#*˖ ⊹ sebastián domingeuz herrera ☆ﾟ ( thread )

[apcthetics]

continued from here / @overwhlcmed

*˖ ⊹     he  doesn't  mean  for  it  to,  but  sebastián's  gaze  lingers  on  nevaeh  for  longer  than  what's  considered  friendly,  studying  her  as  if  attempting  to  reconcile  the  differences  he  has  in  front  of  him  with  the  nevaeh  he  has  in  his  head.  it's  easier  to  see  her  with  the  mid-afternoon  sunlight  filtering  through  the  windows  than  it  was  in  the  florescent  kitchen  light  the  night  he  broke  him,  and  even  though  he  spent  hours  earlier  (  and,  admittedly,  at  other  points  too  )  scrolling  aimlessly  down  her  instagram,  there  are  details  that  photos  don't  show.  she's  more  refined  now,  he  notes,  no  longer  walking  that  line  between  adolescence  and  adulthood  ;  her  hair  is  longer,  her  face  sharper.  she's  even  more  beautiful,  a  fact  he  doesn't  want  to  admit  to  himself  for  fear  of  the  repercussions  on  his  heart.  seba  shifts  uncomfortably  on  the  spot,  suddenly  shifting  his  gaze  away  from  her  and  onto  a  far  more  interesting  smudge  on  the  laminate flooring.  there  was  a  time  where  he  had  the  whole  of  her  memorized,  spending  those  quiet  moments  they  spent  tucked  away  under  blankets,  away  from  the  world,  learning  the  curve  of  her  jaw  and  the  sound  of  her  laugh  just  because  he  could  ──  did  she  still  have  the  same  constellation  of  freckles  across  her  shoulders,  or  had  they  faded  ?  would  the  ridges  of  her  spine  still  feel  the  same  under  his  fingertips  ?  the  deep  brown  of  her  eyes  still  lure  him  in  as  she  blinks  at  him  with  her  own  surprised,  wide-eyed  and  somewhat  awkward  expression  and  sebastián  decides with a deep breath  it's  not  fair.  maybe  he  invested  too  much  of  himself  into  something  that  was  never  solidified  and  only  lasted  a  few  months,  but  nevaeh  never  stopped  him.  she  should  have  told  him  all  she  wanted  was  her  rom-com  moment  and  then  she  was  done,  going  back  to  wherever  she  came  from  (  seba  hadn't  known,  until  now  )  without  him.  sebastián  feels  certain  he  could  have  provided  that  without  them  needing  to  stand  across  from  each  other  feeling  like  strangers.

he realizes he's  grinding  his  teeth  and  forces  his  jaw  to  relax,  peeking  up  at  her  from  under  his  eyelashes  when  she  speaks  again.  he  snorts  and  raises  his  hand  to  his  lips  to  stop  the  laugh as it bubbles up and out of him.  the  frustration  burning  in  his  stomach  dulling  every  time  she  smiles  is  giving  him  emotional  whiplash,  and  he  feels  like  he's  just  standing  in  silence,  trying  to  keep  up  with  what  was  coming  out  of  her  mouth while she raced with his own thoughts.  he  wishes  he  was  more  like  indie  ──  he  would  like  to  take  the  bullet-holes  nevaeh  left  in  his  chest  and  turn  it  into  boiling rage  that  he  could  turn  around  and  wield  like  a  weapon  ──  but  he's  always  been  a  lover.  his  heart  will  pick  the  softness  of  blind, naive hope  over  the  screaming  matches  every  time  (  ──...  which  is  why  he  needs  to  keep  everything  casual,  unnamed,  because  otherwise  he'll  hope  for  too  much  and  get  his  heart broken  all  over  again  ).  "  i  love  that,  "  sebastián  murmurs  under  his  breath,  "  timbaland's  the  way  i  are  ──  the  motivational  soundtrack  of  a  generation.  "  grinning  at  his  own  joke,  he  shakes  his  head,  stepping  aside  to  let  her  breeze  past  him  into  the  kitchen.  as  he  follows,  he  uses  his  teeth  to  unfasten  the  buttons  on  the  cuffs  of  his  shirt,  folding  the  fabric  up  his  arms so it doesn't get in his way.  "  i  ──  um, " he starts, smoothing out the fabric of his sleeves nervously, "  thank  you  for  helping  me,  by  the  way.  "  they  both  know  the  carmelitas  are  an  excuse,  and  his  mom  wouldn't  know  the  difference  if  she  arrives  and  his  fridge  is  empty ( it's most likely what she's expecting ),  and  yet  they  keep  talking  about  them  as  if  they're  important.  planting  his  palms  against  the  countertop,  he  leans  back  into  them,  restless.  "  where  do  we  start  ?  "

[apcthetics]

*˖ ⊹      his  smile  reaches  his  eyes  as  she  brings  the  '  tiny  microphone  '  in  towards  herself,  her  hand  touching  the  imaginary  piece  in  her  ear  in  a  dramatized  manner.  it’s  easy  in  moments  like  this  for  sebastián  to  pretend  like  this  isn’t  all  part  of  some  perfectly  crafted  public  image,  and  he  doesn’t  have  a  publicist  on  speed  dial  in  his  pocket,  just  in  case.  ana  isn’t  just  one  chess  piece  in  the  grander  game  of  the  media,  and  the  record  label,  and  the  choices  they  make  about  where  and  when  to  be  seen  together  aren’t  important  fodder  to  help  pin  him  with  the  image  of  charming  romantic  (  or  playboy  —  a  word  used  in  the  tabloids  far  more  affectionately  than  he  thinks  it  probably  should  be  ).  sebastian  herrera  is  just  as  much  of  an  accessory  to  her  brand  too, influencer and media favourite up-and-coming model in all the news.  he  likes  to  forget  all  that  though,  and  indulge  himself  in  the  fantasy, too. it feels easier to talk like  they  are  two  real  people,  after  all.  behind  the  practised  way  ana  flicks  her  hair  over  her  shoulder  or  eyes  the  cameras  mischievously  she  has  a  unique  personality,  one  that  is  far  more  cunning  than  most  people  seem  to  want  to  give  her  credit  for.  she  knows  how  to  work  the  cameras  and  draw  their  attention,  what  angles  to  turn  so  every  image  captured  is  flattering,  and  she  does  it  all  in  a  way  that  sebastián  has  yet  to  perfect.  he  usually  finds  himself  following  her  lead.  

for  all  the  posed  paparazzi  photos  and  sneakily  placed  instagram  buzz  photos, though,  this  business  arrangement  fits  so  perfectly  because  they  get  along  so  well  —  after  all,  it’s  unlikely  they  would  spend  so  much  time  together  when  the  cameras  are  off  and  the  curtains  of  her  bedroom window  are  drawn  if  they  didn’t.  he  turns  the  fake  microphone  towards  himself  again,  falling  into  easy  step  beside  her  as  they  are  ushered  around,  and  his  hand  comes  up  to  his  own  ‘  earpiece.  ‘  “  breaking  news  :  mariana  ramierez  says  she  wants  it  all,  and  will  sacrifice  anything  —  including  her  own  children  —  to  get  it.  “  he  mocks,  unable  to  hold  the  faux-serious  expression  he  was  holding  as  it  dissipates  into  laughter.  “  it’s  not  far  off  though,  is  it  ?  i  heard  one  guy  yelling  at  you  to  ask  about  why  you’re  featuring  ‘  so  prominently  ‘  in  nova  santos ’  show.  “  a  scoff. " like,  what  does  he  expect  you  to  say  ?  “

｡*˚:✧｡ this scenario felt like old news to ana, albeit on a grander scale now that she had ventured further into the public eye. she embraced the flashing cameras with the warmth of long-lost friends, as if they were stars that had finally found their place in the midnight sky . there wasn't much that ana felt she did consistently right in her life, but her career and image seemed to be at an all-time high, so she must have been doing something right. basking in the afterglow of several successful new york fashion week shows under her belt and a pop star on her arm, ana found herself gazing confidently into the camera, making sure that every angle showcased her best side (not that she had a bad side). each time she locked eyes with the lens, it felt like a triumphant rebuttal to her father, as if she were saying, "look, i'll be plastered on the cover of every newspaper, whether you like it or not." she liked to think she played the role of an artist's "muse" quite well, the way he doted on her. a hand reaching out to brush her hair back or the gentle touch when he fixed her necklace, it always managed to bring a smirk to her lips, the way the flashes seemed more rapid at the small displays. she could see the headlines already "sebastian herrera and mariana ramirez's heating up the red carpet sparks dating rumors!" when he finally speaks up from her side, she is raising a hand to block her face "please no flash photography" when he grabs at her wrist she glances back to catch sight of him and his pretend microphone "oh my god!" she gasps out "is that one of those tiny ones" she plays along, bouncing between both feet. reaching out to hold the "tiny microphone" between her thumb and pointer "when are we going to stop villainizing young single mothers just trying to have it all?" she reaches a finger up as if she is being fed information through an ear piece "uhh, i mean.. no comment"

[apcthetics]

*˖ ⊹       sebastián domingeuz herrera         ☆ﾟ      (  tag dump  )

*˖ ⊹       sebastián domingeuz herrera         ☆ﾟ      (  thread  ) *˖ ⊹       sebastián domingeuz herrera         ☆ﾟ      (  musings  ) *˖ ⊹       sebastián domingeuz herrera         ☆ﾟ      (  mirror  ) *˖ ⊹       sebastián domingeuz herrera         ☆ﾟ      (  texts  )

*˖ ⊹       sebastián domingeuz herrera         ☆ﾟ      ( answered  ) *˖ ⊹       sebastián domingeuz herrera         ☆ﾟ      (  ft  )

[apcthetics]

*˖ ⊹      it  still  hurts.  as  seba  cracks  open  the  door  to  nevaeh’s  shared  apartment,  far  too  committed  to  this  impromptu  baking  lesson  to  back  down  now,  he’s  acutely  aware  of  just  how  much  it  hurts.  he’s  a  country  away  from  his  home  and  oceans  away  from  where  nevaeh  last  left  him.  new  york  was  meant  to  be  a  fresh  start,  a  place  where  traces  of  her  didn’t  still  linger  on  his  clothes  ;  on  his  bedsheets  ;  on  the  piano  in  the  corner  of  his  childhood  bedroom  (  even  if  they  were  just  imagined  traces  ),  but  the  pain  simmers  inside  his  ribcage  like  he  never  left  veracruz  at  all.  for  the  first  time  in  months,  seba  has  gone  back  into  folders  to  look  at  their  old  photos,  and  it  sucks.  not  because  the  memories  are  bad  ;  seba  struggles  to  think  of  a  time  he  felt  more  content  then  when  he  was  following  nevaeh  on  her  adventure  around  the  world.  they  are,  however,  a  shitty  reminders  of  how  he  felt  immediately  after  boarding  that  plane  home  from  thailand  :  that  empty  loneliness  that  only  came  with  abandonment,  and  the  weeks  of  desperate  waiting  for  her  to  call  to  tell  him  it  was  a  mistake  that  followed.  her  betrayal  still  clings  to  him  like  a  bad  perfume  he  can’t  wash  off,  and  it  leaves  a  bitter  taste  on  his  tongue.  he  wants  to  make  it  easier  on  himself  and  hate  her.  the  moment  nevaeh  chose  to  walk  out  of  his  life,  leaving  him  with  a  whole  lot  of  questions,  very  few  answers  and  a  whole  slew  of  new  insecurities  he  didn’t  have  before,  sebastián  should  have  stopped  loving  her.

apparently,  he  didn’t.  his  traitorous  pulse  still  picks  up  speed  as  he  watches  her  pose  in  the  mirror,  his  heart  eager  –  as  always  –  to  jump  head  first  into  something  seba  knows  he’ll  regret.  it’s  the  reason  he’s  here  in  the  first  place  after  all  ;  the  invisible,  warm  string  of  light  that  feels  like  it’s  been  drawing  him  to  her  since  the  moment  he  saw  her  from  his  bedroom  window  pulling  him  in  her  direction  again.  he  presses  his  thumb  between  his  teeth  to  keep  from  laughing  as  their  eyes  meet  in  the  reflection,  but  there’s  no  hiding  the  way  his  face  breaks  out  into  a  wide  grin.  her  explanation  doesn’t  much  for  her  case,  and  sebastián’s  head  falls  to  the  side.  he  drops  his  hand  and  his  lips  part  with  a  mockingly  surprised  ‘  huh.  ‘  “  sounds  really  legit.  “  he  agrees,  nodding  his  head  solemnly.  he ‘s  in  a  silent  war  with  himself  :  nevaeh  is  standing  right  in  front  of  him,  flesh  and  bones,  holding  a  hat  out  in  his  direction,  but  he  his  body  doesn’t  forget  being  freshly  wounded,  pouring  his  heart  and  soul  into  lyrics  about  the  woman  who  had  broken  his  heart.  “  thanks,  “  he  drags  out  the  word  and  cautiously  crosses  the  space  between  them  so  he  can  take  the  toque.  sebastián  turns  it  in  his  hands  for  a  minute  ──  because  it’s  better  than  being  met  with  a  baseball  bat  ──  before  he  takes  her  wrist  and  drops  it  directly  back  in  her  hands.  he  pushes  her  arm  back  towards  her  chest.  “  ...but  no  thanks.  me  and  mistakes  will  probably  be  fine  without  worrying  about  it  falling  off  my  head  into  the  pan  the  whole  time.  anyway...  ──  it  probably  looks  better  on  you.  “  he  takes  a  step  back,  putting  space  between  them  and  seba  clears  his  throat,  his  gaze  drifting  to  the  speaker  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  when  the  realization  suddenly  hits  him,  he  starts  laughing  again.  his  shoulders  are  tense  even  as  they  shake  with  his  awkward,  nervous  laughter,  like  sebastián’s  in  a  defensive  position,  waiting  for the  moment  this  delicate  facade  falls  apart  and  things  get  officially  weird.  “  why  were  you  doing  your  monologue  to  promiscuous  by  nelly  furtado  !?  “

status : closed / ( @apcthetics ) location : nevaeh and bianca's place !

☁️ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ─────────────         nevaeh   tried   not   to   think   about   the   needles   prickling   at   her   palms   or   the   knots   contracting   in   her   stomach   as   set   the   ingredients   out   on   the   counter.   despite   gabriella's   and   wren's   warnings,   nevaeh   had   went   through   with   teaching   seba   how   to   make   the   oatm   carmelitas   and   was   determined   not   to   make   it   weird.   however,   with   so   much   still   unsaid   between   them   she   began   to   wonder   just   how   she   was   going   to   manage   to   do   that.   he   hadn't   even   arrived   yet   and   she   was   already   pacing   around   the   apartment,   marking   in   her   mind   where   she'd   stand   to   give   him   space   but   also   monitor   his   work.   she'd   even   cycled   through   four   separate   playlists   (   jazz   felt   too   romantic,   instrumental   tracks   held   too   many   memories,   her   own   mother   popped   up   too   frequently   in   neo-soul   playlists,   and   pop   music   was   too   distracting   )   before   settling   on   the   '   this   is   timbaland   '   spotify   playlist.   fun,   diverse,   no   romantic   undertones.   it   was   safe.   it   was   a   good   start.          with   the   music   playing   gently   in   the   background   she   stood   in   the   hallway   mirror,   eyeing   her   hair   and   contemplating   the   no-makeup   makeup   look   she   decided   on   (   but   maybe   she   should   put   on   more   ?   ).   as   she   toyed   with   a   fresh   curl   from   the   braids   she'd   just   taken   out,   she   muttered   potential   ice   breakers   to   herself.   if   she   could   just   get   them   laughing,   maybe   the   rest   will   come   easy.   at   some   point   in   her   rehearsal   she'd   propped   her   toque   on   the   top   of   her   hand,   and   ran   through   a   poorly   planned   top   chef   bit.   wrapped   too   much   in   her   own   head,   and   with   timbaland   talking   about   the   way   he   '   are   ',   she   doesn't   hear   the   door   open   and   shut,   but   she   does   catch   his   reflection   in   the   mirror,   causing   her   to   jump   and   pull   the   hat   from   her   head   just   as   quick.   ❝   you're   here   !   ❞   she   exclaimed,   lightly   laughing   her   way   through   the   embarrassment   as   she   crossed   the   room   to   get   closer   but   not   too   close.   ❝   i   was   just   practicing   my   gordon   ramsey   in   the   mirror,   which   is   totally   a   natural   thing   for   a   culinary   student   to   do   and   not   at   all   embarrassing.   ❞   at   impulse   they   held   the   hat   out   to   him.   ❝   this   is   for   you.   ❞   she   spoke   confidently,   as   if   it   wasn't   an   idea   she   had   just   had   on   the   fly.   ❝   may   seem   silly,   but   you'll   be   less   likely   to   be   worried   about   making   mistakes   when   you've   got   the   world's   worst   top   hat   on   your   head   so   go   on,   put   it   on.   ❞

[apcthetics]

*˖ ⊹     sebastián  starts  off  genuinely  listening,  his  eyes  following  nevaeh  as  she  rummages  through  the  cupboards,  pulling  out  ingredients  and  utensils  as  though  it  was  second  nature.  then  she  moves  closer.  then  she  steps  away.  then  she  moves  closer  again, brushing so easily past the invisible wall he put up, and  sebastián’s  brain  ──  struggling  with  a  set  of  simple  instructions  on  a  good  day  ──  takes  him  far  away  from  the  kitchen  they’re  in,  down  a  different  and  more  dangerous  path.  what  she’s  saying  becomes  background  noise  and  takes  back  seat  as  he  watches  her,  the  romantic  buried  not  very  deeply  inside  of  him  easily  transported  back  to  memories  that  he  never  quite  let  go  of.  he  remembers  the  kitchen  back  home,  and  watching  from  the  stool  in  the  corner  as  she  helped  his  mom  with  dinner.  he  remembers  the  hours  they  spent  talking  in  the  back  seat  of  his  parents  car,  and  finding  every  excuse  possible  so  he  could  call  her  again  as  soon  as  he  saw  her  bedroom  light  turn  on.  he  can  hear  the  sound  of  her  soft  voice  singing  along  to  nat  king  cole  and  etta  james  in  tiny  rental  kitchens,  and  the  broken  laughter  as  she  tried  to  get  through  the  entirety  of  waterfalls  by  TLC  while  he  yelled out made-up  lyrics.  

it  all  hits  him  like  a  knife  to  the  gut,  a  physical,  sharp  pain  that  starts  in  his  stomach  and  radiates  everywhere,  causing  his  shoulders  to  tense  up.  she’s  close  enough  for  him  to  smell  the  scent  of  her  shampoo,  obviously  different  to  whatever  she  was  using  years  ago,  and  it’s  a  jarring  reminder  of  reality.  what  is  he  doing  ?  nevaeh  isn’t  that  girl  anymore.  this  isn’t  that time and they aren't in veracruz,  before  she  ripped  his  heart  from  his  chest  and  left  it  for  the  vultures.  sebastián  won’t  let  himself  get  close  now,  too frightened of the possibility of the object of his intense affections up and leaving again, and  it’s  her  fault.  he’s  watching  the  familiar  movements  of  an  unfamiliar  person  ──  did  he  ever  even  know  nevaeh  ?  ask  him  when  he  first  agreed  to  fly  away  from  home  for  the  first  time  just  to  be  with  her  and  he  would  have  said  yes,  but  when  sebastián  thinks  on  it  now,  he  isn't sure he did.  anything  about  her  past  but  her  mom  and  her  music  was  obscured behind kisses and distractions,  even  as  sebastián  bared  his  heart  and  soul  to  her.  was  new  york  her  home  city,  or  did  she  grow  up  elsewhere  ?  did  she  have  any  siblings  ?  he  knew  how  she  liked  her  coffee  three  years  ago …──  and  that  was  it.  that  was  the  only  thing  connecting  them  now.  a  strange  feeling,  something  not  quite  regret  but  close  to  it  bubbles  up  in  the  back  of  his  throat  like  it's wracking his brain for an  excuse  to  leave.  sebastián  shouldn’t  be  here.  it’s  a  bad  idea .  the  love  songs  awaiting  release  know  he  isn’t  over  her  even  though  she  hurt  him,  and  yet  instead  of  trying  to  move  on  with  his  life  he’s  here,  begging  for  her  attention.

he  startles  when  she  pulls  away,  dragged  violently  out  of  his  thoughts  by  her  sudden  movements,  and  it’s  clear  by  the  surprised  expression  on  his  face  that  he  hasn’t  been  listening  to  her.  sebastián  wants  to  make  a  joke  about  arm  strength,  the  immature  response  a  go-to  to  fill  the  silence  as  the  realization  settles  in  that  he  hasn’t  heard  a  word  she’s  saying,  but  instead  he  sucks  his  lower  lip  between  his  teeth.  he  reaches  out  to  take  the  whisk,  sets  it  down  in  front  of  him,  rests  his  palms  flat  against  the  counter  again,  and  then  he  stares.  for  a  solid  few  seconds  he  doesn’t  move,  before  steadily  raising  his  sheepish  gaze  back  towards  her.  “    lo  siento,  nevaeh,  you’re  going  to  have  to  start  from  the  beginning.  and,  um,  “  his  shoulders  creep  towards  his  ears,  “  take  it  a  little  slower,  maybe  ?  i’m  bad  with  instructions.  and  cooking.  “ 

☁️   ⠀   ⠀   ⠀   ⠀   ─────────────         nevaeh   knew   there   would   be   consequences   if   she   ever   saw   seba   again.   it   just   wasn't   what   she   expected.   maybe   it   was   her   own   relationship   with   her   father   that   tarnished   the   image   of   reunion   she'd   previously   had   in   her   head;   she   anticipated   arguing,   low-blows   to   crush   her   spirit   and   emphasize   just   how   much   she   hurt   him.   she'd   been   prepared   to   defend   herself,   her   choices,   but   remain   apologetic   all   the   same.   to   admit   she   was   wrong,   even   if   she   didn't   know   it   at   the   time.   nevaeh   had   laid   in   bed   wondering,   if   the   opportunity   presented   itself,   would   she   be   able   to   swallow   her   pride   and   grovel   for   his   forgiveness   like   part   of   her   heart   that   still   yearned   for   him   had   begged   her   to   do.   however,   she   was   facing   repercussions   in   ways   she   hadn't   been   expecting.   someone   who   was   once   so   open   with   her   about   every   thought,   emotion,   and   general   feeling   running   through   him   was   now   shut   tight.   a   locked   door   without   a   keyhole   to   unlock   it.   whenever   sebastian   looked   at   her,   she   couldn't   tell   if   he   was   angry   with   her,   happy   to   see   her,   sad   that   this   was   where   they   ended   up...───   it   was   all   a   mystery   to   her.   the   boy   she   had   known   ──   had   loved,   had   retreated   somewhere   safe.   somewhere   she   couldn't   get   to   him.

         she   was   to   blame   for   that.   she   paid   for   what   she   did   to   him   in   late   nights   running   over   their   initial   reunion   conversation;   torturing   herself   with   what   if   scenarios   and   wondering   who   he   told   about   it   and   what   did   he   say.   punishment   found   her   logging   in   to   a   burner   account   to   watch,   rewatch,   and   overanalyze   the   highlight   only   titled   with   a   heart.   the   not   knowing   drove   her   to   sleepless   nights   and   playlist   flashbacks.   worst   of   all,   she   couldn't   simply   lament   in   peace;   couldn't   let   him   move   on.   couldn't   allow   herself   the   same   courtesy.   taking   any   excuse   to   see   him.   to   allow   herself   a   genuine   laugh   to   fall   from   her   lips   at   his   response   on   the   way   i   are;   forming   a   new   memory   to   torture   herself   with   in   bittersweet   longing   later   on.   now,   she   had   to   stand   beside   him   in   her   kitchen   pretending   as   if   she   didn't   see   the   way   he   rolled   his   sleeves   up,   and   like   her   eyes   didn't   want   to   linger   on   parts   of   him   she   was   once   familiar   with.

         ❝   you   don't   have   to   thank   me.   ❞   her   tone   is   soft   with   sincerity   as   she   pulled   ingredients   from   their   bags   and   placed   the   more   immediate   ones   in   front   of   him.   ❝   i'm   happy   to   help,   and   i'm   really   glad   you're   letting   me.   ❞   the   honesty   made   it   hard   to   look   at   him;   fearful   that   she'd   see   something   in   his   reaction   that   would   keep   her   up   that   night.   so   instead,   she   moved   towards   the   bottom   cabinet   behind   the;   bending   down   to   search   for   a   mixing   bowl   and   popping   up   for   a   few   more   utensils.   muscle   memory   of   the   kitchen   kicking   in   quickly   as   she'd   spent   more   time   in   the   kitchen   than   her   own   bedroom   already.   ❝   first   things   first...───   ❞   she   started,   as   she   turned   back   around.   delighted   to   have   something   other   than   him   to   focus   on.   ❝   we're   ──   sorry,   you're   going   to   take   the   melted   butter   to   your   left   and   put   it   in   this   bowl.   ❞   she   could've   slid   the   bowl   in   front   of   him,   keep   at   least   five   paces   between   them,   but   in   her   determined   haze   she   crossed   the   counter   and   stood   beside   him.   the   unbuttoned   cuff   of   his   shirt   tickling   her   arm   but   she   paid   no   attention   as   she   reached   across   him   for   the   measuring   cups.   ❝   then   you'll   put   it   3/4   cups   of   brown   sugar.   ❞   another   reach   over   to   place   her   hand   on   the   bag   in   case   he   needed   a   visual.   ❝   1   tablespoon   of   vanilla   extract.   ❞   her   body   leaned   back   a   bit   to   grab   the   bottle   he'd   need.   ❝   a   cup   of   flour,   cup   of   oats,   and   one   teaspoon   of   baking   soda.   ❞   when   she   finally   had   come   to   a   stop   she   realized   how   close   she'd   gotten   and   practically   leaped   away   in   panic.   using   the   whisk   sitting   idle   on   the   other   in   of   the   counter   as   an   silent   excuse   for   why   she'd   reacted   that   way.   ❝   then   you're   going   to   whisk   until   smooth.   ❞   there   was   a   slight   shake   in   her   voice,   nerves   building   up   as   she   held   the   utensil   out   to   him.   ❝   hope   you   haven't   been   skipping   arm   day.   ❞