Treble Clef IPA // Roleplay With Eris

"I don't mean to be rude," he mumbled as he walked over to the door inside of the garages. Baylee's voice was….gentle. Sweet, even. He could tell his words had a different affect on her than he anticipated, and he couldn't help but feel bad. "I just…this isn't somethin' I usually do, y'know? A little out of my comfort zone."

He fished out the same key that he used to unlock the garage and slipped it into the deadbolt, unlocking the door with a bit of jimmying.

"I can go get you some clothes from the little corner store down the street if you need 'em," he offered as he pushed the door open.

Mila chuckled, following Baylee into his home. "You and me both." She said lightly, a slight smile making the last few minutes of awkwardness a little joke between the two of them. It was warm enough so that she was able to relax a little, but she still unconsciously huddled close to Baylee, unsure of her surroundings. Blinking against the darkness, Mila patted her duffle. "No need! I should have some comfy clothes in here."

A light flicked on, revealing the room. Neat and tidy, Mila was standing towards the edge of his living room with a kitchen just beyond. She took a few steps further in, toeing her boots so one slipped off and then the other before she stepped onto his carpet. With a gentle sweep of a purple socked foot, her boots were neatly pushed out of the way. Mila was incredibly curious, leaning this way and that, but remained by Baylee. She figured it was rude to pry. She did make a soft noise of approval though, right before she realized that they were alone.

"My room's thataway," Baylee said, gesturing to a door on their left, "Living room's straight ahead, same with the kitchen, and to your right is the bathroom without the shower."

He, of course, didn't even notice the fact. Alone, with 20 people, his facial expressions, body language, and attitude didn't change. Well…that is, until Mila came around. Yeah, sure, he was alone with her, but he wasn't the type of person to take advantage of that fact. He was going to give her as much space as she wanted and see that she was as comfortable as he could possibly make her. Gentleman shit.

"The fridge is open if you get hungry," he continued, choosing to keep his shoes on as he walked for the living room. There were three things in the open space: A wall mounted TV, a recliner directly in front of it, and a love seat on the wall to the left of the screen. Neat and orderly, as always with Baylee. "And other than that, you're free to roam."

She nodded along, eyes bright, unconsciously following him as he stepped through his house. Mila didn't notice until she walked smack into Baylee, her entire front bumping into his side as he turned to look at her, probably wondering why she was following him. "Crap–uh sorry." She reached up to rub her forehead, the spot where she'd hit it against his shoulder a bit pink. It matched the blush working it's way up her face from her chest and neck.

"I'll go change." She said, about facing and marching back to the door he indicated as him room. It was as tidy and sparse as the rest of the home. A bed against one wall–the one she was to sleep in. Mila had to admit that it did look cozy. Two doors lined the other wall, closet and other bathroom she assumed. Shucking her jacket, she dropped her duffle on the bed. Mila took a moment to collect her thoughts, stressing about her stupid car, and about what other stupid antics she could expect from stupid Jacob. She kept her thoughts firmly away from the man she could hear moving about in the other room.

It was all of a minute before she realized that her duffle–her trusty duffle–was empty of her spare clothes. "Of all the tings to forget on laundry day, Mila." She chastised herself, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Oh well, she supposed that she could sleep in her jeans and tshirt, despite the fact that they reeked of bar–alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. "Ugh." Mila moaned, uncovering her eyes. Her gaze landed on what she assumed was the closet door and a thought slid into her mind. He wouldn't mind…would he? He had offered to get her clothes, what about borrowing them? Better to ask forgiveness than permission, Mila figured as she strode through the thin door.

About five minutes later, Mila emerged from Baylee's room, clad in a rather large black tshirt. It could of passed as a dress on her, but she still tugged on the hem that tickled her bare thighs as she stepped back into the living room. "I–uh–hope you don't mind. Turns out I didn't have my spare set with me…"

Baylee was sitting in his recliner, a glass of water in his right hand. At the sound of Mila walking, he turned his head, the light from the TV casting an odd shadow across the left side of his face. The first thing he looked at were her eyes, making obvious eye contact. Then he glanced downward and realized why she was saying what she said. His eyes immediately went back to her face.

"Yeah, it's all good," he said, turning back to the TV and taking a sip of water. He wasn't about to look her up and down. She was in a stranger's home, wearing his shirt and almost nothing else. Other men would've tried to sneak a peak of her, but not him. She had to deal with that enough at the bar.

A sigh that seemed to come from the very tips of her toes shuddered through Mila's tiny form. "Thanks." She said softly, genuine gratitude in every line of her face. She padded further into the room, each step casually graceful and silent, still wearing her purple socks. Deciding against raiding his kitchen, despite the slight pains of hunger that were making themselves known, Mila curled up on the loveseat, tucking her legs beneath her. "Aren't you tired?" She inquired, eyes flashing to the clock that read just past 3am. A night owl herself, she felt wide awake.

"I typically don't sleep when I have the night shift," he admitted, turning the TV down so that he could hear her better. His attention was solely on her when she spoke, a right that almost no one else had. His eyes shone with genuine interest now every time she started speaking and his scowl slowly came undone the more she spoke.

She shivered slightly in the cold room, making him frown. She barely has anything on. He wasn't turned on by that thought. Instead, he was concerned.

"Gimme a second, búp bê," he said, the nickname becoming so familiar he didn't even have to think about it. He stood up from his chair and walked into his room, rummaging around for a bit before returning with a thick woolly blanket. He walked over and wrapped it around her shoulders, his face only inches away when she leaned forward so that he could slip the blanket behind her.

"Feeling better, or do I need to get ya another one?" he asked, stepping back and scratching the bridge of his nose.

Mila pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, relaxing further into the warmth. "No, this is wonderful. Thank you." Seems she was doing a lot of thanking tonight. She was going to have to do something to make it up to him. In her book, words were simply not enough.

Baylee nodded and began to turn away, but Mila reached out to grasp his hand. "Hey wait–" God his hand was warm. Unintentionally, she squeezed his fingers against her own. "What does that mean? Those words you've said to me a few times tonight? I would try to say it but–I really don't want to butcher it…" She trailed off, chuckling.

"What, búp bê?" he asked, wincing slightly. She had grabbed his bruised hand, but he wasn't about to pull it away. In fact, the feeling of her hand in his was quite…nice, actually. Maybe just having physical contact with her was nice. "It means 'doll.' You have really pretty eyes, and they reminded me of a doll's, but I didn't want it to seem creepy."

She hadn't been expecting that answer. Not at all. It was obvious from the way Mila looked down and off to the side, her entire face warming. Her hand squeezed Baylee's for a second time before releasing. "That's very sweet of you." She paused, considering her next words. "I really like it actually." How best to make sure she didn't accidentally reveal the truth that she had never had someone call her something along the lines of 'endearing'? Mila couldn't think of anything more to say that wasn't entirely lame, so she just looked back up at Baylee. Those eyes he appreciated shining in the faint light from the TV.

Baylee returned to his recliner, easing into the seat to make sure he wasn't too rough. The thing was cheap, and if he just plopped into it he was afraid of breaking it. The lever that actually extended the legs didn't even work, so it was more of a padded chair than anything else.

"You hungry?" he asked, slumping into the seat, making sure to not get too comfortable in case she said yes.

(Eeep, it's short, ik)

(no worries–its a casual series of moments.)

Her stomach rumbled, just barely, making Mila wrap her blanket tighter around herself to cover up the sound. "I can wait until tomorrow. It's no big deal." She waved her hand dismissively. "I had some nachos at the bar. You know the ones that cause cardiac arrest? I think I'll be alright." With that her cheeky grin reappeared.

They both sat in silence for a while. 15 or 20 minutes suddenly felt like 2 or 3 hours while the TV droned on monotonously. Baylee couldn't help but feel….off. Like he was doing something wrong. He was trying his best to make her as comfortable as he could, yet she still looked completely out of her element on his couch. He didn't realize it was because she was sitting on her crush's couch, wrapped up in his blanket while dressed in only his shirt right in front of him.

"Am…I doin' something wrong?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the TV. The feeling would just get worse if he looked over at her. "You seem really….uncomfortable."

Mila jumped at the sound of Baylee's voice. He hadn't shouted, the exact opposite actually. The soft tones soothing against the harshness of the tv, yet she had still jumped almost out of her skin. And here she had thought she was being sneaky. He wasn't doing anything wrong, Mila was just hyper aware that she was in postion that she never would have though she'd be in when she woke up this afternoon. In a dark room with a man that she was certainly attracted to, no matter how much she wanted to deny it, practically naked. Much to her surprise, Baylee seemed to be just as hyper aware of her, as she was of him.

"Oh no!" Why did her voice sound like that? "I'm just–I'm sorry about earlier and about all this. I feel really guilty." It wasn't a lie, if it was sort of the truth right? "But I am really thankful as well. I–I don't know how to repay you." Finally she peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He seemed to tense up the more she spoke.

"You don't need to repay nothin', Mila," he said, his scowl replaced with a look of confusion. He seemed just as uncomfortable as Mila was, his hands gripping the armrests tightly as he spoke. "It wasn't that big of a deal. Anyone else woulda done the same thing."

God, he needed a drink. Or seven. Anything to make this interaction less awkward. He felt like he was back in 6th grade, talking to his first crush. Except the crush was half-naked on his couch.

All thoughts derailed has his voice curled around her name. A little taste of his accent made her name sound exotic, Mila would have melted right then and there if the both of them weren't as tense as wires.

"Well– I suppose…" The words were oh so soft, as if she were worried that he would become angry with her should she speak any louder. Why couldn't she explain it? Just spit out the words so he would understand? She couldn't be in his debt, others had taken advantage of that many times before now. A little voice warned her that Baylee wasn't like that. His nice nature was genuine, he wasn't going to turn around and snap it back. But did she really trust it?

Looking at him fully, he was already gazing at her, confusion softening his features and she got the sense that he had a little understanding of her struggle. Yes. She trusted him.

"We need something to drink," he grunted, pushing himself off of the chair and rubbing his face. That red tint was back, stronger than ever. He was loosing his calm and he didn't like it at all. "This shit's gonna make me go khùng."

Baylee walked over and offered his hand to help her onto her feet. Would he be distracted by what she was wasn't wearing?…No, he wouldn't. That's not the way he was feeling about her right now.

Mila tilted her head to the side, her face obscured from the light of the tv by Baylee's body, effectively hiding her own tinted features. "What's 'khùng'?" She asked, mouth awkwardly forcing the word out. She was right, she had butchered the word, but still she smiled smugly as she took his extended hand. Mila opted to keep the blanket with her as they stepped toward the kitchen. she would have let go of his hand, but Baylee seemed content to keep on holding hers, and like hell she was going to disagree with that. His hand was warm.

"It means crazy," he said, running a hand over the stubble on the top of his head/ How was holding her hand more comfortable than just sitting there talking to her? His brain worked in some fucking strange ways.

The kitchen had no table in it, instead having an island smack dab in the center with (fittingly) bar stools circling the entire way around. It had a very bachelor vibe to it.

"What type of drink are you looking for?" Baylee asked, walking over to the fridge and picking the half-full bottle of red wine from the top.

Despite him trailing around the kitchen, he didn't let go of her hand. Mila was like his tiny shadow. She wasn't even sure he had noticed he was so focused on whatever he was thinking. "I'll have a glass of that." She said, nodding to the bottle of wine he was holding. "Three AM is not a good time to be taking shots or having hard liquor." She said reasonably, leaving out that it was only people with bad intentions and less than holy thoughts that drank like that.

Mila, regrettably, had to let go in order to sit down, but she stayed, debating. If she stayed any longer holding his hand like this, it would become obvious which way her heart swayed. Or hormones. Whichever. Because crushes were just momentary. Right? Clearing her throat, Mila pulled her hand gently away and situated herself on a barstool. Taking a moment to rewrap her blanket around herself.

"I'll get up early tomorrow and get you some clothes," he said setting the wine down on the island. A turn to the left and he opened up a cabinet, pulling out two small wine glasses. "You can keep the shirt, though. If you want it."

He poured out the wine about half-way in each cup, then corked the wine and set it back on top of the fridge. He began spinning the wine glass slightly, aerating the wine the way only a bartender would know how. Doing so exposes more of the wine to the oxygen in the air and improves its taste.

"Y'know, I never got your phone number." The words slipped from his lips before he even realized what he was saying. Seriously, Baylee? Now was not the fucking time for that! He hid his embarrassment behind a long sip of wine.

(added wine facts because I'm a sommelier? 10/10)

"Baylee– I'm sure I can wear my dirty clothes while you drive me back to my place tomorrow." Mila said, giving him a pointed look over the rim of her wine glass. It wasn't unkind, super playful actually. Especially, the way her dark brow arched over her blues.

She took a sip, only to have it almost come out of her nose in surprise. Her nervousness tipped over the edge and a hand clapped over her nose and mouth as she coughed. "Oh–" Another cough. "I'm so sorry." One more cough and her voice was a little hoarse. "I'm honestly not this stupid." Mila chuckled, and then was full blown laughing within a moment. The sound cheery and tinkling off the kitchen tiles. "This has been quite a night. Forgive me?"

Baylee smiled back, although it was through another sip of his wine. "To be honest, búp bê, I think it's incredible that you're awake enough to even be having this conversation with me. Between the singing, the drinking, the hassling, and Jacob, I figured you would've been asleep the moment you got here."

He scooted over to her slightly, able to do so since he hadn't sat down yet. Was flirting always this awkward, or did some higher power decide to fuck with them today. "I'm sorry that I acted so cold in the bar. It just comes with the job. After dealing with the same damn people for so long, you get pretty testy."

"Trust me I'm exhausted. But I couldn't possibly sleep right now, not when–" Not when I could be talking to you all night. Mila blinked, swallowing another gulp of her drink. "–wheeeeen there's wine!" She finished lamely. From Baylee's dubious look she knew that he didn't believe for a second that was what she really wanted to say. She blushed into her next sip, not giving him the chance to ask her what was really on her mind.

"You don't have to apologize for that." Mila tilted her head again as she studied him. She was still smiling a little, which only grew the more she looked into those green eyes. Only for a second did her eyes dart to his lips. A bad second. They just looked so soft. His smile, now that he wasn't hiding it, was a knock out. "I can only imagine what drama and nonsense you accidentally get pulled into, especially in a town like this." What was she saying? She had lost track.

"Wine…..right," he said, giving her a dubious look. Whatever she'd planned on saying, she completely bailed on it, making him wonder what it actually was, "I think you should get some sleep after you finish your drink. You drank a decent amount tonight, and staying up will do nothin' but make your headache worse."

Notice how he said "she" and not "them." He didn't plan on sleeping tonight, or tomorrow. For most people, sleep was an escape from the real world. For him, it only made the real world worse. Nightmares came to him early and often, and he didn't want to have that happen with a guest in his home. Especially if that guest was Mila.

Mila immediately put her glass down, she was more than halfway through with it and wanted to make it last. There was really no use arguing with Baylee about when she should sleep. She truly was exhausted. Not to mention she was going to need a decent amount of rest to deal with the shitstorm the next day was going to be. So yea, Mila would go to bed when she was done with her glass, but that didn't mean it had to be anytime soon.

"Headache smeadache." She said, the teasing lit in her voice letting him know that she actually was going to take his advice. Mila tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, looking down at the wine glass that she was now holding between both of her hands. Releasing the blanket had made it sag around her forearms, but she wasn't the slightest bit cold now. "What about you? Won't you rest? You are the one that delivered the beat down."

"Like I said, I don't sleep after working the night shift," he said, taking a long drag from his cup. Maybe if he drunk enough of this shit he wouldn't have to worry about a nightmare. And it was wine, man. Not as bad as beer, right…..? No, he thought, suddenly pissed at himself, you ain't ending up like mom. "Besides, one punch ain't shit. I'll be fine." I hope.

Mila frowned slightly. She hadn't thought Baylee was serious when he said that he didn't sleep at all. And he was griping about her sleeping habits? Internally, Mila harrumphed, but decided to keep her nagging to herself. He was a grown man, he didn't need her buzzing about him. "You are–" Fine as hell. God dammit she really needed to stop drinking. "–nice." Mila made a face, horrified at her own lameness. She turned away, swallowing a mouthful of wine to disguise her annoyance. Unfortunately, this finished off her glass. Why couldn't this be easy? "I can look at your hand tomorrow morning if it still bothers you."

"Sounds fine," he said, gently taking the empty glass from her hand and setting it into the sink. He paused to knock back the rest of his own before setting his glass in there as well. "But I doubt you'll have to worry. If it was hurt bad, I wouldn't be able to move it."

Baylee turned to her and smiled slightly. For once, his face seemed relaxed. Maybe it was the wine in his system. "G'night, búp bê. I'll see you in the morning."