"Rosebud?" Her father's voice was barely audible. "You awake? It's nearly two, thought you could use some lunch."

Ruthie stretched as she rolled over and blinked sleepily at him. She smiled when she saw what was in his hands.

"Pop, you didn't have to make me a tray," she said, her voice thick with sleep. "I'm perfectly capable of going down--" she stopped when she saw someone hovering behind him. "Who's that?" she asked. The person was much too thin to be her Dad. "Elliott?" she said in disbelief.

"Guilty," he said, following Phil into the room. He was rendered nearly speechless by the sight of Ruthie waking up, stretching, smiling at her father, and generally looking beautiful while she lay in bed in her flowered pajamas.

Ruthie's smile of welcome turned to a look of concern after she got a good look at his face. It was a technicolor sunset of reds, blues, and purples, with a bit of yellow thrown in here and there. His dark, curly hair was pulled back into a pony tail, only making the damage to his face more starkly visible.

"Oh god, El!" Ruthie sat up, wide awake.

"Ah, it's nothing," he answered with a laugh. "you should see my stomach."

Ruthie looked at him expectantly as her father placed the tray across her legs.

"What?" Elliott asked. "No, Ruthie, I was joking! I'm not going to show you my stomach!" He turned to her father for support. "You agree with me, don't you, sir? She's got no reason to see it!"

Phil held his hands up as he walked toward the door. "The sandwiches are mozzarella, basil and tomato from our garden. Other than that, leave me out of it, and give a holler if you need anything, okay?"

He gave a little wave as he pulled the door shut.

"Take off your shirt, Elliott Banks!" Ruthie demanded, trying to sit up more without jiggling the tray, which was really beautifully laid. Her Pop had outdone himself with the sandwiches, fresh fruit, bottles of water, and even cloth napkins, along with a couple of the cosmos from the entry, cut short and put in tiny, squat bottles that wouldn't be easily upset.

"God, you're demanding," Elliott grumbled as he lifted up his shirt. Ruthie also noticed that he was wearing sweat pants tied very loosely about his waist. It must really hurt.

"Don't get in a strop, okay?" Elliott begged, stopping with his Grateful Dead shirt lifted partway up. "Don't have a cow," he amended at Ruthie's look.

Ruthie just took a deep breath and waited.

Elliott lifted his shirt, and rolled his eyes when he heard the expected gasp, which Ruthie saw.

"Don't you dare roll your beautiful eyes at me, Elliott Banks, don't you fucking dare," she swore from where she sat, opal eyes flashing fire. "That looks awful! It must hurt so much."

There was a fist-sized purple circle on the right side of his belly that faded to magenta at the outer edges. The flesh looked swollen and tender.

"You full-name people more than anyone I've ever met, honest to god," Elliott declared as he lowered his shirt and sat carefully on the edge of the bed, wincing a little. "And it's not so terrible, because unlike some people, I didn't flush my pain pills down the toilet."

Ruthie looked at him. "When did you take one?"

"One? Try two and a half," he responded cheerfully. "Right before I came, so the walk wouldn't hurt so much."

He reached for a sandwich, but snatched his hand back like the tray was on fire when Ruthie asked, "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

Elliott looked carefully at Ruthie, at the gorgeous tray full of food, then back the beautiful girl sitting in the bed. "Eating?" he finally answered. "Am I not supposed to? I helped your dad prepare everything, and I thought an invitation to keep you company and eat with you was offered by him; however, if I inferred anything that wasn't implied, I'm sorry."

Ruthie shook her head. "I just meant you can't sit like that, with no back support or anything," she snapped. "I can tell the position you're in hurts."

She gestured next to her. "Come it over here, so you can lean back on these crazy pillows."

"My dads think every bed needs, like, a billion pillows, for it to really be a bed," she explained as he moved to sit next to her. He leaned back, giving a sigh of relief as he relaxed his abdominal muscles. "When I was little I used to throw them on the floor every night to sleep, then get up and put them back before they came in, so their feelings weren't hurt? Then I found out that they move all of theirs to sleep themselves, to the top of the chest at the foot of their bed."

She shook her head as she reached for a sandwich, gesturing for Elliott to do the same.

"Now I just leave them all because I can't be bothered to throw them somewhere and then put them back," she finished. "Aren't you going to have a sandwich?" she asked when Elliott didn't move.

"Are you sure?" he asked her with a grin.

She nudged him with her shoulder, and he let out a hiss of pain.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--"

"Jesus, Ruthie, I'm joking," Elliott said with a laugh, picking up a sandwich.

"Elliott Banks, that's so not funny--"

"See? Full naming me again!"

Ruthie huffed out a breath and prepared to nudge him again, but stopped herself at a look from Elliott.

"Anyway," she continued, trying to make her voice conciliatory, "shouldn't you be icing that?

"And how did you get out to come over here to the house of POCs and homosexuals, anyway?" she asked. "I can't believe your grandparents were down with that, especially with you being all injured and everything?"

Elliot smiled at her as he took a bite of his sandwich. He chewed, swallowed, and said, "They're on a five-day bus trip to Las Vegas with their church, if you can believe it."

Ruthie looked at him, eyes wide. "Really? How very, um, forward thinking of them."

"I know, right?" Elliott responded, grabbing another sandwich. "Gambling, with their church group. But they're going to a sermon, so it counts as a church activity. And they're going to see a gospel band or something in between the gambling, so it's all good." He shrugged. "I don't really know, and I don't care."

He leaned back in the pillows, hoping Ruthie would think it was to relax his stomach, and not guess that the real reason was the smell. The cute, fluffy pillows were deeply permeated with the fragrance of Ruthie, with her shampoo, conditioner, perfume; probably every powder, unguent and liquid she'd ever used on herself had been permanently absorbed into all of them. Elliott felt like he could lie here forever, and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh.

He felt something cold against his lips, and opened them, smiling a little. He bit into it and chewed, his trust in Ruthie complete. The sweet taste of pineapple filled his mouth, and he felt the soft, round tip of Ruthie's finger as she finished poking the fruit into his mouth.

He chewed, swallowed, and waited. Sure enough, a strawberry came his way next, again with her fingertip right at the end, followed by a grape and more pineapple. He could hear her breathing, and a tiny laugh every now and then.

This went on for a few more minutes, and Elliott had to admit that it was one of the most fun things he'd ever done with a girl.

And the sexiest.

He even had time to consider in the lovely, laugh filled silence that this was the first time he'd ever felt the sexiness of an act that wasn't overtly sexual. She wasn't pressing against him, there was no seductive music, she wasn't playing with the fruit or messing with his mouth or rubbing it against his lips or anything. Just the feel of the fruit in his mouth, the taste of it, knowing she was watching him eat it; those things felt incredible. The tiny little laughs she gave from time to time, the fragrance of her that was all around him, the little poke of her round finger in his mouth right at the end, all of those things were sexy.

But most of all, the knowledge that it was her, that it was Ruthie, that she'd seen him lying back in her pillows with his eyes closed and decided to just feed him fruit, that was the sexiest thing of all.

And just when Elliott was thinking these things, Ruthie kissed him. She pressed lips against his that tasted sweet, letting him know that she'd been eating some fruit herself in between feeding him. They were soft, and a little sticky, and tasted like pineapple and strawberries. As usual, she began by taking a little bite of his bottom lip and pulling. She let go and came back, lips parted a little bit, tongue poking out like her finger had been earlier, licking between his lips, flicking at his tongue when she found it.

She must've moved the tray, because she suddenly lifted her leg and straddled him, all the while being careful not to put weight on his bruised stomach. He felt her fingertips on his face, and her legs on his thighs, but that was all. He didn't even have to lift his head as she leaned in.

He let out a muffled moan of enjoyment as they continued to kiss, and though he had all the good intentions in the world, and he intended to keep his hands down at his sides, knowing that she was right there, in front of him, wearing only cotton PJs, made this impossible. Part of it was the slightly euphoric feeling from the pain pill, too, probably, but he put his hands on her waist, and her top had already ridden up to the point that his hands landed on her flesh.

He was sunk.

He slid his hands up, feeling how her waist was small and tidy, her tummy firm and flat. He swallowed her moan a they continued to kiss, knowing he was getting into dangerous territory.

Fifteen.

This girl in his lap was only fifteen.

But oh her body was luscious and perfect, though, wasn't it? And she kissed like a pro.

He could feel with his thumbs already how her breasts blossomed out from her torso. Jesus. They felt like they must be the perfect size and shape. Elliott imagined what they looked like, how the areolae were probably small, and slightly darker than her regular skin, and how the nipples were--

Stoned.

Elliott realized he must be feeling the effects of the pain pills he'd taken. He had to stop, before he made some very questionable decisions.

"Ruthie."

Her name was smothered against her mouth.

"Hm? What?" she answered.

"We should stop."

She pulled her head back and looked at him.

He finally opened his eyes and looked at her, and she looked marvelous, with stars in her eyes and her lips all puffy and swollen.

"Okay," she said, nodding and climbing off his lap.

"Elliott?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I"m easy?"

Silence.

"Elliot?"

"Erm, does that mean the same thing here as it does in England?"

"A slut."

"Right. Then no." He shook his head. "How could I possibly think that? You're still a virgin, for fuck's sake. Your previous boyfriend dumped you because you wouldn't sleep with him." He put his arm around her, and she snuggled into him.

"I know, but I'm all over you, all the time," she explained. "You have to stop me, and pull me off you, all the time."

Elliott laughed comfortably. "Yeah," he nodded. "I'm kind of chuffed about that bit, if I'm honest."

Ruthie sat up so she could give him a look, then snuggled into him again.

"What, you want me to lie and say I hate it?" he asked. "I mean, look at you. You have to be one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. Your face is so unusual and beautiful, and your body, well, you know--"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Ruthie said, obviously uncomfortable.

"I'm actually surprised your dads aren't more careful with you," Elliott told her.

"More careful with me?" Ruthie repeated. "What, like I'm china or porcelain?"

Elliott laughed. "I mean, they let you wander about the neighborhood with me at all hours, they let me take you to the dance with no curfew, they let me into your fucking room when you're in bed in your pajamas and leave us unsupervised--"

"You want to know the truth?" Ruthie interrupted. She counted off on her fingers, like a lawyer, something she did often, Elliott had noticed. "One, my dads would never have let me walk home with Brett like that. They would've let me go alone before they'd've let me walk out that gate with Brett at two in the morning. Two, I had curfew with Brett. I had to be home by ten on school nights, eleven on non-school nights, no exceptions, by the clock on the microwave. For every minute I was late, my curfew on my next date was cut short by an hour, no exceptions."

"Really? Wow." Elliott couldn't help interrupting.

"Really truly." Ruthie nodded. "Third. You're the first boy, other than Gordo, who's ever, and I mean ever, been in my room, no matter what I've been doing or what I've ben wearing."

"Ever?" Elliott repeated. "Again, I'm chuffed. Wow. Only Gordon, huh?"

"Well, given Gordo's sexual orientation, it would be really hypocritical of them to put that on him, don't you think?" Ruthie answered with a smile.

Elliott was silent.

"Anyway, they really like and trust you, that's all I'm saying," Ruthie finished, putting her hand down.

"And since making out isn't on the menu, you want to look at my laptop? Twitter and Insta and all that?"

Elliott was silent again.

"You should know that after you made it so clear that you didn't want to talk about your past, I haven't looked you up, I haven't trolled you or stalked you or anything," Ruthie said quietly. "It's hard for me, because I'm a nosy person, but I haven't, even though I know your nickname and everything."

"Thank you," Elliott said briefly, giving Ruthie a one-armed hug and kissing the top of her head. "I'll tell you all about it one of these days, I promise, okay? And I don't think you'd find out much, even if you did look me up."

"Wait, are you saying I can?" Ruthie asked.

She felt him shrug.

"If you want, I reckon," he answered.

"Okay," she said, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. "So you want to look at old yearbooks instead?"

"Ooh, that sounds fun," he answered.

"Okay," she replied, bouncing off the bed.

They spent the rest of the chilly afternoon cuddled together in her bed, looking at photographs, reading notes, and laughing, taking comfort in being together.