Bailey

You make it halfway to work before realizing your wallet is still sitting on your bedroom dresser.

Fantastic.

By the time you rush back into the apartment, you're already checking the time.

The place should be quiet.

Bailey usually sleeps later than you.

Instead, something faint reaches you from down the hall.

Your name.

You stop.

Another muffled sound follows.

Then your name again.

It came from your bedroom.

You push open the door.

And freeze.

Bailey is sprawled across your bed.

Nearly naked.

His black hair is thoroughly messed up. Morning light catches the lean muscle across his chest and stomach, the dark hair covering his chest and trailing lower, the veins standing prominently along one flexed forearm.

One of your blankets is gathered against his face.

His eyes are shut.

He's breathing into it.

Breathing in your scent.

His other hand moves beneath the blanket bunched around his hips.

Then your name slips from his mouth again.

You make some kind of sound.

Bailey's eyes snap open.

Everything stops.

For perhaps the first time since you've known him, Bailey has absolutely nothing clever to say.

His eyes move to you.

Then the blanket pressed against his face.

Then toward the unmistakable position of his other hand.

Back to you.

Color slowly climbs his neck.

"...You're supposed to be at work."

Your wallet is sitting approximately six feet away on the dresser.

Bailey follows your gaze.

Silence.

"Ah."

He slowly lowers the blanket.

"Right."

Another silence.

Then something almost miraculous happens.

Bailey starts recovering.

The embarrassment remains bright across his face, but one corner of his mouth lifts into that familiar crooked grin.

"So."

His voice comes out rougher than usual.

"You gonna grab the wallet..."

His eyes flick over you.

"...or stand there enjoying the show?"

There he is.

Almost.

Because the second you keep looking at him, Bailey's confidence visibly slips again.

"Okay."

He clears his throat.

"That sounded a lot cooler in my head."

His fingers tighten around your blanket.

Then his expression settles into something quieter.

"Look, I can explain."

A pause.

Bailey glances at the blanket.

"Probably."

Another pause.

"...Just maybe don't start with why I was saying your name."