Late August

He’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. It’s mid-afternoon on a Wednesday, but it’s raining so work ends early.

Lucas takes the train home happily, not even caring that he’s drenched because he’d forgotten to bring an umbrella. He stops on the way to the apartment to buy a small bouquet of tulips from a nearly rained-out vendor; there’s not that many people out given the weather and the time of day, but Lucas sees this guy all the time here selling flowers and he’s got a soft spot for him. Besides, now he’s got someone to give them to.

Sarah.

He’s not foolish enough to think that she’s the only reason he’s happy today. He’s an upbeat guy for the most part. What’s not to like? His life is going pretty great: he has a job he doesn’t hate, his friends and family are healthy, he lives in a great city.

But obviously, there’s been a shift in his relationship with Sarah, and the impact of this has been indescribable. Lucas knows he’s always kind of had his head in the clouds. But now that Sarah and him are a real Sarah-and-him, he’s basically living his life on the moon.

He lets himself into the apartment and can see by a pair of still-drying flats by the door that Sarah’s home, too. That fact prompts a smile. “Honey!” he calls out, channeling his inner Fred Flintstone. “I’m home!”

Sarah pops her head around the corner. “Hey, you’re home early!” she remarks. She’s in the kitchen, like usual, but she drops her offset spatula to come greet him. She stops short of a hug and exclaims, “Oh Lucas, you’re soaked!”

Lucas looks at her innocently. “I maybe didn’t look at the forecast before I left for work this morning. But here!” He thrusts the tulips at her.

She smiles at the flowers, takes them, and sets them in the kitchen. “Lucas, you’re too much.”

“People have been saying that my whole life, babe.” He unlaces his work boots and slips them off. “Now come, give me a hug.” He opens his arms but she declines, pointing at the puddle that’s following him. Lucas shrugs and gathers her up in his arms anyway, chuckling as she squeals and pushes at him.

“Lucas,” she whines. “These are clean clothes.”

That makes him laugh. “Your finest sweatpants,” he teases, tilting her head up to kiss her. She tastes like chocolate fries; clearly, it’s going to be a good night.

“Don’t mock my sweatpants.” Sarah gives him a cross look but she squeezes his biceps, so he knows she’s not actually mad. He flexes them, winking at her.

He’s noticed over the past two weeks that they’ve been more-than-friends that Sarah’s got a bit of a thing for his arms. He’s not complaining; he’s spent a lot of hours hauling heavy things around and occasionally lifting weights with Lemuel, and it’s nice to have someone appreciate it.

Lucas decides to take advantage of this fact by peeling off his soaked t-shirt. Sarah bites her bottom lip as her eyes fall across his chest. “Oh come on, Lucas, now you’ve got me all confused.”

“What?” he exclaims, laughing. He steps away from her and turns the light to the oven on so he can see what she’s baking. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re dripping water all over the floor so I want you to go change, but now I also want to make out.”

“Ah. The eternal dilemma.” Lucas winks at her, flips the oven light off, and stamps a kiss on her mouth. “Luckily we can have both. Come on.”

Sarah looks between him and the timer on the oven. “My cookies will be done in two minutes,” she says. “Go change and I’ll come as soon as I can take them out.”

Lucas flashes her a faux-offended look. “Wow, Sarah,” he says, shaking his head. “Glad to see where your priorities are.”

She nods at him, looking serious. “Yes, Lucas. Always cookies first.”

He laughs and goes to his bedroom, picking up his wet t-shirt along the way. He discards both it and his soaked pants in the laundry, then pulls a clean pair of jeans and one of his oldest t-shirts on. He plops his beanie on top of his dresser to dry out and makes a half-hearted attempt to fix his hair before he gives up and lays on his bed.

It still feels a little odd to be here, waiting for his gorgeous, too-good-for-him roommate to come in so they can make out. Lucas can’t believe that out of all of the guys in London, he’s the lucky asshole that’s with Sarah. It’s only been two weeks since she’d kissed him in Reading, but they’re definitely among the better two weeks of his life. Until now, he doesn’t think that he’d been truly aware of how much of his energy had been taken up by thinking about Sarah, worrying about Sarah, and dreaming about Sarah. He still thinks about her, still worries about her, still dreams about her (more than ever), but now that they’re together, in whatever manner of speaking, there’s an underlying certainty to it all that’s helped him relax about it all.

Sarah comes in after a few minutes. Her casual style hasn’t changed since the shift between them - she still spends most of her time in loose dresses, sweatpants, jeans, and t-shirts - but now that he’s got more of an idea of what’s underneath it all, Lucas has really come to appreciate it a lot more. He loves her sweatpants, the way they fit her round ass, how they cuff at her ankles, and how it’s so easy to slip his hand inside of them. He likes her shirts, too; there’s always been a delicious stretch across her chest, but now he’s intimately familiar with the soft, sensitive skin beneath, the sharp point of her waist, her curvy hips. And she’s so unassuming about it all, sometimes still so shy when he takes her shirt off. He can’t understand how she doesn’t realize what she does to him.

Today, though, she seems a little more confident. Lucas likes when she’s in this mood, when her chin is high and her chest is proud. Sarah climbs onto the bed, bites her lip, and straddles him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, just watches her with a smile as she appraises him.

“You put a shirt on,” she observes.

“You told me to go change!”

Sarah leans forward slightly, her hips tilting against his, and runs her hands up his abdomen to his shoulder. “You could’ve left that off.”

Lucas leans up to meet her and catches her mouth in a kiss. “I’ll remember that for next time,” he murmurs against her lips, his fingers weaving into her loose braid. He trails his other hand up her back delicately, then presses his knuckles against the spot where he knows she always develops stress knots.

Sarah groans at the sensation and breaks the kiss, dropping her face into his neck. “Lucas, holy hell,” she breathes. “God, I love your hands.”

He laughs softly at that. She’s told him before, but he’ll never tire of hearing the things she loves about him. She loves his arms, loves his hands, god she loves his hands, loves how strong he is. His eyes are pretty, he’s got a nice ass, his ADD stresses her out but it’s endearing, too. Lucas wants to hear it all, all the time.

He slides a hand down and grips her ass, squeezing it as he tugs her against him. “Love touching you,” he tells her, and it’s true. He loves her perfect little body under his hands, from her soft stomach to her smooth legs to her pale neck. He loves the way her breasts just spill out of his large palms, how her hips sometimes buck when he gropes at her ass, and how warm she is around his fingers when his hand moves inside her underwear.

The last one is fairly new. He and Sarah had agreed to take it slow, and aside from a handful of times when they’d almost thrown that out the window, they’ve tried to stick to it. It’s been difficult: he lives with the girl that he’s pretty sure he’s in love with, and she’s funny and sexy and around all the time. Lucas’s always been more of a throw-caution-to-the-wind type of guy, always leaped in with both feet before looking. It’s just who he is. But Sarah’s a planner, a thinker. She likes to analyse before reaching a point of no return.

Which is kind of foolish, Lucas thinks, because he’s almost certain that they reached that point two months after moving into her apartment.