Maybe an MP3 player as a gift wasn't so bad. Prior to giving it to Skips, you imagined ear-bleeding screeching to ring out across your home. But it's been mellow—he seems to enjoy it and called it nostalgic. It's only been a couple of weeks, but he already wants to show you all the songs he's downloaded.

That's how you ended up lying on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, sharing wired earphones. Skips does the same; he's quiet, save for whenever his hand grazes yours and his breath stutters. Since the second incident, he's opted to rest them on his stomach.

His gaze starts flicking over to you when a specific song switches on. He doesn't seem to particularly notice how he's gravitating to you, or how he searches for your reaction during some lyrics. I don't care if you're sick carries out in your ear, before you feel his tentative probing at your arm. Fingers nervously sliding down towards your wrist— vying to hold your hand but not daring to do it himself.