out one by one and dusted them off, then tried to play it before realizing each one had a fault. A guitar was missing a string, one of the drums was broken and a keyboard was missing a few keys.
"Are those yours?" I asked.
"Yes," he said with a smile as if recalling a fond memory. "Well they were a gift, really. I collected all of them from people who no longer had a use for them. I was in middle school then and had just started to recognize my interest in music. My dad wouldn't buy me instruments, thinking it was on a whim that I wanted to learn how to play the drums or the guitar and I wasn't serious about it. So I got all these from a friend's brother who broke the guitar's string and wanted to throw it out, from a shop which was going to dispose off the damaged ones or I...uh, borrowed from the school...without asking."
"You mean you stole some of them from your school?" I asked, bewildered. "Did you get caught?"
"I was never found. I don't think they cared much for a missing flute."
I laughed. "So did you manage to teach yourself anything from those?"
"Not much. But I was thrilled even if I managed to make a tiny sound with it, no matter even if it sounded horrible." He brushed his fingers over a violin like he was caressing a baby.
I loved to see him talk about his passion. It felt like I understood him on an intimate level. I could go on listening to him talk forever. His voice was a blessing to my ears, his gaze like a reaching hand between our souls and when our eyes connected, the bridge was formed and I was sure he could see into the very depths of what I was and what I felt towards him.
It was true then. He made me realize exactly what I felt for him. I craved an intimacy with him which did not only stop at a physical attraction. I wanted to always see him happy and safe. I wanted to know what his lips would feel like against my own and whether his fingers will caress my skin like it was a violin. At the same time I wanted to know his every thought, his fears and weaknesses and confide my own to him.
"And then Mr. Bennett happened," he added.
"That's great." I averted my eyes, closing that connection between us and go back to cleaning, as if I hadn't just realized I loved him. I scrubbed harder at the shelf and then moved to the top rack. I was a little short so I stood on my toes, trying to reach the back part. I gripped the side to strain my hand further forward but it did not reach everywhere.
A hand covered over mine and I jerked back, having not heard him approaching. My back hit his chest. His fingers pried away the rag from my hand and began cleaning the surface I couldn't reach. I lowered my hand and gripped the shelf. I cursed myself for being lazy when I could've dragged a chair over to stand on and avoided this situation.
He leans into me further, pressing into me more and resting a hand on the shelf next to my head. He shouldn't be so close to me. My heart was beating fast and my face was red because his proximity was leading my mind to imagine all the things I wanted him to do to me. This position we were in was not helping either.
I turned to him until we were face to face. He looked completely unaffected with this, and I was far from it. I stole glances at him. Having his face so close to me I couldn't help but wonder if I just reached out and pressed my lips to his, what would he do? Of course I wasn't going to actually do it but I longed for the answer.
After he was done, he handed me the cloth and stepped back. "If you can't reach some places you can ask me for help."
I nodded despite knowing I wouldn't do that and would just use a stool for that. "Thanks."
He went back to doing whatever he was doing and I relaxed, feeling like I could breath again.
When he finished cleaning up the instruments, he neatly arranged them inside the trunk and hefted up the bulk to place on top of a table. It was heavy but he refused my help which was a little hypocritical of him. I could clearly see his hands shaking as he tried to place it atop the table.
I was watching him, more often than I did. Now that I realized I loved him, I wanted to notice little things about him that I missed all these days.
He was trying to push the trunk back so that it was against the wall to free up space for other things. When his arms didn't do the job, he resorted to kicking it. For all the gentleness he had for his instruments, he had none for the poor trunk.
I let out a laugh when he winced and jumped around on one leg with his toe in hand. He stopped and turned to me, then grinned.
"It just doesn't budge easily," he said, then kicked it some more until at last it banged against the wall and the wardrobe next to it.
Too late I noticed the impact sent the boxes over the wardrobe wobbling and toppling, aimed straight at him.
"Watch out," I screamed and ran to him.
Grabbing his arm I flung him toward me as the boxes missed him by a hair's breadth. I stepped back and immediately tripped on things that were on the floor behind me, causing me to lame hard on my back. Braxton stumbled on the same things after me and following the same projectile as me to land right on top of me, his entire weight pressing down on me. By some good fortune, he reflexively held out his hands on either side of me so our heads wouldn't clash.
"Are you okay?" He asked, his locket– my birthday gift for him dangling over my neck and popping open in front of me.
My mouth opened in surprise as I stare at it. I was reminded of our conversation when I gave him that on his birthday.
It's not all. It opens midway, I had said, and then—to keep photos of your loved ones so that they're always close to you.
"Why–" I began, looking him in the eyes because I wanted to see his face when I asked him. "–am I in your locket?"
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