Chapter Text
Garrett rolled over and kicked the sheets down. His thoughts ran wild as he replayed every small interaction he had ever had with Hannah. The way her smile came easy although she pretended it needed to be hard won. The way she tucked her hair behind her ears. He wanted to be her ear, holding her soft brown hair off her face. Wanted to be her ear! He was down bad and he knew it. Garrett knew if he continued to think like this his thoughts would turn to his favorite thing about Hannah: the way she was always subconsciously making music. She would quietly sing to herself while flipping through class notes, or hum a tune--original or otherwise--while scrolling through Instagram.
Garrett realized that Hannah wasn’t consciously doing this when he once commented how he liked the song she was humming and Hannah looked confused in the most precious way. With a questioning smile she cocked her head and asked “what song?” and looked for the source of music. Garrett was pleased that he had learned this secret about Hannah, her little self-soothing musician’s quirk. Expect it wasn’t just self-soothing.
Ever since Garrett had found Hannah’s Instagram and overheard her singing in the green room he was obsessed with her voice. He listened to her singing on Instagram more times than he would like to admit. Before a game, after a game, before class, sometimes in the bathroom during class, after a shower, after waking up, and always always before going to bed.
But Garrett could tell his feelings were outpacing Hannah’s. She looked at him like a dumb jock--well an attractive dumb jock. He had caught glimpses of himself in his bedroom mirror while they studied philosophy and realized his love sick puppy dog eyes were getting out of control. So Garrett resolved to go cold turkey and stop listening to Hannah sing. He had gone as far as deleting Instagram off his phone. But this was the second night in a row of restless sleep and he wanted to hear her voice so bad it was making his chest ache.
A devious thought echoed around the room: I could record one of our tutoring sessions.
Of course. That would be innocent enough, right?
No, Hannah would think it was weird, recording suddenly after not having done so.
Garrett smiled to himself and closed his eyes, dreaming of unethical but totally necessary ways to record Wellsy.
_______
Hannah raised her hand to knock at the hockey house door but remembered their “walk-ins welcome” rule. The door was always unlocked, a lovely bit of male privilege Hannah noted as she reached for the door knob. The living room should have smelled like stale beer and boy hormones but thanks to Tucker’s responsibility, the house smelled like clean laundry and lemon. Tucker popped his head in from the kitchen, “Just Hannah!” he shouted aimlessly and the stairs creaked as Garrett started to descend. He knew it was Hannah, he had been watching out of the window since she texted she was on her way.
“Wellsy.” He acknowledged her with a short nod.
“Graham.”
Hannah untucked her hair from behind her ears, a sign she was trying to cover a blush. Whatever personal feelings Hannah might have towards Garrett, the power of sex appeal was clearly stronger.
Hannah briefly hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, and Garrett thought she was going to suggest studying in the kitchen since it seemed that only Tucker was around, but to his relief she started her ascent.
“So who will you torture with me with today? More Nietzsche? You know I KANT stand him!”
“Very funny Graham.” Hannah’s voice was dry but Garrett knew she was fighting a smile. “I have a hard stop in an hour, okay? I need to work on my song for the showcase, I think I might have had a small stroke of inspiration.”
Garrett stood in front of his room feeling oddly excited. His phone was already recording, sitting on his dresser. Hannah was surely going to be in the mood to sing to herself today.
“Fine, I have plans later anyways.” Garrett said from the doorframe.
“Right, plans.” Hannah gave him a suggestive look.
Garrett felt his face grow hot, suddenly embarrassed by his womanizer reputation. “Right well, while you get yourself settled I’m going to get a coke. Do you want one?”
Hannah looked up from the bed where she was sitting pulling her laptop out. Garrett felt his heart rate inch higher. It felt like slow motion, her big eyes batting, pink spreading across her cheeks and nose, a smile fighting its way onto her lips. And of course, Garrett could not resist the small peak at her chest where a tantalizing hint of cleavage was promised by her v-neck.
“Sure, thanks.”
Get a grip, Graham, he thought to himself as he headed towards the kitchen. His mind flipped back to his phone sitting on the dresser, casually, innocently.
Hannah shook her head as if to shake away the giddy feeling she knew was present on her face. Her blush always betrayed her. Garrett was her fake boyfriend. Fake! She felt embarrassed by how often she needed to remind herself about that. Even when she tried to imagine Justin, his dark curls would slowly morph into Garrett’s. It was becoming dangerous, this little deal of theirs. All the hand holding and locking eyes across the room was getting her wires crossed. It was Justin that was the end goal here, not this hockey player notorious for never committing.
Hannah looked around Graham’s room and started to drum her fingers on her unopened laptop. The pop show case was still a bit away but Hannah wanted to strike while the iron was hot. Today in the shower she had strung together a turn of phrase that was intriguing. With a deep sigh, Hannah laid back on the bed, gently kicking her legs as they spilled over the side of the bed.
“The girl I used to be, the girl I am….” she sang out loud. Ugh, it felt too personal. The show case was a bad idea all together, writing lyrics when one has a secret is too tricky. It could reveal too much.
Garrett stood just outside the doorway, two cold coke cans in hand. He could hear Hannah’s warm voice meandering into the hall. She was signing, “the girl I used to be, the girl I am, the girl I am” over and over in different voices. She tried country, she tried operatic, she lowered the octave, she raised the octave, she sang like Ariana, she sang like Lana. Garrett tried not to breathe, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was getting with his secret recording. He shifted and the floor creaked.
Hannah’s voice stopped and he heard her weight shift on the bed.
“Garrett?”
“A coke for my illustrious tutor.” He said with a short bow.
Hannah laughed and reached for the offered drink. She noticed that Garrett liked to be silly, when there was no pretense and just the two of them.
“Well I won’t torture you with Nietzche or Kant today, but maybe we can we can talk a little Marx?”
“Seize the means of production and all that?”
“Indeed.”
Garrett sat next to Hannah, the mattress giving under their combined weight. His leg was brushing hers. Studying on the bed was not conducive to memorizing philosophy but it was for memorizing Hannah’s profile and little movements. The way her brows furrowed as she tried to explain a difficult concept, or how she rolled her highlighter between her fingers while she listened to Garrett’s questions.
She was pulling up a class reading on her laptop, the illuminated screen between them, balancing on Garrett’s right thigh and her left. Her wrist was resting near his hip as she scrolled through Canvas to find the article.
Garrett pressed his shoulder against hers, under the guise of looking dutifully at the screen. He could smell her perfume--Glossier You, he had checked the last time he studied at her dorm. Garrett was very aware of Hannah’s breath, which had slowed like she was holding it. Her hand was frozen over the laptop, and she was watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Garrett could feel a hot anticipation running down his stomach. Her wrist was embarrassingly close to his groin. He refused to take his eyes off the laptop screen, but the awareness of her body next to his was excruciating. Her hair tickled his temple. He wanted to freeze in this moment, to stop time feeling her warmth mixing with his. The bed tugging them ever closer together. Garrett was overcome by his developing crush on Hannah. It was embarrassing, liking someone who didn’t like him back. But this moment, where she didn’t scoot away, or make a joke at his expense, gave him a centimeter, a crumb of hope that maybe she might like him back.
Hannah logically wanted to pull away, to tell Garrett to take a big step back, but she was deliriously aware of his bicep slightly flexed against her arm. His muscular thigh under the laptop, her wrist resting inappropriately on his quad.
She knew if she turned to look at Garrett her resolve would break. She wanted him. She wanted to pull him on top of her and feel his strong back with her bare hands. She wanted to kiss his neck and collar bones. She wanted to open her legs and let him nestle himself between her thighs and moan his name.
I should pull away, she thought, and yet she continued to stay as still as she could, not even pretending to look for the Marx reading on her laptop anymore.
Garrett’s body was screaming for him to either pull back or pull Hannah close. He turned his head slowly towards hers.
“You’re holding your breath.” He whispered, fighting the urge to kiss her. Her lips parted in surprise, “I am?” She asked, finally turning to look at him.
Hannah’s eyes drew a line up Garrett’s body from his forearm to his lips, before locking onto his deep brown eyes. There was no trace of a joke there, only a tender affection that made her feel both safe and scared. Safe because she had always wanted to be looked at like this. Scared because she knew that she was melting for Garrett Graham, and that was not part of the deal.
Garrett let his head lean ever so slightly forward and Hannah’s eyes drifted closed. Their lips were almost touching. Garrett’s nose brushed across Hannah’s jaw, her breath hitching.
A question was burning through Garrett, “Tell me, yes” he said, “please, tell me yes.”
The laptop slipped off their legs and clattered to the ground.
“Shit!” Hannah said, jumping into action to assess the damage.
Garrett looked sheepishly to his phone still recording on the dresser.
“Is your laptop okay?” He asked dumbly.
“I think so.” Hannah wouldn’t meet his gaze, wouldn’t rejoin him on the bed.
“Hannah,” Garrett started, feeling nervous that he had crossed a line.
“Garrett.” She said with a matter of fact tone, a stern look shadowing her eyes. “I just forgot, I-I-I left clothes in the dryer. I need to get back to the dorm.”
Garrett stood, “I’ll drive you,”
“No!” Hannah practically shouted. “No, I rode my bike.”
She quickly packed up her things.
“At least take your coke!” Garrett said lamely, trying to offer the still closed can to Hannah.
“I’m fine!” She said, swinging her backpack over her shoulder.
The backpack hit the edge of the dresser, flinging Garrett’s phone loudly onto the floor.
Jesus Christ, Garrett thought, frantically grabbing for the phone.
But Hannah got there first.
She picked up the phone.
Garrett’s stomach dropped.
She looked down at the screen.
“Uh, Garrett, why the fuck is your phone recording?”