thank you, part 4

December 2087. Vicky Garth is 23, Vale Akiyama is 27.

previously: thank you part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 3.5

*** warnings: very long, NSFW, deliciously gratuitous kissing! ***

Vicky got on the train right away. She apologized profusely to Beau that she needed to take some time out to go to California to see about a boy. 

“How long?” 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Three, ten, twenty days?”

“Hmmm,” Beau mumbled, sounding like she was the biggest flake alive. He was probably already writing up a want ad for her job.

She called her neighbor and asked her to water her plants. Again, this question, “For how long?”

The plants were so dead. May they rest in peace.

There was a sense of urgency. Since Vale was on the verge of begging, she guessed that he felt it, too. All these questions that needed to be answered now and not later. 

The ride was long, but he booked her tickets in the first class car. It had big, spacious windows, personal TVs, and cushy leather recliner seats that still smelled new and not like old sweat and spilled soda. He said, “Can’t have my girl riding in economy.” 

My girl, he called her. It was so sweet that she didn’t dare snark back at him. It had been a really long time since she was anyone’s girl, so if he insisted, she figured she should probably try. 


They were both nervous in turns. He called her several times during the ride.

“You eat dairy, right? Do you eat eggs? Are you allergic to nuts?” He’d been to the store four times. He had to Google how to get mildew off of the shower tile. Then he had to go back to the store for air fresheners because his apartment stunk of bleach.

By the time her train reached California, she was a nervous wreck. What if, after all this, it was weird or awkward or a complete failure? What if she was bad in bed? Or too clingy? Or too distant? What if they fought? What if they got bored of each other? What if it wasn’t fun anymore?


He thought he should bring her something, but he didn’t know what to bring. He knew more now about how she felt, and he was okay with it—fine, happy, even—but how she felt was a little uncertain and scared and probably a few notches cooler than his own feelings for her, so he was trying not to overwhelm her. He promised no panic attacks. She might not be ready for a hug or a kiss. Was he supposed to buy her flowers, or would that be too much or too corny? It occurred to Vale that he’d never bought flowers before for a woman who wasn’t his mom. 

What he brought, in the end, was coffee. She couldn’t have slept very well on the train. And he wasn’t used to waking up this early, so he was tired, too. 


Did she bring enough clothes? Or too many? He didn’t say how long she should stay. “Stay as long as you want,” he said. But how much should she pack? “More than a night,” he said, “I hope.” Which was sweet, but it told her nothing. 

She packed for a week, which seemed reasonable for coming all the way across the country, but what if they hit it off and she didn’t have enough to wear?

Finally, she emerged from the depths of the city to a bright lobby, a homeless man busking on a rickety handmade guitar, and Vale, waiting for her with two coffees. 

“Hey, you,” she said.

“Gingerbread latte or cappuccino?” he asked. 

“Which do you want?”

“No, you pick. I’m more of a green tea kind of guy, anyway.”

“Then why did you buy two coffees?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “I wanted to maximize my chances of buying something you liked.”

He was trying too hard, and it was cute. 


She took the gingerbread, already feeling anxious and jittery. Coffee wouldn’t help. Her stupid hand kept knocking into his. 

“Cheers,” he laughed. “Hey, you’re left-handed, aren’t you? I noticed at Thanksgiving, we kept knocking drinks. I didn’t know if you were trying to hold my hand or just really drunk.” 

“Maybe both?”

Her smile felt tense, like she couldn’t stop if she tried, and it hurt her cheeks. She simultaneously wanted to run away and also wanted to smother him in a bear hug, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually do either of those things. 

If he was stressed out on the phone, he seemed calmer now. And maybe a bit concerned, which was probably her fault. She didn’t know how he got so good at feelings. It must have been his adorable family and a cushy childhood full of love and hugs that made him soft. But Vicky only felt vulnerable since sending him that song, her raw feelings cut out of her wide open heart for him to see, all messy and throbbing and exposed. Would she ever get used to this?

They left the train station and walked out into a cool and sunny California morning. He pulled her suitcase for her, and he rattled on about the neighborhood. He talked more to fill her stunned silence.  

It was weird. It was ruined. It wasn’t what it was before. She didn’t think she’d ever managed to say so few words to him in her life. She didn’t know how to be with him anymore. There was nothing in her brain. No snark, no crass jokes. Except one thought… 

On the phone, if she ever thought about biting his pants off with her teeth, it was no big deal. It wasn’t like she could actually do it. But here, now, his pants were within reach, so close. Her stupid, clumsy hand kept knocking into his butt, and she worried he’d think she meant it. She did mean it, of course, in a completely accidental way. 

Although, the biting off of pants, as an exact scenario, was probably not realistic. Could one really undo a buckle with teeth? A zipper? Maybe then shimmy down one side, then the other. Boxers, though, she was fully confident she could make those disappear with just her teeth! But the jeans? Probably he wouldn’t mind if she tried it sometime. Call it an experiment for science.


“Wait.” He stopped walking. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Fine! Totally!” 

“You seem, um, preoccupied. What are you thinking?”

“Oh, boy.” She laughed, feeling her heart beat out of chest. “I can’t. But I’ll tell you later. I promise.”


He let them into his apartment, and she closed the door behind her. It was quiet. It smelled nice, although she could detect the very faintest hint of bleach. He rolled her suitcase aside, and they stood facing each other. Smiling, silent.

“Don’t be nervous, okay?” he said. “It’s just us, right?” 

He was right. She tried to ease into the truth that he already liked her, for whatever reasons he did. He said so in words. He wasn’t subtle or unsure. She needed for him to like her to the point of begging. She needed as little chance for rejection as humanly possible. It made things easier. As much of a wreck as she still was, she didn’t think she could even be here otherwise.


“I’m not nervous. I mean, I am—but it’s okay, because I know what’s wrong. I think I just need you to kiss me.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded.

“Are you ready to have your mind blown?”

She giggled. He waited, drawing their bodies slowly closer. He was joking, but he was also completely serious. He was about to blow her mind and wanted to know if she was ready for this?

He took her waist in one hand, finding the curve of her body underneath her bulky sweater. His hands felt familiar somehow, even though he’d never touched her like that before. 

“I’m ready,” she said. “Yes, ready.” 




The kiss was sweet to start, more tender than she expected. But this was no simple peck on the lips. His hand slid up her back, pressing her chest to his. He took the job very seriously. It was spontaneous and playful and genuine. It was like him, like her. It was familiar and delightful.   

But the kiss soon grew thirstier. She lost all her nerves, and likewise, lost all restraint, kissing him back with equal intensity. Hands all over, lips and tongues and teeth. They kissed like they wanted to drink each other alive. They kissed for an eternity. They kissed all their nerves out.



“Wow,” she whispered when their lips finally parted.

“Wow to you, too,” he said. “I should have known you could kiss like that.”

“Me?” 

“Yeah, you. You’re a volcano girl.” 

“Sorry, I guess I got a little carried away.”

“No, don’t be sorry. You can get carried away any time you want.”

“Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” she said. “It was making me nervous, so I just thought…”

“Totally sensible approach.”

It all felt right again, but different. They weren’t ruined. They were better.


He didn’t let go of her hand. He stroked tiny circles on her palm with his thumb. Her heart line, but he wouldn’t know that. She turned his hands over, running her fingers over his lines, amusing herself about their hidden secrets.  

“What does it say? Am I gonna die next week?”

“No, the lines can’t tell you that, but I bet you’ll live to be a cantankerous old man. But this one, here, says that you surround yourself with people but don’t let very many close. This one says you’re determined, energetic, and curious. But you know this is cheating, right—I know too much about you already.” 

“Then what does yours say?”

“Well, this line is fractured in two. It means I can’t decide what to do with myself, and it’ll probably be more than one thing. And see how this line has notches intersecting it? It’s supposed to mean big events, upsets, or revelations. Like before and after. But none of that ever happened to me, just one long tired mess.”

He said, “Before the mess and after?”

“Maybe.”

She didn’t feel nervous anymore.


“So, do you want to see the rest of the apartment,” he asked. “Or do you just want to hang out here in the hallway the whole time?”

“I mean, I can’t say it wasn’t fun here,” she said. “This has to be the best time I’ve ever had standing in a hallway.”

It was the first time she’d seen his new place. Two bedrooms and enough extra space for a whole studio. A year ago, he was bragging about his first big gig—the New Year’s Eve party—and now he had all of this. She wondered if he realized how fast his life was taking off, and what part was she supposed to play in that?  

“First, the bathroom is right here.”

“You didn’t say the tile was brown. How dirty was it that you needed bleach?”

“You probably don’t wanna know. It’s clean now, that’s all that matters.”

“Okay, let’s go with that.”


He made up the guest bedroom for her and carried her bags inside. 

“I didn’t pick the color,” he said. “It was like this when I moved in.” 

“Wow, that is very green. And you want me to sleep in here?”

 
“Well,” he shrugged with a smirk, “You can sleep wherever you want, but I’m not trying to assume anything.”

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“My momma wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The bed was made, sheets still creased from the packaging. “Did you buy new sheets just for me?”

“Uh, well, you should probably know that I’m not super great at laundry, either.”

She smiled. “I could have guessed.”


“This kitchen is tiny.”

“Oh, I guess. But it’s big enough to heat up some takeout.”

“So you don’t cook, you don’t clean, you come home late and make music all night. Aren’t you the best roommate ever?”

“But I make up for it in fun. You’re gonna have the time of your life here. Are you afraid of heights?”

“I don’t know,” she said. 

“Wanna check out the view?”

The view from the twelfth floor was impressive and dizzying. The windows were tall, wide, clear, and practically invisible. She looked straight down to the street below, and her head went woozy. She stepped closer to him, steadying herself on his shoulder. 


“Whoa, that’s high, and the windows are so big.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he teased. 

“My hero.”

But he was serious too. He had her. She loved that about him—a joke and a promise in one breath—and she was glad that wasn’t ruined. Please be like that forever, she hoped. She knew she couldn’t actually fall, but she stayed there anyway, and he held her there anyway, while he pointed out all the best things to do in the neighborhood.

He brought her to his studio next. “Upgrade, huh? Better than that roachy place in the fashion district. This is where the magic happens.”

“Ha, most guys would say that about their bedroom,” she teased. 

He looked pleased and relieved. She was glad they could still trade jabs, too.  

“Come sit down for a minute,” he said. “I want you to hear something.”

 
“Oh, no,” she said, knowing he meant her song. “I’m gonna die if I have to hear that.”


But she gave in and sat down next to him at the keyboard. 

“I just wondered what it would sound like with some music behind it,” he said. “Aren’t you curious? I think it turned out good. But I’ll trash it if you hate it. I was just messing around. What kind of backing did you imagine?”

“Oh, backing? How do I even know? It was just some lyrics.”

“I imagined maybe a violin and twangy guitar. Do you like country?”

“Maybe, sometimes. Gosh, twangy country ballads and electronic dance party music, we couldn’t be more different.” 

“Different is good, or else we’d be boring.”

 

He started to play, explaining his creation process as he went. A major chord, a minor seventh, a melody that would compliment the vocals, but not overpower them. Then he pressed a button and her song file played. The piano part kept going as he switched the keyboard to a violin. He keyed a melodic accent as another layer. Another layer, deeper and soulful, which he told her was a cello. Then a soft drumbeat. All electronic. He had a whole symphony in his fingertips. She was blown away, to be honest.

“God, I feel dumb, I know nothing about music.”

“Nah, you’re a natural,” he said. “It’s amazing you got so much anger into a ballad.”

“Well, you know me. I could probably get anger into anything.”

“So then I can just send these layers over to the mixing table, and I can adjust everything, or do whatever. Come see.”


She followed him to the mixing booth. It was a tight squeeze, but he reached around her and started the tracks.

“No, don’t move, you’re not in the way.”

He moved around her, in control of so many electronic pieces, making things start and stop, grow louder or softer. 



“What do you think?”

“It sounds like a whole song,” she said. 

“It would sound even better with a real vocal track. I mean, if you were interested in recording it. Although, I have to say your voicemail technique is top notch.”

She kind of couldn’t believe he could make so many sounds with just a keyboard and all these buttons.


“I guess I didn’t know you could do all this,” she said.

He looked smug. “I told you I could play instruments.” He shrugged. “To a mediocre degree, anyway. The editing makes everything sound better.”

“You’re not mediocre,” she said. 

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”


“I’m sorry. I’m going to be nicer to you. I’m gonna be so nice it’ll blow your mind.”

He laughed. “Hey, I’ll take nice if you’re giving it out, but I don’t need bubblegum and rainbows.”

“Well, good. That’s not the kind of nice I meant.”

Then he kissed her again. 




“Vale, it’s really not miserable.”

“I know,” he said, “it’s pretty good, huh?”

“But what happens when we fight? Don’t you think we’ll still fight sometimes?”

“With your temper, I’d put money on it. But that’s okay. We’ll fight, and we’ll talk it out, okay?”

She nodded.


“And what if I can’t write another song?”

“I want you, Vicky. Not just your songs. But anyway, I’m sure you’ll write lots of songs.”

His thumb stroked her cheek, reassuring at first. Then desire as his hand fell to her shoulder, hovering above her chest. There was hesitation in his eyes, trying to decide how much of a gentleman he wanted to be.

She smiled. “You want me?”

Silly question. She knew he’d been begging for more. He’d been begging for months.

She wanted more, too. She wanted to kiss the bare skin on his collarbone, his neck, the stubble on his cheek. She wanted to know how his skin felt under her fingertips. She wanted him to kiss her again, have his hands on her body again, but without the bulky sweater this time. She wasn’t nervous anymore.

“You didn’t show me your bedroom. Is it a disaster in there?”


“No, I cleaned. I just didn’t want you to think I only asked you out here to get you into my bedroom. I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I believe you. But what if I want to see your bedroom?”

He smiled. “I really want to show you my bedroom. But I don’t want you to go too fast and regret it.”

“I won’t regret it, I promise.”

“You should know, that’s where the magic happens.”

She believed him, and she fully anticipated that magic.

He took her hand and led her to his bedroom. And once they got there, she didn’t really take much notice of the room, to be honest, except that it was dark, in shades of blue and green, and reminiscent of a nightclub. All she knew was this man, and this look in his eyes, in his smile, smug and amused, like he knew he was winning at something but wouldn’t say what it was. Vicky knew what he was winning, and he was winning hard.

It was every bit as magical as he promised. It was sweet and playful and soulful. There was kissing and giggling and exclamations of wild pleasure. She was growing used to the idea that they weren’t a disaster together—they were far from it. 

They didn’t part when they finished. They didn’t move, only whispered to each other. “That definitely wasn’t miserable,” she said. 

He laughed. “That’s like a five-star review coming from you. I’ll take it.”

After some time, she finally slid her body off of his, feeling instantly and regrettably colder without his warmth. But it didn’t last long, because he reached for her hand and pulled her back. 

“Come here. I still owe you a hug.”

“I’m pretty sure you gave me a hug or two by now,” she said.

“Those weren’t hugs. Hugs are different.”


He pulled her into his arms, warm and close, bodies pressed together from head to toe. He sunk into a sleepy bliss, eyes closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. She knew because his fingers stroked her skin, so slowly, one hand tracing down her spine, the other making circles of her shoulder. She explored his skin, too, discovering more parts of him, not the ones you discover in the frenzy of lovemaking—the soft crook of his inner elbow, the long and agile fingers a of musician, a faint surgical scar on his belly. If two years of pre-med study taught her anything, she would guess he was missing an appendix.

So, it seemed, in the past few years, Vicky Garth had finally managed to get herself fucked a few times, but she had never been held afterwards, cuddled, fingers in her hair, kissed on the forehead. Jesus. She didn’t think he could melt her any more than he already had, melted from head to toe. The amount of love bottled up inside this man, once she let it loose, scared her. Sex was a simple transaction, but she didn’t trust love.

Maybe she did need to take it slow, but not in the way he thought. She felt overwhelmed and uncertain. Because this was so so good. And she felt the ending of it all coming, some inevitable day, like a crash into a solid brick wall. She felt herself pulling back, lifting her head away from the steady heartbeat in his chest. 

It broke her heart.  

Because she did want this love. All of it. It was all she’d ever wanted for as long as she could remember, to feel this cherished, this safe, to belong. She wanted to love him back this hard. She wanted to try. She wanted to dismantle the shields and try to let him into all the tender, ruined, dark corners of her heart. 

Oh, what damage he could do in there. 

“Hey, you got quiet again,” he said. “Are you worried about the same thing you couldn’t tell me earlier?”


Then she giggled, remembering. Good, she would tell him that instead. 

“Oh, that. I was kind of wondering if it would be possible to bite your pants off with my teeth?”

He cracked up. “Like, as in, tear them to pieces or just pull them off?” 

“Huh, I guess whatever it takes to get the job done?” 

“Ha, you’re a riot.” 

“I do my best.” 

“Well, next time I’m wearing pants, you’re welcome to try.”

After he stopped laughing, he looked concerned still, knowing there was more to it than just biting off pants.

“I am gonna try,” she said. “I’ll give it my best shot.” 


She nuzzled into his cheek and gave him the sweetest kiss she had in her. “Thank you,” she said. “That was the best hug I ever had.”

—

gameplay/story notes: these two were the other couple I had jump into bed of their own free will. Of course, I knew they’d get there eventually, but I didn’t figure it would be only a couple hours after she arrived, lol! Then their sims decided to go for it. It felt right for them, so I kept it.