#Bar Cart Trolley

[retropopcult]

Detroit, April 1910. "Michigan Avenue at Griswold Street and Lafayette Boulevard."

[furniture-freak]

Rattan bar cart

Source

[dogsinbowties]

Charleston Living Room Library Inspiration for a large, enclosed, transitional living room with blue walls and a medium-tone wood floor

[aboenfurniture]

Unleash the host in you with the Bartlet Bar Cart – Perfect for creating unforgettable moments with friends and family. From cocktails to wines, this cart keeps everything organized and readily available. Take advantage of its mobility and transform any space into a captivating entertainment hub. Add a touch of elegance to your hosting experience and impress your guests with style and functionality. Embrace the art of entertaining with Bartlet Bar Cart – Your go-to choice for seamless entertainment and convenience!

[mlovesdinosaurs]

Modern Basement - Basement Huge minimalist walk-out light wood floor and beige floor basement photo with purple walls

[decor-universe]

Buy A Classic And Perfect Bar Trolley

A designated area where alcohol and other drinks are served is known as a bar. bar trolley, being the most useful and essential part among every one of the things of bar furniture. This furniture will meet a variety of requirements, depending on the kind of bar cabinet you plan to install in your home and the needs you have for your bar. There are numerous sizes and styles available for this piece of furniture. Fundamental home bar set-up incorporates a bar bureau, a serving space, bar stools, every one of the beverages and drinks, barware, and so on. However, bars can be arranged in a variety of ways to suit the purpose for which they were designed. In addition to serving as a useful storage area for beverages, a home bar can also serve as a desirable seating and entertainment area, making it the room’s focal point. Throughout the year, spirits and cocktail equipment are best stored in a bar cart. Similar to how one size does not fit all, not everyone needs the same kind of cabinet to display their alcohol collection, while others want to keep their drinks safe and out of sight. You can find the ideal piece of bar furniture for your lifestyle with the help of this guide.

Consider purchasing a fully enclosed multipurpose trolley if your living room is small or you need to keep your drinks locked and safe in a home with limited space. On the off chance that you will purchase an open rack, getting to spirits and bar utensils would be agreeable and helpful. Further, the highest point of the bureau can be used as an extra seating. If you want to keep some of your collection out of sight and store others behind closed doors, you should buy a multipurpose trolley that has both features. It’s best to buy a cabinet of this type because many bar items can’t be displayed. But if you look at the different kinds of bar cabinets that are available in both offline and online markets, you will be able to make a better choice. Take a look at them, then!

A home bar offers the client various elements that increment the usefulness and utilization of your bar. There are some relatives of bar bureau, for example, wine glass racks, bottle holders, bottle openers, racking, locking cupboards, cabinet capacity, bar streetcar, and so on. are a portion of the classifications you might conceivably run over to while looking for a bar bureau. Wood, marble, or glass are some of the materials that can be used to make a bar cart. You need to make sure that the material you choose is long-lasting, strong, and stable so that, in the future, if you want to put heavy things like blenders, large bottles, or a table lamp, the piece you choose can hold them all.

So, buy one bar trolley now and increase the functionality of your home!

Original Source: Metal Trolley

[kosslowski]

Great Room - Modern Dining Room

[varunnehra]

Buy Serving Trolley Online @Best Prices in India! | GKW Retail

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[greedyhoneyz]

Welcome to Wonderland

.ೃ࿔*:･pairing: eren yeager x pregnant!reader

.ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: soon-to-be-parents embark on a joyous adventure, preparing for the arrival of their little one in a quest to find the perfect stroller.

.ೃ࿔*:･cw: none. fluff. domestic.

.ೃ࿔*:･authors note: inspired by baby mine from @tojigasm. im in a 'baby' mood and wanted to write something other than football. you can probably tell that I haven't watched the show but honestly, I've kind of based eren on his portrayals by other writers on this app and what I feel he would say and act like if he was a modern character. truthfully i just need to watch the show, but I'm honestly not good at keeping up with shows in general.

Onesies. Diapers. Bottles. Pacifiers. Cribs. Toys.

This was the world of babies. 

Eren had never felt so intimidated— standing by the store doors, a trolley glued to his front as he gawked at the avalanche of ‘everything baby’ in front of him. The signs above the aisles, all printed with words that seemed important, taunted him with ridiculing laughter and bizarre speeches filled with phoney concern. 

Hesitantly, Eren veered around and then glanced at (name). He swallowed deeply before speaking between shallow breaths. “Where do we start?”

(name) was quiet for a few moments as her eyes aimlessly scanned the store floor. She let out a breath and then paused, blinking, before glancing down at her phone. “Uh,”

She padded her thumbs across her screen and scrolled through her baby registry. 

“Strollers,” (name) managed to breathe out. She nodded to herself, assured by her choice and peered up at Eren, nodding once again. “Yeah, I think we should look at strollers first.”

“Strollers…” Eren muttered back slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “…that's good.”

The metallic clatter and squeak of the trolley and its battered wheels followed Eren and (name) as they pushed the cart towards the “strollers & travel systems” section. 

The trolley squeaked to a halt when (name) stopped. She blinked, rubbing her lips together and slowly stepped away from Eren. 

“This is nice.” She spoke softly. She raised her hands, her curious fingers wriggling in the air, and fiddled with the straps and handle of the matte black stroller. From the platform where it was perched, she pushed it back and forth, whirling the stroller from side to side. “It moves nicely too.”

“This one looks good too.” Pivoting on the heels of her feet, (name) carefully stroked the handle of another. It was grey, except for its black frame, and carried a sizable basket beneath it unlike the other.

Eren hummed in response to (name) and shifted away from the trolley. He inclined forward and fiddled with the hood of the stroller, pushing it back and dragging it forward. He smoothed his hands across its aluminium frame and picked at the price tag, strapped at the handle. “Not bad, you like it?” 

(name) shrugged. “It’s nice, but I think we should look around first before we decide on anything first.”

The trolley’s shaky rattle continued as (name) and Eren strolled through rows and rows of strollers in various colours, sizes and shapes. 

The traditional strollers, with large wheels and adjustable handles, had quickly gained (name’s) favour, whilst the lightweight umbrella strollers, which were perfect for prompt trips around the town, perked Eren’s eye. The jogging strollers failed to reel both Eren and (name) in, and though their suspension and manoeuvrability brought ease and comfort, the couple could envision themselves going for light jogs across their neighbourhood with their little one in tow. It wasn’t their style. 

“Is there anything here you like?” After a while of searching, Eren and (name) had broken off their stroll and huddled themselves into a corner and fueled themselves with the breakfast bars (name) had stashed inside her purse.

 "No," Eren shook his head, swallowing, his face twisted.

“Well,” (name) began. “If we can’t decide on anything now, I think we should move onto bassinets–”

“What?” A baffled expression came to (name’s) face as she watched Eren shoot off directly to a larger display of strollers.

With a smile on his lips and sparkling eyes, he bent down to retrieve a car seat from the queue of strollers. He waved, beckoning (name) over and beamed down at the contraption below. 

Gripping the metal ledge of the trolley, (name) towed it behind her as she walked. 

She stopped, standing a few feet away and with an inquisitive brow, glanced down at Eren.

“Look.” Hanging his figure over the car seat, Eren turned his back to (name). He lowered his arms, positioning his hands on either side of the seat, its front and its back. He gripped the handle with one hand and tucked his other into the safety lock. He pressed the lock, heaving it upwards as its legs, tucked beneath, extended outwards. Setting it down on the floor, Eren carefully eased the handle from above the black hood and towed it above the seat. A quiet snap could be heard as he adjusted the handle to his hip with a single push of a button. 

“Wow.” (name) gaped, her eyes wide and slowly circled the stroller.

“Cool, ain't it?” Eren smiled proudly. He pushed the stroller back and forth, wheeling it across the aisle in jagged lines. “‘Been looking at this online.”

“And it's good for travelling,” he boasted. “For when we fly. Oh, and it's light….it moves so nice….”

Resting her hand on the swell of her belly, (name) bent down and moved her hands across the seat, running her fingers against its smooth fabric. “But what happens when the baby gets too big and grows out of this?”

“Then…I…guess we buy two strollers?” Eren blurted out slowly.

“Babe… I don’t know.” Reclining back to height, (name) propped her hand on her hip and furrowed her brows together. She pulled her lips down into a frown and shook her head unhappily. 

Eren could feel his heart plunge into the pits of his stomach as (name) scowled. He was convinced that the stroller parked before him was it. And now, as he stared at his wife, he wasn’t too sure she felt the same.  

“Listen, baby, it's a great car seat and stroller,” he began. “C’mon, it's convenient and easy to use, we get this and it’ll make our lives so much easier when the baby comes.”

“Trust me, baby, I’ve done my research. I’ve watched videos and read reviews. This is the one.”

(name) thought a moment, gnawing at her bottom lip. After inspecting the stroller-car seat ensemble, she took Eren’s place at the wheel and rolled it across the aisle, and then back to him. 

She stopped in front of him, parking the stroller a few inches from his feet and sighed. She blinked and blinked and then blinked again, and sighed, tracing her hand across its hood. 

“Alright,” She said. “We’ll get it.”

Eren couldn’t help but cheer, thrusting his fists in the air before launching onto his wife. He wrapped his arms around (name), pulling her into his chest, her swollen belly pressed against his middle, and peppered kisses across her head, his nose bristling against her hair. “Yes!”

“Babe— Eren let go, you’re pulling on my hair.” Wriggling out from Eren’s grasp, (name) huffed, her eyebrows furrowed together and quickly patted away at her hair. 

After calling for assistance, Eren, then armed with newfound instructions, made his way down the aisles to the shelf containing another replica of the stroller, with (name) in tow. Below it were two rows of boxes.

Eren reached out, bending his knees, wrapped his arms around the box and lifted it into the air. With careful feet, he hauled the box toward their trolley and plopped it into the basket. 

“There.” He huffed. He wiped his hands and stared at the box, a twinkle glinted in his eyes, grinning from ear to ear as (name) looked on from the sidelines. 

She approached Eren, a hand to the trolley, the other to her stomach, and studied him. In awe at the way, his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and his cheeks carried a gentle, rosy tint when he was excited. His joy was palpable, radiating out from him like a comforting blanket. 

As she gazed at him, (name) felt a deep sense of gratitude. Most women weren’t as lucky as she was, having a man so involved, so excited it’s damn near infuriating. But she cherished his joy, his nervousness, his wonder. He was new to this world, this world of babies, as was she, and whilst at times it was overwhelming, it was beautiful and intriguing to come to learn and to love the little human cocooned inside her belly. 

And as Eren looked up and caught her eye, (name) returned his smile with one of her own. In a silent exchange, they basked in each other’s warmth, arm in arm, sharing each other’s bliss.

[velchronica]

the little things ♬~*.°₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ blue lock

he’s not the best at the whole ‘talking about your feelings’ thing, or at least not the romantic side of it, but he loves you in subtle ways of his own

content: fluff, established relationship, aged up characters, gn!reader, sfw

wc: 0.8k

he typically walks fast. he takes quick, long strides and seems to cover twice the walking mileage that most people do in the same amount of time. damn him and his long legs.

but while he very much can walk that fast, and it’s probably more comfortable for him, he doesn’t. instead, he strolls idly by your side, fingers intertwined, without a care in the world. if he begins to pace ahead, he notices almost immediately, and slows back down, his footsteps matching your own.

you don’t even realise he does it, because his expression remains completely deadpan. you don’t notice his quick glance down at the pavement, or how naturally he falls into step with you. never straying too far from your side has become second nature to him. after all, he belongs with you, although it’s way too embarrassing to tell you that out loud. he’s not the verbally romantic type to begin with, so don’t expect him to go around broadcasting stuff like that.

when you’re out buying groceries at the store together, he sneaks in more of your favourite snacks to buy, even when you’ve sufficiently stocked up on them in the cart. even if he hates your favourite food—whether it’s the smell, the texture or just the taste itself that he despises so vehemently—the last thing he’ll do is deprive you of it. you shouldn’t feel obligated to not get the stuff you want just because he doesn’t like it.

while you’re browsing the aisles, he makes sure you’re always within his field of view, lest you get lost looking for a specific item. when you reach the refrigerated sections, he comes up behind you as you push the trolley together, his hands over yours on the handle bar, huddled up like penguins. he doesn’t want to see you shivering in the cold, even for a minute, and he doesn’t care if people give them odd looks as you point out a product from between his arms and the trolley.

and when you get to the counter and gasp, fretting that you’ve forgotten something, he sighs and almost rolls his eyes, but he still goes running to grab it before you get to the front of the queue. he runs like he’s on the pitch, sprinting past broke college students, off-work corporate workers, elderly couples, newlyweds, parents with brooding teenagers—everyone in the supermarket. everybody’s now openly gawking at the renowned footballer running through the store like he’s headed for the winning goal of the world cup, trainers squeaking against the tiled floor. he snatches two bottles of scented detergent from the shelf before turning on his heel and immediately heading back to you at record speed.

though he didn’t even break a sweat, and made it back to you with incredible haste, his heart flutters when you grin, taking the bottles from his hands and placing them on the conveyor belt. “i’m lucky to have you, aren’t i?” you laugh as he grumbles, taking you into his arms. “thanks, darling.”

and when he’s running late back from practice, he thinks of you as he’s driving home and pulls into the parking lot of your favourite coffee shop. he knows your order down to the smallest details of the random extras you like to ‘spice up’ your drink, so he orders that alongside a snack he knows you’ll like before heading back to the car.

upon hearing him unlock the door, you immediately get up to greet him and help take his stuff off him to put away. propping yourself up on your tiptoes to give him his daily welcome home kiss, you are pleasantly surprised by him handing over your freshly-made order. you resist the urge to tackle him, since he’s in the process of taking his shoes off at the door, so instead you opt for throwing yourself at him and smothering him with kisses, which is still an affectionate assault, but shhhh, neither of you are complaining.

“you didn’t have to, baby,” you say, beaming, “but thank you.”

he fails miserably at hiding his flushed cheeks. “it’s only ‘cos i feel bad keeping you waiting for me at home.”

“not ‘cos you love me, then?” you harrumph, pouting playfully, only for him to slither his arms around you and wrap you up in a bear hug.

“well, that too,” he relents, clicking his tongue.

“would you be willing to say it yourself, then?” you tease.

“no.”

“please?”

“(y/n).”

“mhm? alright, then,” you say, wryly, playfully prying him off you. “i see how it is.” you turn to walk away when he pulls you back into him, not done with you yet. he buries his face in your shoulder, the action muffling the embarrassing confession that he begrudgingly allows you the privilege of hearing.

“love you.”

you grin. “i love you too, baby.”

— ITOSHI RIN, (wc!)kunigami rensuke, itoshi sae, NAGI SEISHIRO, barou shoei + your fav!

© velchronica 2024

[furniture-freak]

Wicker and bamboo bar cart

Source

[krikeymate]

Foster au

Their first times were definitely interesting to experience. First birthdays, first Christmas, first dentist appointment, etc

Their first grocery trip together happened recently after Tara moved in and both of them were way out of their element in that situation.

Sam didn’t have to take care of anyone except for herself for years and didn’t know what kids liked to eat…didn’t know what Tara liked to eat? And then a sad thought occurs to her,

“Does Tara even know what she likes to eat?”

The question isn’t that crazy, Tara never had a full fridge or cabinet, most her meals were the instant stuff, and no one ever asked her what she liked.

They were in the store with Sam pushing the trolley and Tara holding on at the very end of the cart looking forward. She got all the basic stuff, some veggies, pasta, a couple sauces, toiletries, more plates and utensils and she’d always ask “do you want anything from here?” Each time they passed an aisle and Tara would only shrug.

When they reached the ice cream section, Sam asks again but this time, although apprehensive and wary, tara goes closer to the massive selection of ice cream and looks for a few minutes until she points at a single raspberry popsicle. Sam takes this as a triumph and picks the box with 5 pieces of the same ice cream and Tara’s eyes just go wide…this sort of thing never happened before, “abundance” of anything wasn’t a concept in her life beforehand. Sam remains cool and nonchalant so Tara doesn’t freak out or anything, she has to know that it’s no big deal to ask for more.

Tara thinks “maybe this lady is nice” and holds on the cart except she’s a little closer to Sam now.

They didn’t break the ice just yet, but they definitely went somewhere.

Friend, you've ruined me.

Nobody ever asks Tara what she wants. Sam is the first. "Hey, do you want to go shopping?" "Do you want to sit in the cart?" "You want anything from this aisle?" Sam notices the way the girl looks up at her wide-eyed whenever she asks if she wants something, and makes a mental note: she needs to be offered choices. With every offered choice uttered in a gentle tone, Tara edges down the cart a little more.

This woman may look like her mother, but she's not much like her, Tara quickly discovers. Her voice is still rough, and she curses and stomps around and she's always kinda mad... but never at Tara. She's always so careful to speak softly to her, and when she gets frustrated and angry, she looks at Tara and calms down. Her mother would only get angrier when she saw her.

Tara's eating habits have been strange, and Sam tries not to dwell too much on the why. She's been content to let the girl choose her own food up until now, but she can't avoid the fact it's not good for her any longer. She can't live off of plain bread and dry cereal and crackers. Sam's not much of a cook, but she gets the impression Tara's not had much experience with cooked meals, if her wonder at Sam's undercooked mac and cheese is anything to go by. It's all they eat for a week.

Tara smiles for the first time a month in, when Sam thinks to offer her some chocolate. Sam likes sweet things, and it turns out her sister does too. She eats half the bar and holds out the other half for Sam, and refuses to take it back. It makes her burn in anger, that anyone could ever hurt this sweet girl. She splits the remainder in half, and hands some back to Tara, enjoying the way she scrunches her face in confusion. She pops her piece in her mouth and tilts her head at her sister, encouraging her. Tara watches her carefully as she slowly eats the remainder of the chocolate, wondering if this is a trap. Sam just smiles at her and asks her what she wants for dinner.

[knownangels]

party

wc: 3.5k

Benji keeps his head down, nose uncharacteristically in his phone. He hasn’t got much to take his attention on the screen; its an outdated model with few apps besides those pre-loaded. He uses it to text and occasionally prove Maran on the definition of some word with a quick web search, but that’s about it. 

He pretends to find something interesting in the notes app, as he’ll likely be doing a few hours from now. Swiping his thumb up and down the screen, seeming busy to bystanders (too many) doesn’t dull the noise of the store, however.

“Why the fuck d-does this list have —“ 

Benji glances up just in time to see Benny shake his own phone at the wall of refrigerated fresh juices. They’re in the organic section, which might as well be a completely foreign country to either of them. 

“What kind of store even stocks p-p-pomegranate juice?”

Benji rounds the cart, accidentally brushing up against a posh looking woman who seems a little miffed to be anywhere near the loud, brash blond’s vicinity. Still, her gaze sort of lingers on the back of his neck as she scoffs and pushes away, which makes Benji snort. 

“This kind.” He says, nudging Benny aside to point out the hourglass-shaped bottle of dark ruby liquid. “Right there, you bellend. Kill ya to be wrong and quiet?”

“Yes.” Benny clips out, snatching the bottle from the shelf and purposefully shoulder checking Benji as he tosses it in their cart. “It w-would. One fancy fuckin’ fruit juice down—“

Benji sneaks a peak at his list, noting the additions of several of Maran’s snack food amongst the alcohol and party basics. “Five to go?”

“What is she, hiring a full s-service bar?” Benny squints at the list then throws his hands up in the air. “Dragonfruit extract. That’s going to be a fuckin’ grand, at least. I haven’t even had that shit before.”

His tone of voice is one Benji knows well — he’s not really pissed off about the contents or length or price tag of Matilda’s list. She’s paying, after all. And her birthday events are pretty legendary; Benny’s almost guaranteed a good time, even if there will be one too many rich-taste cocktails for his liking. 

No, Benji recognizes his tone. It’s the get me the fuck out of here strain. For him, it’s near constant in a store. And Saturday morning, with the crowd and noise and — 

“Me either. But I’m not gonna be the one to turn up wth a short list.” 

Benny, hands on his hips, looks at their cart full of snacks and alcohol, paper plates and red plastic cups. “She’s not gonna notice one thing.”

Benji peers up at him, fingers clutching his phone tighter now. He’d really like to get going. “It’s Matilda.” He says. “And it’s her birthday. She’ll make it your funeral, too.“

Benny’s eyes narrow as he debates this. Then he sighs, head tilted dramatically back on his neck, and shoves the trolley forward with a hip. “Fuck. She really would, huh. N-No issue sharing the spotlight as long as I’m fucking dead.”

“I’d eulogize.” Benji offers as they circle the produce area, round the bakery, and head back towards the center of the store. 

“You would n-not.”

“I would.” He insists, sticking a foot between the wheels and Benny’s boots in so blatant a trip attempt that someone behind them laughs. “I’d start it somethin’ like: ‘we’re gathered here to remember’ — y’know, blah blah, how those go —“

“Sure.”

“And then I’d have to say, y’know, ‘he was a disgusting freak of nature but he was ours’.” 

“You’ll make me c-cry.” Benny deadpans. He sneers at someone blocking the aisle, which Benji respects. Another reason he hates this shit is because doing that, calling people on their shit public decency, isn’t socially acceptable for some reason. 

“We’ll never get rid of him, not really.’”

“Because he was such a light and good influence.”

“Nah,” Benji chirps. “Roach.”

“Fa—”

An elderly woman rounds the corner in front of them. Benny cuts himself immediately off, flashing her one of his weird yet charming grins with a little faux-hat tip. She rolls her eyes and flaps a hand, but takes the offered space and carries on with her shopping. 

*

They meander towards the exit once their cart fills a bit more. A pint of ice cream sneaks its way in among the party supplies. Benji shoots Benny a teasing look when he realizes it’s Maran’s favorite flavor — double chocolate brownie and peanut butter, and not from a particularly cheap brand.

“Might as well just tell ‘em.”

“Might as well just s-suck —“ Benny’s phone goes off with a tell-tale ding! Benji smirks; he’s got a special sound, some little cartoon noise from one of Maran’s favorite shows, to indicate a text from the man himself. 

“Not a word.”

“Fa—“

Suddenly, Xavier stumbles out from the neighboring aisle. He looks paler than normal, fingers twisted in the plastic casing of a bag of chips. 

“Holy shit they’re all out of Lucky Charms—guys!”

Benji pauses, having taken over trolley pushing duties when Ben’s phone came out to text. “Alright?”

“You guys left me.” Xavier pouts. He starts towards them and nearly barrels over someone, dances around them with comically exaggerated movements that are both graceful and graceless at the same time. Benji swipes his fingers over his mouth to hide the smile.

“Did not.” Benny argues, gesturing down the crowded aisle with too wide a sweep; he nearly hits someone too. “You went, ‘oh, they got the f-f-fancy cheese crackers here’ and ran off.”

Xavier aims that pleading puppy stare on Benji, who avoids eye contact and shrugs. He had done exactly that.

“I got way too high, dude,” Xavier whispers. His breath is hot on Benji’s neck, as close as he’s gotten. He does his best to ignore it. “I’m like five more seconds of noise away from running out screaming.”

Benji snorts. With a hand cupped under Xavier’s elbow, he guides them away from the crowded aisle towards a stack of chips. Xavier tucks one under his arm as they pass.

“Here.”

“Benji.” Xavier whines excitedly, tugging at Benji’s sleeve as he delves into his jacket pockets for — “Oh, shit. These are your good ones.” 

Benji deposits the pair of earbuds into Xavier’s massive palm, fighting another grin. They go into his ears immediately. He has a playlist on his phone specifically for — well, this. A bunch of electronic and house music he’s not particularly attached to

“Noise cancelling.” He offers. 

Xavier tilts his head, gesturing towards his ears. Can’t hear you — then the playlist starts. His face lights up. Benji has to turn away, cheeks flaming about the fact that Xavier follows only a step behind him the rest of their shopping. At the checkout, which is as crowded a section of the store as possible, their hips brush several times as Xavier tries to maneuver himself away from the press of bodies and noise. Still, his foot taps to the music. The sense of victory is enough that Benji doesn’t mind the drain from his account.

“Forgot my c-card.” Benny pouts exaggeratedly, out-turning his pockets and no doubt hiding the credit card between his fingers in some magic trick. Benji glances at Xavier, happily in his own world, and shrugs.

*

On the way back to the car, Benji hears a shout rise up in the parking lot. A patter of feet and the loud brrrr of a car horn follows. Something crashes into the back of his legs, and he stumbles against the boot with a soft, surprised noise.

“Yuna!” A familiar voice cries. Benji glances around for it, twisted at the waist, and then instinctively down.

Little arms wrap around his calves. Yuna, a sleight girl of six who sports a poorly managed bob because she insists on cutting it herself, clings to him. He knows her from the community center’s music program for kids; his first semester at the university, he’d found a flier in the campus bookstore requesting musicians for youth tutoring and has been doing it every weekend since. Yuna’s one of his favorites, and a bit of a genius besides.

“I saw you in the store!” She shouts. She lets go of Benji’s legs and takes a step back; his hand shoots out and grabs her shoulder, pulls her back away from the busy lot’s lane. 

“Yuna, where the f— where’s your mum?”

“Dad day.” She announces. Then her tiny voice drops, conspiratorial and whisper-light. “I saw you steal grapes.”

Behind him, already lazy behind the wheel while Benji unloads their party haul, Benny snorts. Benji’s face heats up, especially when he hears Xavier’s muffled what, what? and a shuffle that tells him the other man is getting out of the car.

“I wasn’t stealing.” Benji insists. He squats down to fix Yuna’s hood back up around her ears; it’s rainy, and the tips of them are going pink. “I was testin’ to see if they were good.”

“Were they?”

He shrugs, mouth pinched in a thoughtful grimace. “Meh.”

“Yuna!” 

Her father, out of breath, jogs across the parking lot. Benji rises to his feet and snatches Yuna up around his hip as he goes. She kicks and laughs, her rain boots knocking a familiar rhythm against his thigh.

“You been practicin’ that song?” Benji asks. He hears the passenger door shut, another set of footsteps on pavement. Slower than Yuna’s father as he approaches, and then they too pause.

“Ba-ba-ba-dum dududu bam!”

“Nice.” Benji laughs. He passes her off fluidly to her father as he approaches. “Can’t wait to hear it on Saturday.”

“I’m so sorry,” the older man says. He squeezes Yuna close, briefly burying his face in her neck. “Yuna, you can’t do that. Daddy needs you to stay holding my hand in the parking lot, okay?”

“But—“

“I told you we would say hi, but we didn’t want to bother Benji.”

“I wanted to bother him now.” Yuna insists. Her bottom lip trembles, but her eyes don’t well up. Benji tries not to laugh at the manipulation attempt.

Benji steps closer to fix her boot, which has started to slip off her foot from all the jostling. “Yeah, happy to be bothered. But you listen to your dad, okay? There’s a buncha cars and it’s dangerous to run around like that. You might see them, but they don’t always see you because you’re so little.”

“I’m not that little.” Yuna insists. She tugs at her father’s jacket lapel, turning the big shiny eyes to him instead with the same goal. Benji watches him soften a bit more and squeeze her tighter. “I got a whole ‘nother inch on my height chart yesterday.”

Benji whistles to indicate how impressed he is by this information.

“If you’re okay to be bothered more —“ her father says, pulling Benji’s attention up to his bespekcled face, “Yuna’s at mine this weekend. I’m, uh, doing this new meal prep thing. Made way too much food. If you have a day open…”

“Oh?” Benji tilts his head at the little girl, makes a face to get her to laugh. “Might have to rain check that, got a stacked calendar. But I’ll see this one Saturday like regular, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Yuna shouts, throwing both tiny fists into the air. 

“Uh. Yeah.” Her father agrees, with slightly less enthusiasm.

They say their goodbyes and Benji goes back to emptying the rest of the cart. He’s glad her father hadn’t made mention of the copious amount of alcohol going into the car. He’s almost done loading it all up when he glances over the hood.

Xavier stands on the other side of the car, his palms flat to the roof and face…strangely blank.

“You’re getting rained on.” Benji laughs incredulously. “M’all done here, already loaded up. Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Xavier says, voice thin over the following crack of thunder. 

Benji slips into the back of the Mustang, legs tucked up to accommodate the several angle Xavier has to slide back his own seat. He catches Benny’s red sunglassed stare in the rear view mirror, and raises his eyebrows.

“You get the DILF’s n-number, dude?” 

Benji scowls in confusion, Benny just continues staring, and Xavier slips lower in his seat, the volume of music blasting from his earbuds rising to a worrying level.

*

Later that evening, Xavier repays his debt tenfold. 

Well. Benji would never think of it that way. Anything he’s done to ease Xavier’s way a bit has been for just that —not with the end goal of reciprocation in mind.

Letting yourself get used? The mean little voice in the back of his head needles. Typical Benji, isn’t it.

The alcohol doesn’t make these sorts of thoughts louder, but it doesn’t pick at the careful netting that holds them back. And once that little hole in his defenses is made, they tend to spill out. 

He wonders if he looks as pathetic as he feels, wedged into as quiet a corner of the party as he can find, leaning against the wall. He’s got a rapidly warming beer in one hand, half-finished; it’s his third, maybe. Fourth. He hates the taste of this particular brand, but it’d gotten ignorable the more he’d drank, so. He’d kept going. 

And if it doesn’t quiet the sound of his own increasingly critical thoughts, it was least makes the external voices easier to muffle. Matilda throws a good party, and the people around him seem to be having more fun than he is; no one has approached him in a decent spell, not since he’d scowled openly at some poor, pretty blond from Matilda’s glass blowing class, or something. The invitation to dance had died before it could even be punctuated with a question mark. Benji felt a little bad for the twist of embarrassed rejection flashing across the young man’s face, but he was in no mood — and he was no dancer.

He sort of just wanted —

“I need to get out of here.”

Benji swings his head to the side. It’s a bit slower than his thrumming vision betrays. With hooded eyes, he stares up at…Xavier.

“You n’me both.” Benji responds. It’s soft against the steady bam bam bam of whatever top hundred chart song the stereo beats out. Xavier leans down to hear him better, their eyes never straying apart; that consistency makes Benji’s chest twinge. 

“So? Let’s go.”

Benji looks around. “It’s Matilda’s birthday.”

Xavier laughs, chin tilting back to flash pale throat. There’s a flashy rainbow strobe on her mantle, and it licks shades of blue, green, red across the column. Madly — drunkenly — Benji wonders if the skin tastes different under each color.

“She left, like, an hour ago dude.”

“What?”

“Irish departure, or whatever it’s called.” Xavier hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Lark was my ride but he went with her.”

Benji’s turn to laugh at the absurdity of that. Good fodder to tease him about  later. What sort of prick leaves their best friend for a chance to get laid? He imagines asking. And, true to his nature, Benji imagines the chipper, smart-ass response: This kind, bro. 

*

The irony of his internal teasing is lost on him a half hour later, once they’ve miraculously survived the walk back to Xavier’s flat. There aren’t any suspicious sounds coming from either of the other two’s rooms, but they sneak on dramatic tiptoes, jostling each other and trying not to giggle, anyway. Whatever sort of sneakiness they think they have is totally undone by the loud slam of Xavier’s door as they tumble inside, falling against one another in a drunken effort to stay quiet.

The irony continues to elude him, even as Xavier finds a movie and kicks off his shoes and they turn around, room stifling hot for some reason, to change out of uncomfortable party clothes. Benji doesn’t thank him for the borrowed pajama set; a blue gone fishin’ shirt with holes in the ribs and a too-long pair of plaid joggers.

“What are we feeling. Looks like Netflix refreshed so all the good horror—“ 

Xavier breaks off suddenly. Benji gives up on rolling the hems up his ankles to access the silence, half expecting a monster or something equally frightening on the screen. Instead, its just some muted auto play trailer of a shit comedy. Xavier’s staring at a spot next to him, eyes glassy with a remaining alcohol sheen.

“Find something?”

“Yes.” Xavier says immediately. He loads up the movie and tosses the remote aside, diving under the blankets. Benji follows, notes the frame squeaks under their combined weight. Reminds himself to check the screws on the bottom, next time he thinks about it. Next time his fine motor skills aren’t significantly impaired, too.

“Did you have fun?” Benji asks over the jazzy lulling soundtrack of the opening credits.

Xavier tucks into his pillow, hand coming up to slip between his cheek and the soft jersey fabric. Benji watches him settle with heavy eyelids. 

“I’m not gonna lie, the best part of the day for me was getting to listen to music at the store.” Xavier admits with a giggle. “Sometimes that shit is so exhausting there’s no way I can have fun.”

Benji settles too; it takes a bit longer, shifting around on the mattress and ignoring the bump of their legs together. There’s no way to fit without touching, so eventually he gives in and slides his knee between Xavier’s own. 

“The store?” Benji asks sympathetically. 

“The party.” Xavier corrects, to his shock.

“You love parties.” Benji laughs. “You love dancin’ and music and talkin’ to people and crackin’ jokes so forty different drunk fucks piss ‘emselves laughing.”

Xavier casts a quick glance at the television. “Um. That’s a generous crowd estimate—“

“Fifty.”

“Shut up.” He huffs. He goes to kick at Benji, but with the angle and their intoxication, it’s no use. It only serves to tangle them together a bit more. Benji feels the ever-present tingle of a chill slip off him, replaced by a blanket of heat; between their bodies, touching, and the blankets Xavier hadn’t bothered to kick off, he’ll be sweating and over-warm in no time.

He refuses to fucking move.

“To be fair, you did a fair bit of hosting once Til disappeared.” 

“They went for a birthday walk.” Xavier intones like it’s a great secret. “Lark had a special gift for her, or something.”

“Or something.” Benji snorts nastily, his shoulders jumping with the force of a restrained laugh. 

“What—“ 

And its no longer restrained, once Xavier’s face crumples like that. With realization. Abject fucking horror, that look. Benji can only hysterically giggle at how the weight of that knowledge (or something, special gift) ages him in seconds. 

“M’so sorry, mate. Oh, fuck. Oh your face, Xavier, holy — m’sorry. Really.”

“You’re not.” Xavier whines. There’s no heat to his tone, no genuine annoyance or disgust. In fact, at least to Benji’s own ear, he sounds…amused. 

When his humored tear-heavy eyes crack open again, Benji finds himself being observed. 

“Something on my face?”

Xavier shakes his head. The quiet sounds of the movie carry on. Benji’s got no idea what it’s about, the characters, the plot. He feels stuck in place by the pinning green stare across the mattress. 

“Ddi you have fun?”

He deliberates this. Shopping was fine. He liked seeing his students out and about. Liked being recognized, made to feel important. He liked introducing Xavier (my friend), liked that he stood close and twitched to the music Benji provided, that he’d lingered in the kitchen while Benji helped with party prep, that he’d given the earbuds back dead because he enjoyed the playlist enough to listen all the way through. 

He hadn’t liked the party. But he liked leaving it. He liked leaving with Xavier. He liked the idea that people had seen them leave together. That people had also, inevitably, seen Matilda and Lark do the same. Benji liked the idea that maybe similar conclusions would be drawn. 

And he feels bad for that. Feels unfair. Feels — feels…guilty. Dirty. Manipulative. 

He swallows the strange lump in his throat and shifts a bit in bed. Their legs are still tangled; he can’t go far. Instead of answering, Benji dodges. He tells the story of one of Saha’s equally legendary birthday parties, just to draw a thread of connection. To keep his mind off the warm body so close to his, touching him. 

To keep his mind off the fact that Xavier’s eyelashes flutter prettily as he holds onto conscious. That he tries so hard to keep listening, even as sleep takes him. 

Benji keeps his mind off all that, largely; at least until Xavier sighs as he goes under. The second his breathing evens out into something sleepily rhythmic, Benji’s brain fills with nothing but thoughts of Xavier content just like this. Falling asleep this way, movie in the background. A dozen times before this, and if he’s lucky, a dozen times after. 

As tired as he is from the long day, he genuinely isn’t sure if he’s dreaming as he tucks hair behind Xavier’s ear, presses knuckles to a sharp, cheekbone. He hopes so. He doesn’t have permission to touch — to bother.

I had fun. Benji thinks, vision blurring as the exhaustion catches up to him now, too. I feel happy. You were around. How could it be anything else?