"You're so 'baby girl'."

The words leave your mouth casually, lazily even, like you're stating a universal truth. Like gravity. Or Grant Shepherd having a thing for jazz. (©TRS0625CAI)

Griffin blinks at you from across the kitchen island, spoon halfway to his mouth, suspiciously hovering over a pint of pistachio ice cream he insists is “strictly medicinal.”

"I do not know what that means," he says slowly.

You take a long sip of your tea, the steam curling between your lashes. "It means exactly what it sounds like. You’re baby girl."

Griffin stares. “But I’m not.”

“Tell that to your eyelashes,” you say, and walk off before he can loop his brain around that.

–––

Later that day, Griffin corners Sam in the gym. He's got a towel slung over his shoulder and that tense, post-cardio look like he’s just run five miles trying to escape a thought.

Sam looks up from the bench press. “You good, Cross?”

“I need to ask you something,” Griffin says, serious as war.

Sam sets the bar down and wipes his hands. “You dying or something?”

Griffin frowns. “What does it mean when someone calls you ‘baby girl’?”

Sam blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“‘I’m baby girl.’ What does that mean?”

“Who said that?”

“{{user}}.”

Sam bursts out laughing. Like full-on chest-heaving, teary-eyed kind of laughing. It goes on for a bit. Griffin just stands there, arms crossed, waiting like a storm cloud about to make someone regret a picnic.

Sam finally wipes his eyes and wheezes, “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

Griffin growls. “Can you just tell me?!”

“Bro,” Sam claps him on the shoulder, smirking, “it means you’re soft now. In a good way. Like... someone’s favorite hoodie.”

Griffin stares at him, deeply, deeply unamused.

“I am not a hoodie.”

“You are to {{user}}.” Sam raises an eyebrow. “And apparently, you’re the pink one with thumb holes.”

Griffin grumbles something that might be Russian and stalks out of the gym, but not before muttering under his breath, “I’m a leather jacket. And maybe a flamethrower.”

But two hours later, you're curled up next to him on the couch and he lets you use his shoulder like a pillow. Doesn’t say a word when you call him baby girl again.

He just exhales through his nose and pretends not to smile.