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hollandroos · 5 years

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How Could I Not? | Seven

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Summary: You and Tom are only supposed to be friends... friends who sometimes take things a step further and friends who can’t seem to spend longer then a few days apart. But that can all change with a positive pregnancy test and Suddenly you have to work together more then ever to prepare for the new life you created. But is it really that easy?

Words: 3361

Warnings: Lots of talk of adoption. Please don't read if that is a sensitive topic for you and hold back any nasty comments until you read future chapters, thank you!!

Please remember to reblog/comment/send an ask if you enjoyed this!!

Read the previous chapter here!

It wasn’t really anyone's fault that you forgot there was food in the oven – what, with the gentle tune of the Beatles playing overtop of a chorus of everlasting laughter between the two of you, not to mention the snoring dog in the corner of the room. Something was bound to happen – it was you and Tom, for crying out loud.

“Dance with me,”

Tom says it as a statement, not a question. He wants – no, he needs you to dance with him. He needs to feel his arms wrapped securely around your waist, to feel your feet move in time with his. It was so cliche, really, but Tom lived for cliche.

He was the type of go out of his way to surprise his love with roses on his way home from work, one for every time he’d wanted to send a quick ‘I love you’ text that day but hadn’t been able to. The type to spend hours perfecting the best meal he could muster up and additionally, plate it with a glass of the best wine he could afford. The type to kiss in the rain, if he had the chance.

You open your mouth in protest, the smell of the cheesy pasta dish wafting around the kitchen. “The dinner–”

“Dance with me.” Tom all but smiles, words slipping from his mouth with such ease and suddenly you’re putty in the palm of his hand. And you don’t hesitate to mould into his body, allowing yourself to fall into him.

“Why did you want to dance with me?” You chuckle, leaning your head against him. You give in, allowing Tom to take you wherever he wants to go. That seemed to be nowhere and you find yourself swaying gently in the comfort of the area between the kitchen and the living room.

Tom shrugs his shoulders. “Jus’ felt like it.”

You hum, breathing in the scent of his cologne. You’d learnt that it was some kind of axe spray that he had cans of hidden around the apartment – such as in the kitchen cupboards and tucked away in his car. The song finishes and a new one begins, one Tom wasn’t aware of but the last thing he wants to do is complain about the pre-nineties tune when he has you right there, humming gently along with the lyrics.

Your eyes are closed and you look at peace as he rocks you two back and forth, feet both stuck to the floor as you sway.

His heart beats prominently in his chest and it’s nearly impossible not to count every beat. Every beat tells you that he’s there with you, reminding you of the fact that you’re beyond lucky to have him. And funny enough, Tom was thinking the same about you.

Your peace is short-lived, however, as mere minutes later there’s a horrid – god awful smell and you can’t even hide your disgust with your face in his chest.

“What’s that smell?” Tom mumbles, screwing his nose up.

And you want to ask the same question – before you gasp, eyes widening and you push yourself away from Tom making him stumble back slightly. For a few moments, the brunette stands in confusion before he himself is hit with the realisation.

“The food, Tom, we burnt it!” You exclaim, rushing to the oven. You hardly have time to slip the oven mitt over your hands but that doesn’t matter – because the second you open the oven door black smoke drifts out, flooding the kitchen. “Fuck, I told you we were going to burn it.” You curse under your breath, resisting the urge to cough as you turn the oven off.

“Sorry, love,” Tom says half-heartedly, resisting the urge to laugh at the sight of you looking so frantic. If it weren’t for the clouds of smoke painting your kitchen darker hues of grey then he would’ve laughed. Surely. “Got too distracted, maybe next time I’ll listen.”

He was distracted by your humming, and thoughts he couldn't simply shove away such as the thought that you fit against him so easily. Like two pieces of a wazzgij puzzle.

“Maybe,” You taunt, bringing the meal out of the oven. It didn't take a second opinion to tell that it belonged in the bin, right ontop of the expired cat food. “Should we just order pizza?” You speak between coughs.

You continue to wave the towel around the living room, praying the smoke detectors won’t go off again. Toms antics had already set the alarms off once, nearly three months ago now and he seemed to be the only one in the entire evacuated building that found it amusing. He had stifled his chuckles in the rain, cheeks tinted red and hair flat against his forehead.

But now, the room stunk. The smell makes you screw your face up in disgust. That was definitely going to be the last time you were going to attempt to make a fancy meal.

“Pizza sounds good.” Tom agrees, feeling his stomach begin to rumble. And to think, the smell of the charcoal lasagna stole his appetite for a solid minute. “I’ll see to it, can I use your laptop?”

“Yeah, it’s sitting on the couch, I think.” You speak, raising your voice so he can hear from the living room. “Get me the cheesy one with the stuffed crust! That’s my favourite.”

“I already knew that,” Tom calls back, typing in the six letter password. “Dominos or pizza hut?” He asks, looking up briefly.

You’re humming a song in the kitchen, competing with the buzzing fridge but Tom can make out the lyrics to Hey Jude by the Beatles. The smell of the burnt lasagne barely bothers you anymore as you sway your hips to the song playing through the speakers and your lips. He smiles to himself, watching you prance carelessly around the kitchen with a flannel shirt pulled over you, tucked into a pair of denim shorts. Laptop and rumbling stomach forgotten, his eyes sparkle with joy at the sight.

He makes a small note to let you play your music more often, even if it wasn’t his favourite – because the light that adorns your eyes is simply captivating. He’s stuck in the best kind of trance.

Hey Jude, don't be afraid You were made to go out and get her

“Dominos. Pizza hut is nowhere near as good.” You tell him, testing the water with your fingertips. You wince when it’s too hot, pulling your hand to your chest and decide that the awaiting dishes can simmer a little longer. Tom grimaces and looks back at the screen. There’s a picture of you and Laura taken last summer, wearing matching dresses and oversized sunglasses hugging your noses. He can’t remember if he took that photo – it may have been Harrison.

That was the same holiday that the set of you took a road trip and found yourselves renting a caravan and setting it up next to the beach. Mornings were spent sleeping in – or for you and Tom, hiding beneath the sheets with childish grins on your faces while your friends slept and nights were spent sitting by the ocean, threatening to push one another in and sharing chicken and vegetable kebabs.

The minute you let her under your skin Then you begin to make it better

You were getting under his skin, making your way into his heart and you were yet to realise it. That had happened long before your holiday trip. But he liked it. He liked the way your mere presence could make him feel like he was on top of the world and somehow – somehow, the glint in your eyes reminded him of the stars that he could and would stare at endlessly every night before bed.

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain Don't carry the world upon your shoulders

“So cheese with a stuffed crust and Hawaiian for me?” He finds himself asking, cursor hovering over the ‘add to cart’ button. He was thankful for twenty-four seven delivery – a new addition that he often found himself succumbing too at one am. Maybe it was becoming a bad habit but he couldn’t say no. His self-control was discarded in the am.

“Garlic bread too.” You remind him, dipping your hand into the soapy water. Suds end where your wrist begins.

Tom directs the mouse over to the tabs, squinting his eyes at the bright light and nothing can stop him from pressing the extra tab, his pure curiosity overriding the fact that the two of you had an unspoken rule about invading the other's privacy. But he couldn’t stop himself when the eight letter word caught his eyes.

It started with an A and ended in N. The second letter was D, third O.

Tom bites his lip, switching tabs and silently deciding that the pizza can wait another moment.

‘Looking at adoption. Things you must know.’ ‘Adoption agencies UK.’

You know when people say that they felt their breathing stop? well, Tom did then – for sure. There’s also the feeling of his heart dropping out of his chest, plummeting into his chest.

One second it’s there, beating, pumping blood throughout his body and the next he’s stuck staring. Unmoving. There are not enough words in the human language to describe the confusion Tom experiences as he tries to read the page with hazy eyes.

There’s a feeling of disbelief because Tom swore you wanted this as badly as he did – maybe not at first, but maybe the excitement hit after the first ultrasound. Or maybe it was when he dreamt about taking his little girl to the beach for the first time or coming home to a chorus of soft, baby giggles.

Toms had photos of outfit ideas for his little one already. He had a Pinterest board of parenting tips and had even started listing a couple of names. He liked Emilia for a girl and Sutton for a boy. Marlowe was on the list too, and Starlette. Harrison had suggested Luna and his mother had suggested Max. Maybe he’d fallen too deep into his own world and forgotten that you had your own.

The song finishes, the soothing voice of the Beatles fading out slowly. Just slow enough for your humming to fade out with it, and you look over to see your best friend unmoving in his spot and while you can only see him from the side on, you notice his hand, stiff over the cursor. Suddenly the burnt lasagna and boiling sink seems unimportant.

“Tom?” You prompt, stepping around the kitchen table. Bubbles drip off of your hand and land on the floorboards, a safety risk you’d remember to look at later.

He blinks once before scrolling, seeing a series of previously opened articles and his heart succumbs to nothing but broken, confused pieces.

“What’s this?”

He picks up the laptop and shows you what’s on the screen and you tense. Be it from frustration because he invaded your privacy or the fact that you’d been caught – the bench suddenly seems so cold beneath tense fingers.

“Why are you looking through my stuff–” You snap, biting into your gum to keep you from going off at him.

He grits his teeth, placing the computer down on the table and stands up. He’s tense, clearly, and knuckles are clenched at his side with so much might. Tom rarely got angry, in fact, he hardly ever found himself fuming but here he was. And here you were a mere few meters away.

“Were you going to tell me?”

“Tom,” You sigh, letting out a breathe as tears glisten in his eyes. Tom looked a good concoction of angry and deflated. Shocked too. “Of course I was going to tell you but I just needed… I needed more time to wrap my mind about this entire thing.”

“Were you going to tell me?” He asks again, only this time the words are more muffled and less coherent then before.

A sigh leaves your lips. One that said more then words could. On one hand, you want to run into his arms and mutter apologies – admittedly Tom looked really cosy right now. You’d much rather be bundled up in his arms, a warm blanket thrown over your shoulders then argue with him. But you also know that you need to stand up for yourself and what you were doing.

“You were so excited. I didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

“You can’t just… you can’t just consider other options and not tell me, not when you were so ready to go through with this.” He struggles to form words, finding that everything he wanted to say he probably shouldn’t.

The pets seemed to be completely unaware of what was happening. Both lay still, the cat purring softly against Tessa as if using her as a pillow. Much like Tom did when he was sleeping, Tess snores lightly. You and Tom both secretly wish that you could be as chilled as your pets, but don’t voice your thoughts.

It’s crazy that – how everything can fall apart so suddenly. One second you’re laughing over burnt lasagna, praying that the smoke detector won’t blare at any moment and arguing over what takeouts you’ll get instead because neither are you are decent cooks and the next you’re admitting that you probably tested your trust. And that now there may not be much to rebuild.

Swallowing back your nerves, you clench your fists at your side. “Don’t tell me not to consider other options. You don’t get to tell me not to do that.”

“But that baby is mine too,” Tom was seething with anger and you were about to collapse from feeling all too many things at once. You’d gone from a giggling mess to outright fearful of losing everything you’d built. “We’re in this together, remember that? We both agreed on that.” Tom lets out a shaky breath.

“We are in this together but we need to look at the fact that we do have other options too–”

Tom interrupts you abruptly. “You moved in here so that we could look after our baby together! I asked you to move in here to make things easier, that’s what we agreed on, was it not?”

“You asked me to move in because you wanted me closer in case anything happened to me or the baby while he or she is still inside me.” You correct, practically seething with frustration as he speaks. Every word made you feel smaller then the last. “This doesn’t mean that I don’t love the baby, Tom, of course not. How could I not love him? I’ve been tracking the growth, watching for signs that something could be wrong. Shit, I’ve been doing what I can, when I can.”

For a few moments, your words simmer in silence – at least what silence was possible overtop of the radio which played another one of your songs, only quieter this time and you weren’t in the mood to hum.

Tom was too busy trying to come up with the best thing to say but all he could come up with was eight words.

“I won’t let you give up our baby up,” Tom says, quietly but harshly. Bitterness laces every word, dripping from his lips like venom and you’re more then aware of it – as well as the fact that Tom had never spoken to you in that tone before and you were more then sure that you didn’t like it.

Our baby.

“We need to talk about this properly.” You try, far from fed up over arguing like children.

Tom agrees, but he can’t see much beyond the feeling of betrayal. If he could even call it that.

“I thought you wanted this, you know? You led me to believe that you wanted this and you were going behind my back–”

“You think I want to give the baby up? You think it doesn’t break my heart to consider other options?” You speak up, the urge to breakdown growing stronger. But you wouldn’t in front of him. “Jesus, Tom, we told your parents about the baby and they embraced us with open arms and promised to do what they could. We told mine and they walked out. I’ve texted my mum every day but I’ve heard nothing. I want my family back.”

“I think that you’re being selfish.”

You scoff.

“Did you really just go there?” He doesn’t respond, swimming in his own guilt. “I’m not selfish for considering other options when I’ve given up so much already and if you can’t support me then so be it… but don’t tell me that I don’t have other choices here.”

Tom doesn’t know what else to say. He feels frozen in his spot, trying to take in and accept every word that falls from your lips but he can’t find it in him to respond. The sickly smell of burnt lasagna was long forgotten by either of you, as was his hunger that had since subside and was replaced by an overwhelming amount of frustration.

You, on the other hand, want to yell at him for not answering you. You want to demand an answer because the silence was deafening and you just needed an apology or at least the knowledge that you can talk about this with him instead of yelling and having to defend your side.

Gritting your teeth, you pick up the nearest coat which happened to be strewn over the chair and wrap it around you, then going back to the kitchen counter where you hastily grab your phone and car keys. The gentle jingling of the keys snaps Tom out of whatever haze he was in.

“I’m leaving, Tom, call me when you actually want to talk like adults – like two adults who are supposed to be bringing a baby into the world.” You spit, missing the remorse that crosses his face at lightning speed.

“Don’t go, we need to talk about this.” He extends an arm and tries to grab yours and for a second, he succeeds, right before you tug yourself from his grasp and glare.

“Why? So we can continue to argue?” You stop, waiting for Tom to answer but he doesn’t. He knows you’re right. “I don’t want to have this conversation like this and I won’t be made to feel like the bad guy when you refuse to even hear me out without losing your temper.”

A large part of you wants him to tell you not to leave, to say that you can sort this out in the morning when you’re both not angry about the invasion of privacy and about him getting mad at you for considering other options and additionally, for calling you selfish. And then maybe you’d apologise for not telling him.

Admittedly, you could admit your mistakes.

And if Tom told you again not to leave, then maybe you wouldn’t have stormed out of the apartment but instead to your bedroom where you’d stay until dusk. Then, you’d creep into his room and you’d discuss this when you were both calm and steam – highlighting your anger, wasn’t making its way out of your ears.

Tom is left in the apartment. He couldn’t necessarily say that he was by himself because he had Oscar and he had Tessa. And it’s Oscar that crawls onto his lap when he throws himself down onto the couch, head in his hands as he runs over every word thrown across the living room to the kitchen.

The cat brushes himself up against Tom, begging the man for a head rub and Tom does so without complaint – hand falling to the cats head. Usually, he would’ve grumbled about the cat... shoved him off and groaned but this time Tom gives in.

Maybe it’s the guilt that suddenly turns him into a temporary cat person.

“She’ll come back, Osc,” Tom says, more or less trying to reassure himself then the cat. “She’s just going to Laura's for a bit.”

He chews on his bottom lip, fingers running through ginger fur.

You were going to come back. And until then, Tom would grovel.

Hey Jude, don't make it bad Take a sad song and make it better

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275 notes · View notes

evildeen · 7 years

Note

Prompt: Steve finally works up the courage to ask the man he loves to marry him in an unconventional but romantic way. The day before their wedding, a tragic event takes Sam away from Steve.

💞 Sam🌟 Wilson💞: I just got a delivery of cookies💞 Sam🌟 Wilson💞: What kind of weird ass gesture of love is this steve💞 Sam🌟 Wilson💞: ITS 2:51AMSteve Rogers: I knew you’d be up!Steve Rogers: Happy Birthday Sam!Steve Rogers: ❤️🎁🎂🎈💞 Sam🌟 Wilson💞: Steve…….💞 Sam🌟 Wilson💞: Are you tryin to kill me?Steve Rogers: What?💞 Sam🌟 Wilson💞: I’m allergic to macadamia nuts

Steve almost dropped his phone, gasped so loud he could have been a damsel in distress in a B horror film, and slapped his hand over his mouth. He called Sam.

Sam laughed as he picked up. “You’re so gullible, man! I told you two days ago macadamia nut cookies are my favorite.”

“Sam, don’t do that.”

“What? Fragile old man heart can’t take a joke?”

“Don’t get started with that. Just because you’re Captain America doesn’t mean you can call me old.”

Sam snorted and Steve imagined Sam dropping his head with that smile on his face like he was a little embarrassed. Steve’s chest swelled with a mix of adoration and that pang of pain when you miss somebody even though they’ve only been gone a couple days.

“I love you, Steve,” came Sam’s voice from the other end, as if reading his thoughts.

Steve shut his eyes, let out and inaudible sigh, and looked up at the ceiling of his apartment. “I love you too.” They said it the most when they were apart.

“Hey, I better g–” Sam said.

“Sam, when you get back–” Steve said at the same time.

“What?”

“Do you wanna get married?”

“Yes.”

There’s not even a second of hesitation, and the way Sam’s voice so emphatically replied sent a chill down Steve’s spine. He felt hot and cold all at once, and a big stupid grin crossed his face.

“I really do, Steve. We’ll talk more later, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Save a cookie for me. Bye, Sam.”

—

Bucky Barnes 🍔:: no can do stevaroniBucky Barnes 🍔:: i cant be ur best manSteve Rogers: Oh. Okay.Steve Rogers: Why not?Bucky Barnes 🍔:: sam already asked

Steve Rogers: YOU SNIPED MY BEST MAN!💞 Sam🌟 Wilson💞: 😏 😘

Natasha 😎 Romanoff: i think im busy that daySteve Rogers: But I told you two months ago we were getting married on November 19th!Natasha 😎 Romanoff: that’s the day IKEA is delivering my new couch and I have to be thereSteve Rogers: [typing]Natasha 😎 Romanoff: IM KIDDING ROGERS of course I’ll be your best man ;)

“I was gonna say,” Steve said when he met up with Nat for coffee later, “that had better be a really fuckin’ nice couch that you’d miss my wedding.”

—

“I thought you decided on the red tie,” Bucky said from his perch on the end of the bed. Steve kept fussing with his tie in the mirror.

“But the blue tie… Sam says I look good in blue…”

“Blue suit,” Bucky reminded him.

“Right, but…”

“What about no tie?” Bucky asked, knowing full well it would annoy Steve.

“It’s my wedding day. I’m wearing a damn tie.”

Bucky smirked and Steve caught his eye in the mirror. Steve rolled his eyes and yanked the blue tie off, setting it on the vanity in front of him. Then there was a knock on the door, or at least it was supposed to be a knock, but it sounded more like somebody kicking the door with the front of their shoe.

Bucky shuffled over to the door and peered through the peep hole. “What’s the password?”

“I brought drinks,” said Natasha from the other side.

“Ding ding ding!” Bucky let Natasha into the hotel room. She had a paper cup holder with Starbucks drinks for them. Steve took his vanilla latte (the ‘fanciest’ drink he’d allow himself), Bucky got his iced coffee, and Nat got herself a tea. Steve took one sip and nearly choked. “What’s–in this?”

“I added a little… something-something,” Natasha said with the tiniest proud smile. “I’m getting the bachelor party started early.”

Steve’s phone buzzed on the countertop and Steve went to get it while Nat and Bucky went over the plans for the rest of the day (brunch, last minute shopping for the wedding, lunch even though brunch should have counted, probably nap time, then the rooftop bachelor party). “Hey, Sam,” said Steve.

Bucky glanced over because he saw Steve’s face go from delighted to devastated in less than a second. He reached out and touched Nat on the wrist and she stopped mid-sentence, then they quietly left the room together.

“Sam–it’s okay–we already got the license, you know, it’s just–a ceremony. We’re married. You have to go, it’s–don’t cry.” Steve’s voice broke just as Bucky and Nat shut the door. They crashed back against the door and mirrored each other’s stance with folded arms. Neither of them could look at each other.

“Shit,” Bucky said finally.

“I’m gonna call the venue, see if they can reschedule. Can you start calling the guests?”

“Sure. Yeah.” Bucky felt sick. “I… yeah. Hold off on calling that venue.”

“What?”

—

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Steve said as Nat held the door for him to enter the ballroom. “It’s not right without Sam here.”

“They couldn’t cancel the reservation, so we might as well try and have some fun. Everyone we invited can still make it, and you shouldn’t be alone right now. It’s like an extended bachelor party.”

“We’re missing a bachelor…” Steve balled his fists at his sides. Couldn’t even say Sam’s name without wanting to burst into tears. Nat bit down on her lip and nudged Steve with her elbow.

“I’ll get you a drink,” she said, even though they both knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

Guests started to arrive, each a little somber, and Steve couldn’t let himself feel anything but worry for Sam. The worst part was that Sam had to go on a mission and that meant danger and–

Nat shoved a glass of champagne in his hand. The party helped get his mind off of things, he supposed, and people were dancing to the live band playing old standards. “Holding up?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Just a little anxious to hear back from Sam–that he’s okay.”

Nat looked over Steve’s shoulders and smiled. “Why don’t… you ask him?”

Steve stared at Nat like she was growing a second head, then she flicked her gaze toward the doors. The world seemed to slow down as Steve turned around. Everything else faded into the background when he saw who had arrived, and like an idiot, Steve shouted: “Sam!”

Several guests heard Steve and immediately turned their attention on the big, blonde idiot that unabashedly tripped over about seven chairs (how the hell was this guy Captain America for so long?) to reach his fiancé. Sam wore a light gray suit and with the bright lights surrounding him in the entryway Steve had to touch him to know he was real.

Sam barely caught Steve as he threw himself into his arms, holding him in a tight embrace. Steve pressed his face into Sam’s neck and breathed in all of Sam–the familiar arc of his back, the softness of his skin, the easy shift of his weight to one leg. “You made it,” Steve choked out.

“I couldn’t miss our wedding, Steve. I just couldn’t.”

“But the mission–”

“Bucky is taking care of it.”

Sam was crying, and so was Steve, and neither of them gave a shit that Nat was recording this.

Steve could have started crying all over again, but he didn’t, and instead he let Nat take Sam away so they could have a mini dress rehearsal. The guests situated themselves into two groups with a middle aisle, and the band played Sam down the aisle with Steve watching through barely contained tears. Sam read his vows–which he said he wrote on the quinjet ride in–and Steve realized he forgot his vows, so he said something stupid about how he met Sam while running in DC.

Then with a final oh, shit from Natasha, they all realized Barnes had the rings.

Sam and Steve could barely contain their laughter, which was half-giggling and half-sobbing. It was decided they were definitely still happily married, and they could just get their rings later.

“So, wait,” Nat said when they were all eating cake later. “Rogers-Wilson?” Wilson-Rogers?”

Sam and Steve looked at each other. “Rogson,” said Sam.

“Ehhh. Wilgers,” Steve said, shrugging one shoulder.

Nat checked her phone. “Barnes says you have to name your firstborn after him.”

“James Buchanan Wilgers.” Steve lifted his glass.

“To James Buchanan Wilgers,” said Sam, rolling his eyes, and they toasted to the theoretical child with a truly heinous name.

Eventually Sam convinced Steve to dance with him, which turned out just about as disastrous as everybody thought it would. They ended the night with a slow dance, and Steve couldn’t have been happier to have his husband in his arms while the band played Glenn Miller.

“This is corny,” Sam whispered at him.

“Let me have this!”

“All right, all right.” Sam leaned in and their foreheads touched. “At least you know how to dance like this, old man.”

Steve folded in his lips and, for once, the term of endearment made him blush. “I love you, too.”

#weallhaveouruniqueobsessions #samsteve #otp: freebird #otp: american airlines #sam wilson #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #i cannot with this prompt dude #LIKE UHM OW???#samstevedaily

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tcer-science-history-45 · 7 years

Text

A Surprise Visit...Dislocation…Impromptu Break…Teasing…Birthday…Birthday Present…Until Next Time…

So, I went to see him. I saw his truck in the parking lot as my bus pulled up and I got really excited. I haven’t seen him since last Friday. The past two days were canceled due to snow, and today we had a two-hour delay. I figured that I had a few minutes to go see him since my bus was there early and so was he.

I completely forgot that his school had testing today. I forgot until I got to his room and saw the testing materials on the island/table thingy. He wasn’t in there, but I waited by his desk since I had a few more minutes than I usually did.

I looked at my iPod and paused my music to kill the time while I waited. He finally came in his room. He came in through the door that we hardly ever use and that’s behind his desk. He was carrying a basket of pencils in a Ziploc bag. He had his head down as he walked in, but he did lift his head as he walked ‘round the corner of one of the science lab tables.

His face lit up when he saw me. His lips turned up in an adorable little smirk and his dimples showed. The tips of his ears even turned a little pink. He was so freaking cute.

“You came!” He said, excitedly.

I giggled and nodded. “Of course, I did. I had to see you.”

His grin grew. “I’m glad you did. I missed you.”

I smiled. I could feel my cheeks heating up. The man was making me blush. He has a real good habit and knack of doing that. He let out a quiet little giggle ‘cause some students walked in. He walked by me and over to the island/table thingy where he placed the basket of pencils.

I slid my bag off my back and took out his gift. I turned slightly, set the gift on his desk and hid it with my body, as I put my bag back on. I grabbed the gift in my right hand, held it behind my back as I made my way over to the island/table thingy and stood beside him.

I hid his gift under the edge of the counter. I looked up at him. He glanced at me as he turned his laptop on. He had this adorable little grin plastered on his face. The students talked to him for a moment concerning the testing schedule.

He eventually looked at me, and his eyes dropped to my wrist, which I had resting against my tummy. He jerked his eyes back up to me, a worried expression on his face.

“What did you do?” He asked. “To your wrist?”

I looked down at my bandaged covered wrist. I looked up at him, shrugging.

“I dislocated my thumb.” I said.

He looked shocked. “How on God’s green Earth did you do that? How do you know it’s dislocated?”

I shrugged. “I dunno how it happened. I just know that my joint in my thumb is about an inch to the left of where it should be. And, it’s blue and bruising.”

He let out a deep breath. “Are you ok?”

I nodded. “Yea. It just kinda hurts to write and whatnot. I’ll be ok.”

He gave me a small smile. “How’d it happen? Was it from pushing buttons on the register? Or from bagging the groceries?”

It took me a slight moment to realize that he was teasing me. I laughed. The man deals with pain like I do; we both make jokes out of it. He smiled when he heard me laugh. He visibly relaxed.

“I guess that could have been how it happened.” I giggled.

He chuckled. “Please be careful. I’m not there to take care of you, goofball.”

I blushed and lowered my head. He let out a quiet giggle. He typed his password into his laptop as he looked at me.

“How was your break? Your impromptu break?” He asked, grinning.

“I worked all five days, so it was pretty good.” I grinned.

He laughed. He proceeded to tease me ‘bout random things that just made the two of us grin from ear to ear. A girl walked up and asked him a question. He looked at her, told her that guidance might have the answer to her schedule question and that if she went there right now, she might be able to get her question answered before testing started.

She left. I looked at Dale. He smiled sweetly at me.

“When’s your birthday? Tomorrow or Friday?” I asked, quietly.

He looked shocked and caught off guard. “It’s Friday. You knew?”

I nodded. “You told me years ago, goofball.”

“And, you remembered?”

“Of course, I did. How could I forget something important like that? It’s your birthday.”

I gave him a smile. He looked like he wanted to wrap his arms ‘round me and pull me against his chest. He was really happy.

“I can’t believe you remembered. No-one ever remembers my birthday.” He said, quietly.

“I’ve remembered it since you told me. All those small presents make sense now?” I asked.

He looked deep in thought. “You mean…the coffee mug? The candy bars?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Those were from you? You never told me.”

I giggled. “Nope. It was a secret. I didn’t want you to get in trouble. Plus, I honestly wasn’t sure if you’d like ‘em.”

“Of course I did. I still have that mug. I kinda ate the candy.”

He blushed and chuckled. I giggled.

“I would kinda hope so. I don’t think candy that’s up to eight years old would taste all that good.” I teased.

He laughed. “Very good point. Thank you.”

I grinned. I pulled his gift out, but kept it hidden.

“Well, I dunno if I’ll see you on your birthday, so I’ll give it to you now.” I said.

He cocked an eyebrow up and tilted his head to the side. He looked at me.

“What?” He asked.

I pulled his gift out and handed it to him. His face lit up. He got all excited. He looked at me.

“This…this is for me? Seriously?” He asked, grinning, and holding his present close to his chest.

He looked so adorable. I nodded.

“It is. I got it for you. It’s a Stephen King novel. I know he’s your favorite author. It’s also a history novel about the assassination of JFK. I know you’re a history nerd like me.” I said.

He giggled. “Yes. Yes to both of those.”

He stepped closer to me and wrapped his arms ‘round me. He kept the book, 11/22/63 by Stephen King, clutched tightly in his hand as he hugged me. I giggled and wrapped my arms ‘round him. I laid my head against his chest.

“Thank you. I love it. I can’t wait to start reading it.” He whispered in my ear.

I giggled which had him hugging me closer to him. Eventually, he let go of me. I realized it was ‘cause a student walked in. He looked at the book in his hand and flipped through the pages and grinning like a fool before he stopped on the back cover and read it.

He looked up at me when he was done.

“I can’t believe you remembered all those things ‘bout me. You’re amazing.” He said.

I giggled, blushed, and lowered my head, looking at the floor so he couldn’t see me blushing. He chuckled. I looked at my iPod and realized I had to go. I looked up at him.

“You have to go?” He asked.

I nodded, sadly. He sighed and pulled me in for another hug. He didn’t wanna let me go. He did eventually, though. Sadly. He kept a hold of the book I’d gotten him. He didn’t wanna put it down either. He was adorable. I started walked away.

I looked at him as I walked backwards.

“Hey. I hope you have a great day. And, I’ll see you next time.” I said, grinning.

“Tomorrow?” He asked, perking up.

I giggled. “Maybe. I dunno. It depends on if I’m allowed to. But, if I don’t get to see you tomorrow or Friday, I hope that you have a great day, a great birthday, a great weekend, and just be ok in general.”

He laughed. “I’m gonna have a great day of testing and proctoring today.”

I laughed. “You have fun with that. I’m gonna have a good day of not going to classes and handing out college textbooks.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like so much fun.”

I giggled and almost tripped. He smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“Careful there, kiddo.” He teased. “I don’t need you falling for me yet. Not when I can’t catch you.”

I blushed and pretended to trip even more which actually made me trip. He laughed and made his way to me.

“Too late. I already fell for you.” I teased.

He laughed and shook his head. “You are such a silly, adorable goofball.”

I blushed. “Yep. That’s me.”

He chuckled. “Go. Don’t miss the bus. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.”

I left and made my way to the bus, grinning like a fool from the moment I left his room and sat on the bus.

#Dale #I Surprised Him #I Think He Enjoyed It #He Was Adorable #Really Freaking Adorable #I Love Him #A Lot #Teacher Crush #Teacher Crush Community #TC #TCC

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asia2themacs-blog · 6 years

Text

a Sunday in Shenzhen

There is so much to tell, that I do not know where to start. So I thought it might be a good idea to just talk about my day today so far to give people a flavor of our Shenzhen life.

I woke up with the sun in my eyes as it peeked over Nanshan Mountain which is literally a stone’s throw from our apartment building. We live on the 10th floor which gives us a nice view of the mountain which even has some small waterfalls when it rains. It is funny that I expected to have a city view considering Shenzhen is one of the biggest cities in the world, yet my bedroom and our living room look out upon an entirely green, natural backdrop.

Our Chinese language tutor comes on Sunday mornings so I got up and tidied up a bit before she arrived. She arrived right on time and we reviewed pronunciation, vocabulary, characters, and grammar for an hour. I am embarrassed by how hard it is for me to remember these things now. It was much easier when I studied Chinese in Cambridge, MA (our fair city) twenty years ago. She uses flashcards and an exercise book that I think is for Chinese kindergarteners.

After my hour was up, I tried to wake up Suzie for her lesson but she was too tired. She insisted I take her hour (again!) since she has Chinese class every day at school and, as our tutor once said (and Suzie loves to remind me) - I am a slow learner.

So for the next hour we talked (in English) about Chinese culture and history which I find just as valuable – and easier to remember. I asked her why there are so many foreign men with Chinese wives and girlfriends, but I have NEVER seen a Chinese man with a foreign wife or girlfriend. She thought for a moment and then said it is probably because Chinese men think they are superior to women. This led to a discussion about sexism, patriarchy, classism, birth control, and government. I asked her how she learned to speak English so well – she easily uses words such as “ferment” and “patriarchy” (words I would NEVER be able to remember in Chinese!) and she said she self-taught herself by reading and watching American movies when she was young and now she has many foreign students with whom she speaks English. She is studying for her Bachelor’s degree in English online.

She leaves at noon and I send her 200 yuan ($30) via my Chinese cell phone instantly for the two-hour lesson. Almost everyone pays with either the WeChat app or the Alipay app here for EVERYTHING. It’s very easy and extremely convenient. I guess we have ApplePay in the US, but I don’t know anyone that uses it. I use WeChat to pay for… literally everything. I can’t think of one thing for which I cannot use WeChat to pay - even vendors on the street selling fruit from their trucks. I can also pay my cellphone bill, buy movie tickets, have food delivered… all from one app on my phone. I also use it for texting (both in China and with people in the US) and for video calls with people back home. And it’s like a basic facebook too in that you can post pictures and updates where your friends can see them. It’s pretty cool. Of course, the Chinese government monitors it pretty closely, but….

I decided to go do some grading at our favorite bagel shop which has good coffee and great wifi. Suzie was still asleep (she was up late watching movies with friends) so I went out on my own. While I walked the short distance from our apartment building to the street, I used my phone to request a Didi which is the Chinese equivalent of Uber. By the time I descended the stairs to the road, the car was already waiting for me.

I said “Ni hao” (hello) to the driver and he responded with the same. I noticed that the car was unusually bright and I looked up to see a huge sunroof that covered almost the entirety of the roof. It was covered with a thin, cloth curtain that allowed the light in, but I pointed to it and asked the driver “Ni keyi ma?” (“Can you?”) and he pressed a button and the cloth retracted to show the overcast sky and raindrops. I took a picture of it and sent it to some people back home.

The car was very nice. It looked brand new. The make was a BYD. I forgot if we have those in the US and I texted a friend and ask her. She replied that she didn’t think so. I think it is a Chinese brand. The ride lasted about 10 minutes and as we approached the destination I told the driver “Zheli hao” (“Here is good”) and he pulled over. I got out and the Did app automatically paid him. The trip cost less than $2. I gave him a 5-star review.

As I climbed the few stairs to the wide sidewalk, I noticed in front of me the place where I got my haircut one night last weekend. I had asked if they did massages but they said nobody was available at that time. I decided to give them another try.

I stepped in and was greeted immediately by twenty Chinese stares. I asked if they had (massage gesture) and they confirmed that they did. They asked me to sit in a waiting chair and quickly handed me a menu of services (completely in Chinese) and a mug of tea with a straw. I drank some tea and looked blankly at the menu. A woman started explaining to me what the Chinese writing said – in Chinese. “Wo bu dong” (“I don’t understand.”) I motioned that I have pain in my back and she understood. She pointed to the back option which costs 398 yuan. She then pulled her phone out to translate something and showed it to me: “for you VIP 262.40”. Apparently I was already a VIP! I used my phone: “How many minutes?” Another woman typed in a calculator and showed me: 60. “Hao” (ok) I replied and they took my backpack and put a bracelet with my locker number around my wrist.

I had another swig of tea before I was ushered upstairs to a small room with a massage table. It was quiet and pleasantly decorated which was a relief. The last place I got a massage, I had to go behind a curtain where there were a row of massage tables with multiple people getting massages and the Chinese man next to me was snoring loudly. On the other side of the curtain, people sat in chairs getting foot massages while a Chinese soap opera blared on the TV. This was much better! There were no dreamcatchers on the walls or new age music with nature sounds playing, but I did smell a hint of incense – and it was private and quiet! - or so I thought.

The woman motioned for me to remove my shoes and then pointed to a blue, folded-up, disposable bag with a drawstring that was on the massage table. “Do I put my shirt in there?” I asked and made the motions to translate. This was not correct so she left to get the woman who was more formally dressed (the manager?) who used her phone to translate. She typed and then showed me: “take off pants and put these on”. I picked up the bag and shook them and, sure enough, they were paper shorts. I said “no” and motioned again that I just wanted a back massage. They understood and I removed my shirt and lied face down. I then explained through broken Chinese and pantomime that I did not want it too hard. At the last place, it was extremely painful both during the massage and for a week afterwards – and not in a good way. She understood and began at a perfect pressure.

In a few minutes, the manager came back in and started speaking Chinese to me. “Wo bu dong,” I replied. She took out her phone again and then started speaking into it. When she finished, she held the phone near my ear and the phone translated: “if you buy VIP card, massage only 180 pieces”. Apparently I was not yet a VIP. “Ka duo shao qian?” (“How much is the card?”) I successfully asked. She replied in Chinese but I said I did not understand and she uses her phone: “2000 yuan”. Yes, I did understand correctly the first time. “Bu yao” (“I don’t want it.”) She continued to have the phone tell me all the great benefits of the VIP card by holding her phone near my ear – while I was getting a massage! I decided to just go silent and she got the hint. Both women then decided to start interrogating me via phone translator: “Do you live here?” “Do you live close?” “What do you do?” “What do you teach?” “What kind of history?” I entertained them for a while but then went silent again to enjoy the massage which was very good. The manager eventually left. The masseuse had me turn over and she massaged my head and face. “Ni jiao shenme?” I asked her name and she replied “Yihao”. She took off her nametag and showed me the characters which I did not recognize. She tried to tell me something about her name but I did not understand. She took out her phone and spoke into it in Chinese. It replied: “I am number one”. So she is the best? Cool. She thought I still did not understand. She says her name slowly and then I realized the joke: “Yi-hao” can also mean “number one” in Chinese with different characters. So she was literally #1! I laughed to show her I really did understand.

As she was finishing up, the manager came in again and started to tell me about all the discounts I would get with a VIP card. I refused again and she smiled and left. I put on my shirt and shoes and went back downstairs. I went to the cashier and told her I would pay with “Weixin” (WeChat). She handed me the square QR code to scan with my phone and I paid the ¥262.40 since I am only a nominal VIP.

I then walked over to the bagel shop where we go about every other weekend. It’s run by an American guy and his Chinese wife and they serve American food. There are usually just foreigners here but there was a Chinese couple here when I arrived. I ordered an ice coffee and a veggie sandwich and took out my laptop to check the news. The sandwich arrived with a small flag sticking out of each half – one Chinese and one US. I had to ask for the wifi password again for my phone. The guy told me it was “greatfirewall”. This is what people jokingly call the blocking of certain websites by the Chinese government. Facebook is not allowed (though Zuckerberg is trying hard to change their minds) and I am told Google is not officially blocked but there is a filter that blocks all prohibited content which takes so long, it always times out. The simple solution used by all foreigners and many Chinese is to pay for a VPN (“Virtual Private Network”) which routes your connection through a different country and thus sidesteps the Great Fire Wall. This bagel shop has a built-in VPN so I can access all sites as normal. So here I am writing this entry in a bagel shop in Shenzhen, China on Wanghai Road. Not a bad day in China!

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