Art entered the dressing room strikingly illuminated by the white lightbulbs that came from the mirror. A small smile painted on his lips as he took your hand, leading you to him as he took a seat on the bench in front of the mirror. His hands trail from your sides down to your waist, humming at the feeling of your warm skin under the fabric.

The two of you had met through one of the various dating apps that everyone seemed to use nowadays. Art only joined after being pestered and pressured by Patrick ”get himself out there” after the rough divorce with Tashi. Well, rough for him, more like, she didn’t seem as much at a loss as he did.

He honestly thought that he would’ve never been with anyone again, but once he had matched with you, all pessimism was thrown out the window.

He’d initially been worried about him being too much. Art’s dependency and neediness was prominent. He was always in a constant need of reassurance, something that had only worsened after his divorce. But he luckily didn’t scare you away, if anything he thought you loved it.

He was so much older than you too—you were still attending college classes for christ’s sake. But he never saw it corrupt in the way that any outsiders would. You deserved the best, someone with experience, no lousy boy your age is going to treat you the way you should be treated.

It’s why he handles you the way he does, in a such gentle way you think he’d be holding glass instead of your waist. His legs part to allow you to step in-between them as he pulls you closer. He lets his thumb run over the black lace that adorned your hips.

“Do you like it?” He asked softly, shamelessly letting his eyes roam across you. The corner of his lips twitch up once he saw you nod, smile faltering once he saw you reach for the price tag. His hand covers yours, tearing it away from the tag to press his lips against the back of your hand. “Don’t worry about that.” He says in a low voice, his eyes gleaming as he stares up at you.