AN: My brain somehow gave birth to this while listening to "You are the Ocean" by Phantogram and "Shangri-La" by Yacht. Give these songs a listen if you have a chance because they're great.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon.
"Here's your food," he said simply. Handing her a container that was still warm, he eyed her vaguely, wearily, indifferently; she was different and fresh and exciting and he knew—he knew—that she wasn't just anyone. She was someone and he relished the thought.
As he eyed her person—her hair, lips, mouth, eyes, breasts—she eyed her food and he could see the physical hunger in the hollows of her cheeks and frailty of her hands. A sudden inexplicable desire to touch her ran through his veins. He took a moment to tightly shut his eyes and inhale, exhale. Breathe. Breathe.
When he opened them again, she was no longer staring at the food, but at him. "Are you alright?" she asked, trying to sound concerned even though they both knew she wasn't.
"Yeah. Just a long day, you know?" He internally cringed at the general lameness of his response.
Nodding in understanding, she pulled the food towards her and opened the take-away box. "Do you have a fork?"
He turned and grabbed one from the counter and handed it to her, his heart and mind and arousal doing back flips. "I thought you were bringing this back home?" he inquired as he handed over the utensil.
A shrug. "I changed my mind." She looked smug.
"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were smirking."
"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were flirting."
He almost choked on his own surprise. She hid a smile as she bit into her food.
After he recovered, he leaned into the counter and watched her eat. It was like listening to soft-core porn with all the noises she was making. Every several bites she let out a moan or a sigh and he felt himself strain within the confines of his pants.
"Do you not have time to eat at home?" he inquired.
Swallowing, she nodded. "No, not really. Sometimes I forget, too." She took another bite. "And I'm poor."
He laughed at her sudden joke and was surprised to find that she chuckled along with him. There was a dimple on her left cheek.
She finished her food in record time and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.
"I'm done now." Blunt.
"I can see that." Nervous.
She dragged herself off the stool and smoothed out her sweater. "Thanks."
"No problem." And for once, he actually meant it.
As she turned to go, he discovered that he didn't want her to. Don't leave. He couldn't bring himself to say the words because he was scared. She left and he didn't say goodbye.
Later as he went to clean up some tables, he saw it. A backpack lying on the ground by her stool. Did she leave it on purpose? He shoved aside those thoughts because he knew they were dangerous and because she probably did. The implications of what that meant were too much for him, so he didn't dwell on it.
When his shift was finally over, he quickly took off his apron and hung it up on a hook in the kitchen, a giddy feeling bubbling up in his chest. He wanted to see her. A lot. While this fact wasn't a shock to him, admitting it was, so he again just shoved it to the back of his mind and didn't think. Don't think or you could get hurt.
After quickly saying his goodbye's to Yolanda (she barely even looked up and just grunted in response), he grabbed the backpack and dashed out of the Inn and made his way to Angela's house, trying not to run.
Her house seemingly materialized in front of him and he realized that he was scared. What would he say to her? What if she invited him in? What if she shut the door in his face? What if someone else was in there? What if she kissed him?
God, I hope she does.
This last thought gave him pause and broke his resolve. He almost turned around, but mustered up every ounce of courage and knocked on her door.
He heard a clattering inside and several expletives. "Just a minute!" she yelled. "Ow. What the fu—"
When she opened the door, her short hair was a mess and all she was wearing was an over-sized T-shirt and socks and she was immaculate.
"Chase! Hi," she said and didn't look the least bit surprised to see him. His gaze briefly traveled down to her chest and he could see her nipples harden in response to the cold night air.
No bra.
In a moment of stupidity, he blinked and stuck her backpack right into her face. "You left this." He thanked the cosmos that it was dark so she couldn't see his blush.
Grabbing in from him, she simply said, "Oh."
"Yeah."
"So."
"You look nice."
"Right back at you."
"Uh…"
"Want to come inside?" She opened the door a bit wider and stepped back.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. "Yes."
He walked in and looked around the small space. There was a small kitchen counter with a cutting board and frying pan, a fridge, a kitchen table with two chairs, an unmade bed, and a small couch on large, soft-looking throw rug in front of a fireplace. Cozy.
"Do you need anything to drink?" she asked as she rummaged through her fridge. The backs of her thighs looked amazing.
He coughed and shook his head. "No." His voice came out a little high-pitched.
After she closed the fridge, she dragged her feet over to her couch and plopped down, gesturing for him to sit next to her. He hesitated and she gave him a look. "Well?"
"Okay," he muttered and sat down beside her. They both sat for a minute staring into the fire, neither wanting to speak first.
"So," she started, being the braver of the two. "How… how are… you." She groaned slightly. "Sorry, that was lame."
He chuckled, feeling a little bit more comfortable. "I'm peachy."
In response, she just smiled and it oozed sin and mischief. She slowly brought her legs up onto his lap and leaned back against the couch's armrest. "Tell me something about yourself." Her foot rubbed slowly against his upper thigh.
He nearly had a heart palpitation.
"Uh… There's not much to tell," he said, staring straightforward and trying not to think of what she was doing.
A scoff. "Yeah right. Tell me about… cooking. Why are you a cook? Isn't it a little boring working in the Inn? Hardly anyone comes in."
He just shrugged. "Cooking is just what I do. I like it and it makes me feel good about myself."
"You're good at it. That tomato risotto you gave me for lunch was heavenly."
You're heavenly.
"Thanks," he choked out.
There was another pause in which his gaze drifted down to his lap to watch her foot brush against him. He tried not to groan.
"Well," she said finally, "I need to get to bed. It's kind of late."
He nodded and tried to stifle the disappointment that rose up in his chest and throat as she swung her legs off him and stood up. Following her example, he got up as well and went to the front door.
She opened it for him and he ran a hand through his hair. He didn't want to leave.
"I'll be seeing you, then," he said and went to step through the door, but her arm grabbed his sleeve and held on.
He turned around and looked into her eyes. They were open and honest; his breath caught in his throat and something passed between them: a mutual understanding of sorts. His lips tingled to kiss her and her eyes held raw desire, but neither made a move and it was alright.
"Bye," she stated. He smiled and brushed some hair behind her ears.
"Bye," he echoed.
Then he left and didn't hear her close the door until he was far down the path leading to her house.
A smile danced across his mouth.
AN: I've major writer's block (among other things) for months, so I'm really not sure where this came from, but here it is. It's short and not as good as I wish it was but at least it's something. Also, sorry if there are any typos that I didn't catch.
Leave a review if you want, or don't (but I hope you do). Thanks for reading.