Beware my fearful title!
"Your apartment is really small, how do you manage?” the girl trailed her fingers on the windowsill, glancing at the New York City afternoon outside.
“The cheap rent makes up for it. Do you want anything to drink?” he placed their coats on a hanger and went to the open kitchen, stumbling a little over his feet as he watched her every movement.
She smiled as she turned her head to him exactly when he hit the small step to the kitchen marble. Her brown curls shivered in the movement of her body as she went closer.
“Anything’s fine. Have you come up with anything to bring them together?” she evened her bangs; he forgot the glasses in his left hand.
“Y-yeah, I thought we might-”
“And did you mention you had some of Blaine’s sheets?” her eyes pierced him. Musicophile, he thought. He just couldn’t get away from them.
“On my desk,” he gestured with the glasses at a half-opened door.
With a short hum, she crossed the room and entered his made-up office, giving him enough time to prepare their drinks. They were both adults, a little alcohol wasn’t going to hurt anyone. No, as good as their situation looked, not drinking would’ve been a crime. He sighed and poured plenty orange juice over the red liquid.
“Found it. And this,” she chirped from the doorway and he raised his eyes slowly, calmly, gentlemanly – until he saw her fingers caressing a well-carved piece of wood.
“Rachel…” he started tentatively, getting away from the counter.
She grinned, holding it closer to her lips. “You really kept it.” Her tone was amused, eyes sparkling.
He inhaled, moving carefully. “Rach, give it back…?” at least he tried, even though she shook her head. “Rach…” she took a step back, giggling. “Give me back my gavel!”
He hurried after her laughing figure, circling his living room twice until she stopped in front of him, gavel at her back, couch between them.
“Say please,” she grinned.
“Pleaaase,” he rolled his eyes, getting another set of giggles.