Sugar, Butter, Flour, and Love - Chapter 35: Chapter 35

Trace told me he'd be at my apartment in an hour and I freaked out for a few minutes before calling Manny.
"Its all my fault," I said as soon as he picked up, "I don't know why I reacted like that. I just hate the way he looks at me like I need to be taken care of."
Manny was quiet before he replied, "But what's wrong with that, mijo? You deserve to have someone who wants to take care of you."
"But, it's just—"
"Not masculine to want that? It makes you feel insecure? It reminds you of when Carter took over your life? And before you argue with me, you have to
remember I've known you since you were in diapers. Maybe you're more of a follower, so what?"
"Followers are—" the words didnt come out but they circulated in my mind: weak, unattractive, easy to take advantage of.
"Darius," Manny said sharply, "there's nothing wrong with who you are. So what if you want your boyfriend to take the lead, he must appreciate that you trust him enough to let him have it. You need someone to take care of you so just let him. He needs someone to take care of, too. As long as your relationship is healthy, it doesn't matter how it operates."
I squinted, feeling so many things and unsure which emotion to focus on. "He's really serious about us. It's really intense and I don't find it overwhelming anymore but I feel like I'm just starting to understand how serious he is."
"You need to talk to him, Darius. For what it's worth, I think he's really good for you and he helps you be more confident.Don't be afraid to fall in love."
We clicked off after that and I wondered if it was as simple as that. Maybe I was afraid to fall in love.
I paced in my apartment, thinking. I had to start telling Trace how I felt about things or our relationship wasn't bound to last. That thought threatened to turn into a panic attack and I opted to take a shower instead.
I just needed to calm down and breathe. I took a shower and focused on the possibilities of what Trace and me might do before or after our talk. If things somehow moved to the bedroom I wouldn't want to smell like I'd been moving boxes all evening...which I had. So I primped a little and when Trace arrived at least I could say I was squeaky clean.
Soon I was opening the door to Trace and he usual overnight duffle he brought when he slept over. Most of the times Trace slept over at my place it meant sleeping together, but I didn't know if I was up for that tonight.
Trace kissed me at the entryway, pushing his body up against mine as he gave me a slow and lingering kiss that was asking for more. It was sweet, but for some reason it made me sad. Trace was comforting me again...like he always did.
I broke the kiss and said something about needing to sit down. My home was now a mess of labelled boxes and most of my furniture had already been moved over. I just had a single couch left that I wasn't sure how to move effectively. It was a gift from my brother and he'd spent a lot of money to get a giant couch that was custom made for my measurements. It meant Trace's legs dangled when he sat back on the couch and mine were able to sit comfortably on the floor. It was one of the most comfortable things I owned.
Trace was wearing one of my sweaters he'd taken. It was a dark purple crew neck I never wore and Trace basically swam in the material. He looked kind of adorable in the oversized sweater but then he took it off to reveal a translucent white t-shirt. It was so distracting to see his skin and for a moment I stared at longingly at his chest before I realized he was speaking to me.
"Darius, why do you think I'm with you?" Trace asked quietly, looking up at me with his big brown eyes. The length and thickness of Trace's eyelashes always leant a certain prettiness to his features and this moment was no different. "I tell you all the time but I don't know if you really hear me," he continued softly.
I slumped, casting my eyes away from Trace. "Well..."
Trace's expression pinched and he pursed his lips. "C'mon Darius, don't tell me all this time...all this time you still don't get it?"
"I know that you like me," I said lamely but I could tell by Trace's face I was saying all the wrong things.
He exhaled sharply before speaking. "I know you said all that stuff about your ex on the phone but I don't see you the way he did. I love you, I see you as an equal and I want to build a life with you."
"I have so many issues...Doesn't that make it hard?" I said quietly, still trying to wrap my head around Trace's feelings.
Trace shook his head sadly. "Do you talk about how you feel about your anxiety and your panic disorder with your therapist?"
"We just talk about ways to tackle it, and how to deal with it." I avoided talking about how I felt about it if I could. My therapist tried to get stuff out of me sometimes but that part was hard. There was a deeper part of me that mourned at all the things I hadn't done because of my anxiety. I tried to be okay with who I was and my limits but I doubted I could ever truly be okay with it.
"Well, you need to start talking about how it makes you feel about yourself, Darius. You're so incredible and you can't even see it because you don't like crowds. Can't you hear how ridiculous that sounds? You bake six foot tall cakes, and you can fucking sew and you embroider and you bake and cook and you're sweet and you make me laugh and you make me so happy but because you get anxious sometimes you think you're a fuck up. And I know all about feeling like a fuck up, okay? I get that. But you need to start focusing more on your positive qualities."
"My positive qualities?" I echoed. "I mean, I know I can cook and stuff but it's my passion. Obviously, I'm good at it. And you're not a fuck up, Trace. I honestly think you're perfect." The last part came out raw and honest and Trace's eyes widened.
"What?" he said like he was out of breath.
I flushed but went on, "I think you're perfect, Trace. All of you. Your intensity can be overwhelming but you make me want to be overwhelmed. I've always liked the way you look at me and I like the way you call me baby and I think you're so special. And it's not just you I find perfect, it's your body, too. I like when we— you know."
Despite my ramblings, Trace laughed and he seemed so happy that I could feel it coming off of him in waves. "I fucking melt when you compliment me, baby."
"I should do it more often," I murmured softly.
"Just make sure you do it when I'm within earshot." Trace reached out and touched my knee as his expression sobered. "I want you to do some other things more often, too."
I nodded, already knowing where he was headed with this. "I just get nervous."
Trace sounded surprised and disappointed, "still?"
That unexpectedly hurt and I shifted away from his touch. "I'm attracted to you, Trace, and there are plenty of times where I want to touch you but I get nervous. Still."
Trace untied the band holding his hair together and his hair tumbled around his face in silken raven waves. He held his chin up proudly. "I'm giving you permission to touch me the way you want to. We need to practice until some of the nerves go away."
Slowly, I moved my hands up to his head and stroked my fingers through his hair. Trace closed his eyes and leaned towards me. "What are you thinking right now, Darius?"
"I like touching your hair," I said honestly. It was soft, silky and it always smelled citrusy. There were many moments when all I wanted to do was run my fingers through Trace's hair.
"I grew it out for you, hoping you'd touch it." Trace frowned, still with his eyes closed. "But you don't. Darius, I'm—" he opened his eyes and stared deep into mine. "I'm needy, and I know touching can be hard for you but I need to be touched. I want you to run my fingers through my hair and touch my arm when you talk to me, and touch my back when we pass by each other at the apartment or just kiss me because you want to. I really meed more of that, but I feel guilty asking for it."
We were really different in that respect. I was satisfied with how much we'd been touching but I didn't realize Trace wasn't happy with it. Even there with my hands in his hair, he looked comfortable and pleased.I pushed his hair back and out of his face, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Okay," I said softly, nuzzling Trace's warm skin, "I can try more." There were moments like this where I felt confident and secure, and I could touch Trace the way I sometimes ached to. But those moments were far and few in between.
"And not just during sex." His breaths slid against my face as he murmured, "when you see me you don't have to kiss me but a hug would be nice. You could play with my hair when we watch movies. You could lay your head in my lap." Trace's voice took on a soft, dream-like quality, "I just like being close to you."
"Okay, Trace," I said softly, thinking that I'd have to start getting used to touching him. "Is that why you dress like that around me sometimes?" I asked, thinking of the shorts and the nearly transparent shirts.
Trace moved and sat back, his face going red. "Well, I figure you'll notice me more if I wear tight clothes." I placed a hand low on his belly and Trace chewed his lip. "Dari—"
"It's basically transparent, you know?" I teased him gently, feeling somewhat awkward. "You don't have to dress like this for me to notice you. It's..." it was hot how on display for me Trace was willing to be but then I thought about it. Trace wasn't just physically on display, he was open about his emotions, too. And it was in a way that I wasn't.
"Baby?" Trace prodded when I didn't finish my sentence.
I blinked, refocusing on my boyfriend. "I should be transparent, too. I—I want to be more assertive in our relationship. I want to initiate more, plan dates and take care of you. But I need you to let me."
"Of course I'd let you!" Trace said a bit hotly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I—"
"Let me finish," I said quietly, "you and Carter think that when I'm struggling it's better to just swoop in and help me. Like, sometimes we plan to go out and I'm having a rough day so you change it to an indoors date. When you do that you don't even give me the opportunity to try to go outside my comfort zone. It's one thing if I try and I can't do it but you just make decisions for me sometimes."
"I would never hurt you like he did, Darius," Trace said in an anguished voice. "And I don't know how I feel about being compared to that guy."
I looked away from him. "I don't want to be a follower all the time."
"Just because I like to take care of you doesn't make you a follower. I don't understand this leader -follower thing. Why do we need to put labels on our relationship? Just tell me what you want to change and we'll change it. I'm not the leader and you're not the follower...I think of us as equals, Darius."
"I just think I should do stuff more. Because, well—" I stuttered badly for a second before continuing on, "I'm a man, too, and I should be more active in the relationship."
Trace quirked his head. "Darius, we're gay. We don't have to do things like straight people force themselves to. . Is that what this is about?"
"I mean, I already bake and sew...and I'm so shy...the least I could do is be assertive." I didn't even know what I was saying anymore. I knew I wasn't making any sense but the words were just tumbling out.
Trace frowned. "I like to get fucked, Darius. Up the ass. Hard."
I flushed, turning away from his crassness. "Jheeze Trace."
"And it doesn't define who I am or change things on the scale of how gay or not gay I am. If you want to be more assertive don't let it be because you're worried about manliness points. Let it be because it's something you want." Trace shifted on the couch. "And I like the person you are."
I felt like crying as raw emotions overwhelmed me. "I guess I— I worry about how people see me and how you see me."
"I see the man I love every time I look at you."
I stopped, unable to find words for a long moment. "Trace..."
"It's true," he insisted, "and if you want to be more assertive and take the lead there's nothing wrong with that. But if you want to do those things because you think that's how our relationship is supposed to be, it's wrong."
Trace touched my hands, holding them, and I let him. "Okay," I said, "okay...I'll try to think of it like that."
"When you think of how you want things to be between us, what do you imagine?"
"I like the way things are but I wish I wasn't so nervous."
"What can I do to make you less nervous?"
I laughed kindly, taking my hands out of his. "It's not that simple. I just get nervous around you."
Trace pouted. "You don't get nervous around Manny. Or your family."
"That's different."
"I want us to get there eventually," Trace said intently, leaning forward. "I want to be your family someday, Darius."
"Oh," I said, very, very, softly.
Trace smiled and leaned towards me, nuzzling my cheek. "I mean it. But is there anything else you wanted to talk about?"
He was so close and I found it hard to think. I wanted to take off his shirt, touch his skin and kiss him. But, I was too nervous to do so and there were other things I wanted to talk about.
I sighed, sitting back. "Well, I don't think your dad likes me."
Trace narrowed his eyes. "Did he do something? I can talk to him." Except, the lethal tone in Trace's voice made it seem like he was going to beat up his father for me.
I raised my hands and shook them. "No! He didn't do anything wrong. I just freaked out in front of him before your show. Not a panic attack but...almost and he told me about the Japan job offers?"
Trace blinked. "What job offer?"
"Your dad said you rejected a job offer because of —well not me, but because you want to stay in the city?"
"Oh," Trace said dismissively, "that was nothing. Great company, but a bad offer. My father has seen me move around so much and he thinks the only way I'll settle down is if I find a guy to spend the rest of my life with or I go back to Japan. And— he figures I'm not going back to Japan so I must be in love. And let's be realistic, Darius...I can't get married in Japan or have kids, some people are still shit about the half thing snd you're...here. So it's complicated but it would take a lot for me to go back."
"Oh," I said, realizing everything had sounded a lot more severe in my mind, "I see."
"And...you need to be more positive, Darius. Even if I had everything going on in Japan and I met you here, I'd still stay. And you have to understand that it would still be worth it. That's what you mean to me. Alright?" His words were slow and firm, and I could tell he wanted me to listen to him.
"Alright." It was weird but after confessing so many of my insecurities to Trace, it was like it was easier to say other stuff. "Are you sleeping over?" I asked politely.
"I'm showered and stretched if that's what you're asking," Trace said with a lascivious grin.
I turned away and sighed, squinting away from him. "I guess that's what I'm asking." But then I shook myself and forced myself to look at Trace. "I want to sleep with you. Tonight, if that's convenient."
Trace looked absolutely charmed for a reason I couldn't understand and then he kissed me on the cheek.
"But," Trace continued, "I want to massage you first. Can I do that?"
I looked at Trace and laughed at the randomness of his statement. "Well," I said, "okay."
#
Some minutes later I was splayed out, face down on my bed and propping up my face on my outstretched forearms. I was half nude, only wearing my boxers of all things. I felt extremely exposed but Trace had explained he just wanted to kiss me and pet me.
It wasn't supposed to be weird having my back to Trace, but it totally was. He uncapped several bottles of massage oil and it sounded enough like when we uncapped lube that I winced.
Obviously, Trace noticed. "Baby, I just want to massage you."
I breathed. "Okay."
And then his hands were on me and it took a minute and then another but I relaxed. Trace's hands were warm and oiled and it felt good to have the palms and sides of his hand pushing and kneading against my skin. It felt intimate and like he was taking care of me.
"Oh," I moaned softly, not even realizing that I'd exhaled so loudly until Trace chuckled.
"Is it nice?" he said in a warm, teasing tone.
"Mmhmm," I murmured, feeling my eyes lid and my body sag into the bed. "I hate...being touched but it's different with you. Not at first, but I relax eventually."
"I love you," Trace said softly, working his hands into the the small of my back. He surprised me with a kiss on my shoulder. "You're so beautiful, Darius."
I felt my body begin to knot with tension and I tried to move. "Trace," I started to argue. Don't do those things, I wanted to say. But the words got stuck in my throat and it was both easy and hard not to say anything.
He shushed me and pushed me down with a surprising amount of force. Damn, that was kind of...hot. Trace would never be bigger or stronger than me so him being handsy always did some interesting things to my body. "Don't get up," he said in a deep, authoritative tone, "just listen to me for once. Close your eyes if you have to, but just listen."
I sighed, and closed my eyes reluctantly.
"I think you're the most interesting thing I've ever looked at. You have those big brown eyes, and your skin is so soft and clear, your mouth is out of this fucking world. If everyone sees you at least half the way I do then they know you're gorgeous, Darius." I tried to turn over but Trace kept me down. "Okay?" he murmured.
His hands moved from my back to my hips, to the backs of my thighs. It was the way he touched me that made me believe him. Firm. Strong. Unyielding. Just like the way he clearly felt about me.
Maybe it wasn't about the way I looked, but the way he saw me. He did think I was beautiful and I had to believe that because it came from Trace. The way he spoke to me and touched me was always heartbreakingly honest.
My voice was a bit choked up when I finally replied, "Okay."
Trace lost any and all semblance of massaging me when he plastered his chest against my back and kissed the back of my neck. We stayed like that for a moment, just him on me and us skin to skin. Heartbeats passed as my body started burn in a way it hadn't it in a long time.
I turned over to my side until Trace was spooning me from behind and I could feel his body sculpted intimately against mine. And I was okay, and he didn't feel too close. He felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
"Do you ever...top?" I asked quietly, just focusing on the feel of Trace's breaths ghosting the back of neck.
I heard the sharp intake of Trace's breath before he sat up. Slowly, I sat up, too.
Trace's face was growing red and he looked me up and down as though seeing me for the first time. Somehow his face got even more red and it took him a moment to get out his words. "Are you asking...?" he just about squeaked.
For once I was the relatively calm one and it made me smile . "Yes, I'm asking."
"Did you—" he gesticulated vaguely.
"I know how to prep, Trace," I said quietly.
"And— you want to bottom for me? Right? That's what you're asking?"
I turned my cheek into my shoulder, still shy, always a little shy. "I want to feel you in a way I haven't before."
Trace groaned. "Fuck." He reached out and touched my jaw, then he rubbed the pad of his thumb across my lower lip and I shivered. "God, you're serious," he said softly.
My eyes had lidded closed but at his words I opened them. "Why wouldn't I be serious?" I just kept thinking about how he thought I was beautiful and it made my heart swell.
Trace kissed me then, long, slow and deep. He cupped my face with his hands and moved so close he was sitting in my lap, pushing his hips against mine in a slow grind.
He let me up for a bit of air, peppering kisses down my throat and nibbling on my ear. "You make me so crazy, Darius. I want you so bad." Trace sounded desperate. Desperate and yearning.
For the first time out of all the times we'd been together I found myself talking. Telling him I needed him, too. Telling him he could do whatever he wanted with me because I trusted him. Telling him that he could have me however he wanted because he saw me. He saw the real me and he still found me beautiful.
#
The next morning, I felt like making a baking video and I found myself inviting Trace to film with me.
"Maybe I'll title it baking with my boyfriend," I teased him softly.
Trace blushed, for some reason still shy from our evening before. But then he gave me a smile, and it was brilliant. "I would like that. You could show me off to all the stay at home moms and trophy wives who watch your channel."
He came over and kissed me on the cheek, one hand trailing down to the small of my back.
He frowned. "But before we get started...We did something different last night. How do you feel about it?"
Now it was my turn to be shy. "You were different last night," I said quietly, feeling my belly suffuse with heat. There were bruises on my back, my hips and even the inside of my thighs because of how thoroughly Trace had used me. If I thought he was possessive before I'd been in for a rude awakening that evening. It had been the best kind of overwhelming. I made sure to make eye contact with him as my cheeks burned when I continued, "I liked it."
He gave me a smug look. "Okay, now how will I be assisting you today?"
The filming of the video was easy, it was a cake that focused more on decoration techniques and Trace helped with preparing my ingredients and displaying everything. When it came time to film the part where we ate the food he was in the shot with me, talking naturally in front of the camera.
It was a good way to spend our morning and later on Trace wanted to watch a musical they were playing on Tv. We curled up together on the couch and I was munching on my second bag of popcorn. Halfway through the musical, it was intermission and I went to pop some more popcorn. Most of my kitchen ware wasn't packed and I had to get to it but I was enjoying my lazy day with Trace.
When I got back to the living room with my popcorn, the TV was off and Trace was sitting stock still on the couch.
"What's wrong with the TV?" I asked as I carefully opened the hot bag and steam wafted out.
Trace sounded sick, "Let's not watch anymore."
I turned on him, immediately concerned. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" My popcorn fell onto my thighs and I put it on the coffee table.
"No,it's just...There was a Baking Beasts commercial for the next season," Trace admitted, "You were there...and it looked rough."
I froze. "What do you mean?"
"Some people really spoke to you like that?" He sounded horrified. "I can't believe it. Shit." Trace stood up and hugged me. Hard. "I don't want you to ever go through something like that again."
I started to shake.  "Was the commercial bad? Did they make me look like a freak?" It happened so fast. I was okay and then I couldn't breathe and Traee's touch on me was just making it worse. I extricated myself from his arms and took a step back, stumbling.
It had been weeks since my last true panic attack. I'd been doing so well. Everything had been going so well. "I'm sorry—" I got out in a strangled voice before rushing to the bathroom.
Then I was sitting on the closed toilet seat, clutching my face and counting, staring at the tiled floor, avoiding my reflection in the mirror, and trying to breathe. Panic attacks I had out of the blue were always especially bad because I wasn't at all prepared for them. My life had changed so much in the past few months but I knew this part of me would never change.
#
After I came out of the bathroom, Trace was there in the hallway pacing. "Do you need space? Tell me what you need, baby."
I felt sweaty and gross and embarrassed. I wanted to tell him I was sorry that I was like this and that he had to put up with me but I knew it wasn't what he wanted to hear. It wasn't at all what he needed to hear either. "Let's just finish the musical?" I said in a raw voice. By the end of my attack I'd been crying a bit and it was obvious because of how I sounded.
He frowned even deeper. "I know how Les Mis ends, Darius, we don't need to finish it."
I shook my head. "It'll make me feel better if we can just continue what we were doing before. And I need to change my shirt, too."
He nodded grimly. "Okay, can I kiss you?"
I stiffened and my reply came out flat and hard, "Do I seem like I want to be kissed right now, Trace?"
Trace blinked for a moment in confusion but recovered well. "That's okay, Darius. I'll just...meet you in the living room."
"Oh," I said awkwardly, "I didn't meant to—"
He gave me a forced smile, but I could tell he was hurt. "It's okay."
It wasn't okay, but eventually, I got on a clean, dry shirt and Trace and I got back on the couch catching Marius, Cosette and Éponine singing, "A Heart Full of Love." Trace hummed softly, easily harmonizing with the trio as he leaned against me.
The panic attack was done but I still felt on edge. Trace's proximity was helping a bit but what I needed to do was watch the commercials. There must have been multiple. But even the thought of seeing one filled me with dread and my stomach threatened to heave. But not knowing how they'd portrayed me was making me feel even worse.
"Darius?" Trace asked like this wasn't the first time he'd called my name. "Is this another panic attack?"
"No," I said, "I just need to watch the commercials."
"Why?" He sounded mystified.
"I want to know how they're portraying me. I need to know what narrative they decided to run with. It's making me sick not knowing."
"Okay, we'll watch it together," Trace declared.
I almost rolled my eyes. "I can watch it alone." It really hit me at that moment that he'd never really know or understand what my panic attacks or what my anxiety did to me. He didn't go through what I went through so he'd never really understand. The realization depressed me.
"I can be there for you, Darius," Trace said hotly, anger bleeding into his tone, "sometimes you just— shut me out and I don't get it." Anger was always fast on Trace and I knew that. I understood it and he'd explained it to me but I still found myself getting annoyed. Because if Trace didn't really understand then there was no way he could be there for me in the way he claimed he could.
I looked at him for a long moment, waiting for my irritation to dissipate and choosing unwisely to speak even though it hadn't. "Me having a fucked up brain isn't exactly a warm and fuzzy couple's moment, Trace. I tell you a lot. Do you really want me to tell you everything?"
"I need communication to be a bigger part of our relationship going forward."
"Sometimes, it's just—"
"Darius," Trace said evenly, "please, let me finish."
"Oops, I'm sorry."
"It's okay, baby. And I'm not asking you to tell me everything. Just be honest. You have this habit of saying you're okay when you're not and when you do that you lie to me. You don't mean to, but you do. And it hurts." Trace's voice was quiet, and he was looking at me seriously. "And I know I'm not entitled to all your thoughts, but I want you to just be transparent with me. Say, 'I don't want to talk about it with you,' or 'I need some space right now,' or even, 'I need some time to process how I'm feeling and if I want to talk with you about it then I'll do that later.'"
I frowned. "You sound like my therapist."
Trace gave me a sad smile. "I'm not picking on you, I just want us to communicate better."
I felt a bit embarrassed and I did feel a little picked on, in all honesty. I tried to think of what I wanted to say to Trace in that moment but my face just felt hot and I felt uncomfortable.
Trace was quiet as he watched me, waiting for me to speak. But, something about the moment was too much and I wanted to escape. I tried to think of what to say that wasn't defensive and struggled. "I think I need some time...to think about what I want to say."
"That's okay," Trace said like I'd done something right, "thank you for telling me. Do you want me to go?"
"No!" I said hurriedly, "Maybe you could help me pack?"
Trace nodded and we got to work. Minutes passed in silence and all I could think about was how I always seemed to take two steps forward and three steps back in our relationship. I needed to do better.
"I'm sorry we didn't finish the musical," I mumbled.
"It's okay, I've seen it a bunch of times anyways," Trace said softly, patting my thigh as he reached over me to pick up a roll of tape.
Trace was wearing a snug tank top that showed off his arms really nicely and some some shorts that hugged his thighs. He was gorgeous and it should've been easy to compliment him. I need to be better, I reminded myself. Trace was sitting beside me and I called his name softly.
He turned and I leaned in and kissed him. There was a moment of surprise and then I could feel Trace's smile against my mouth.
"Baby," Trace murmured before kissing me harder. God, I loved when he called me that. It felt like Trace was calling me his and treating me like I was perfect. The kiss was short but intense as Trace spread his hand over my chest and squeezed.
In a moment we were both breathing hard and I finally found the words I'd been looking for.  "You do so much for me, Trace. You make me happy but I feel like I don't know how to do the same for you."
"You do make me happy, you don't need to do anything—"
"Except, I want to. I want to do stuff for you and surprise you and plan dates. I can plan dates, Trace. And I know you have a temper but you're so patient with me and I can't help but think you're so nice because I have anxiety. You don't have to treat me differently."
Trace froze.  He was clenching his jaw and his body was a taut line of tension.
"Are you angry?" I said softly, not understanding what I'd said wrong. I twisted my fingers together in my lap, feeling guilt settle, cold and hard, into the pit of my stomach.
Trace turned his head to the side so sharply I worried he would hurt his neck. His expression was stormy.
"Maybe I should—"
Trace still faced away from me but he said, "Wait...please," he said so quietly I had to strain to hear him.
Trace started to breathe, long and slow, and it took several seconds but eventually he turned to look at me. "I don't ever want to explode at you. So, sometimes I need time to calm down. And I do have to treat you differently. Because you are different and even if you didn't have anxiety I would still treat you differently because I feel differently about you than anyone I've ever met and I hate—" his voice had slowly been rising until he cut himself off. "I hate when you look for excuses for why I should care for you less or treat you not as well. It... frustrates me. I think the world of you, Darius and I wish you could understand my feelings more. I don't know what else to say."
"I'm sorry," I said honestly, "I'm working on it, and I'll try to stop. My therapist tells me to reinforce negative thoughts with positive ones. It's just...hard."
It was silent for another long moment.
"I'm going to plan our next date," I said eventually.
Trace looked at me with surprise. "Okay." He wrote out a label on one of my boxes and pushed it to the side.
"And it'll be a surprise," I said.
His soft smile turned into a grin and he angled his body towards mine. "Alright, baby. You know I'm down for whatever."
"I'm going to pick you up after work on Friday, so you should— be prepared."
Trace's voice was low as he stroked my arm. His eyes were bright with humour and mischief. "Exactly how prepared should I be?"
I struggled to speak, "No hints! It'll be a surprise."
"Okay, can I get another kiss?"
I moved in towards Trace and he gave me a deep, penetrative smooch. Trace pushed me a little until I was on the floor and he was straddling my waist.
"I don't like the beach," Trace said between kisses. "I'm not willing to go swimming. But other than that you can take me anywhere."
"Okay," I said, not at all sure what I wanted us to do. "I'm going to make sure you have a good time. It'll be perfect." It had to be perfect.
Trace cupped my cheeks. "Don't focus on that, baby. If I'm with you I'll have a great time. Yeah? Try not to overthink it. We go out all the time."
Trace was smooshing my cheeks together and it made it hard to talk clearly. "'Kay," I said, "I'm still going to impress you, though."
He laughed and thumped his forehead against mine fondly. "I'm looking forward to it. Now, I think you should stop distracting me with how cute you are and help me pack your stuff, Darius."
"Oh, right," I murmured. I wanted to give Trace a hug and I stared into his eyes for a few seconds before I wrapped my arms around him. I could get used to touching him more often as long as I practiced. Trace hugged me back just as hard and we stayed like that for a while.
I would make this the best date ever, and nothing was going to get in the way.