Music: Halsey, Finally//Beautiful Stranger 
February 2nd, 2020 

Keith held the door open and stood aside. Spying hardwood floors, she took her shoes off and turned them upside down to let the water drain out. The miniature rivers flowed down the brick steps. She peeled off her socks, and finally stepped into his home. Despite her efforts to keep from getting his floor wet, rainwater trickled out of her hair and dress. Keith, potentially with more reason than she had at that moment, followed her in without bothering to take his wet shoes off.

Stella's first impression of his house was that it was relatively clean. He didn't have random objects strewn about, everything appeared to be in his place. She spied small clumps of fur here and there, evidence of his cats. There were plants on every conceivable surface, mostly the kind that were green, leafy, and flowerless. Stella did a double-take and confirmed that there was indeed a potted tree in his living room as well. There were photographs, Stella assumed, of his family and friends hanging up on the far wall. The recliners looked comfortable and were placed carefully in front of a well-used fireplace.

"What do you think?" he asked, reminding her that he was still beside her.  

"It's," she paused, trying to figure out how his house made her feel. It had a warmness to it, some sort of tranquility she hadn't expected to stumble across. "Nice," Stella finally decided.

"You're not just saying that?"

"No. It, I really don't know how to describe it, honestly." Her eyes flitted from furniture to plants, to photographs, to more plants. "It's just nice," she said with a shrug. She continued looking around, trying to figure out what made it so tranquil. Stella could feel memories dancing just beyond her grasp.

Keith scrutinized her. Then, his shoulders relaxed. "If you want to follow me upstairs, I can loan you some of my clothes until yours are dry."

Stella thought about her reply briefly. "And what if I don't want to?" she asked with a devilish smile.

Keith pretended to think. "Then I guess you'll have to stay in your soaking wet clothes," he replied with a shrug. He started up the stairs; Stella scampered after him. There was nothing worse than wet clothes.

She paused at his bedroom door and leaned against the frame. Her heart thudded against her ribs. There was something intimate about going into his bedroom. Surveying his room from the doorway, she noted that his room was primarily blue and grey. He had navy carpeting, dark grey bedding, and light gray walls. His furniture was stark white. There were more plants on his dresser, a few with flowers. There was another tree in his room. 'What is it with him and plants?' she wondered, briefly. Despite the layer of dust and fur, his bedroom was as neat as his living room. 

Keith chose a shirt and sweat pants for her, also grey. "The bathroom is there," he pointed towards the bathroom door. "You can change in there. If you'd rather. Of course."

Stella thought it was cute that he couldn't look her in the eyes right now. "I could," she purred as she walked across his room. "Or, I could ask you for help." She captured his lips in a heated kiss. Stella wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

After all, he had to have brought her here for a reason. 

She might as well enjoy it, right? 

She felt Keith's hands land on her hips, and pull her flush against his. Stella shuddered as his hands slipped over her hips, down her legs, and slid back up underneath her dress. Stella tilted her head back, to study Keith through half-closed eyes. She didn't have a chance to take his appearance in before she felt his lips against her ear.

Suddenly, Stella noticed the way his muscles moved under her hands. The scent of dirt invaded her senses; his smooth skin suddenly felt wrong. She swallowed bile, trying to ignore her churning stomach. She took a step back and held her breath for a count of seven. She exhaled, counting down.

Fuck. And not the good kind. 

Her muscles loosened as Keith took a step back. "You ok?" he asked, his voice sounding rough. 

"Y-y-y," Stella stuttered. She closed her eyes, forced the air out of her lungs. "Yeah," she finally let out. "I - your bathroom is there?" she pointed to the door he had shown her earlier.

He nodded his head. Keith took his hands out from under her dress and placed one on her cheek. Stella leaned into it, momentarily. Then yanked her head back. Stella fought to take a normal breath, tried to count to seven. Instead, her lungs filled with fire. She moved towards the bathroom, quickly. She slammed the door behind her and slid down it as soon as it was shut.

The cool tile greeted her like an old friend. She placed both palms on the floor, trying to turn herself into ice. Her knees knocked together, and her breath remained uneven. Stella stood up. 

She felt the cool tile on her knees as her legs gave out.

Fucking hell.  

Stella felt around, her hands shook as she searched for her purse. It was downstairs. With her Ativan. 

Mother fucker.  

She shoved her hands in her pockets. The relief that flooded her when she felt her phone fled as quickly as it arrived. The world spun as she tried to keep her phone steady enough to unlock it. 

The phone clattered to the ground, the sound echoed throughout the bathroom. 

This day really needed to go fuck itself. 

She grabbed her phone. This time she unlocked it and pulled up Howie's number. Stella held the phone to her ear, leaning her head against her knees. Darkness circling around her, swallowing any sound her phone made. 

"Stell? You there?" Howie's voice broke through, a welcome ray of light. 

Mutely, Stella nodded her head. She wiped her face dry of tears and frowned at the makeup residue on the back of her hand. A deep, shuddering breath escaped, just loud enough to let him know someone was on the other end. 

He sighed. "Press once if you're freaking out, twice if you need an ambulance."

Stella pressed a number once. With a small flash of pleasure, she noticed that she wasn't shaking as badly.

"Press once if you need to take your mind off something, twice if you need coaching."

She pressed once again.

"Hello, you have reached the phone a friend hotline. It is currently open, as I am tired of all this paperwork. Lay your problems at my lap, and I will dispense my sage advice."

Stella covered her mouth, stifling the giggle that came out. She checked that the bathroom door was locked, then scurried on all fours to the other side.

"Motherfucker, what am I doing?" she hissed out, quietly. Stella kept her eyes on the door.

"I dunno. You tell me. You could also come take care of this paperwork, and tell me." 

Stella smiled at the image of Howie prodding at a report that he had to type up. "I'm not the procrastinator." 

"Guilty, as charged. Now, speak. What are you doing?"

"Right now, I'm in Pretty Boy's bathroom, freaking out."

"You're at his house?" Howie spluttered through the phone. "Tell me how that happened."

"The rain. We were on our way to a museum, and the skies opened up. Apparently he lives close. And now I'm in soaking wet clothes. In his bathroom. Because I can't fucking keep it together. And probably once I get it together, I'll have to go home in this fucking rain." Stella picked at a scab on her knee to play with. She bit her lip as it started to peel off.

"First off, stop picking at whatever you're picking at right now. Second off, no you won't. I'll take an early lunch and come pick you up."

Stella started playing with a strand of soaking wet hair in favor of picking at her scab. "Ok, good. I'll let you know if I need a ride. I'm going to try standing up, so don't freak out if you hear a crash." She used the toilet for support as she got up. Fully upright, she put her hand on the marble counter. Steadying herself on the counter, she moved to stand in front of it. 

"Motherfucker," she hissed again.

"What now?"

"My makeup's a mess." Stella turned the tap on. She ran her free hand under the cold water, slowly feeling the fire start to extinguish.

"Raccoon chic?" he suggested.

"Try my cosmetic bag exploded all over my face."

"Ouch. Send me a picture for future blackmail use."

"Not happening. I'm going to go fix this mess."

"Alright. I'm giving you fifteen before I come get you. Also, I want more details later. Dinner tonight? I want Thai."

"It's a date," she agreed, hanging the phone up quickly. With expert ease, Stella removed the smudged makeup from her face. She went to get her back up cosmetics out of her purse, before remembering that she left it downstairs. She sucked her cheeks in, taking in her appearance. Her au natural look would have to do for the rest of the day. She leaned over the sink and squeezed rivers out of her hair.

Stella cupped her hands and took a drink of deliciously cool water from the faucet. She looked herself square in the eye and shut off the faucet. She turned to face the bathroom door, walked over, and hovered above the knob. She shook her head, clearing any wayward thoughts, and unlocked it. It swung open, depriving her of the chance to decide whether or not she wanted to do this. 

She spied Keith, now in dry clothes, sprawled across his bed. He quickly sat up at the sound of the door. "Are you sure you're ok?" he asked, forehead wrinkling with worry.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Stella paused for a second, biting her lip as she worked out the next part. "But, I should probably be going."

He got off the bed and walked over. Tenderly, he took one of her hands into his calloused hands. "You don't have to."

Stella stiffened. "Why? Because you're a nice guy, who doesn't kick girls out?" she spat, her voice harsh. Her face contorted into anger; she took a step back and yanked her hand back from him. 

Keith ran a hand through his hair. "I, no. That's not what I meant. It's just, you don't have to go because you freaked. I told you I was a marine, right?"

Stella nodded her head as she remembered what was supposed to have been their one-night stand.

"PTSD is something I've seen a lot of my brothers deal with. Deal with it myself. It's been better." He trailed off and blinked something away, memories perhaps. "There's nothing quite like remembering shrapnel raining down. So, panic attacks are ok here." 

Stella placed her hand over his heart. Last time she'd seen him shirtless, she remembered seeing a scar there, a few inches long. She could feel the raised bit of skin under his shirt. His heartbeat steadily underneath her touch.

"Yeah, that was one place where it hit me," he responded as he placed his hand on top of hers. "Let me know if I can do anything to help, yeah?"

Stella nodded her head in agreement. She locked eyes with him and held his gaze. She ran her thumb over his scar. Finally, Stella let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "A glass of ice would be nice," she finally said, quietly.

"I'll go get it. Do you want to put on dry clothes? Then you could meet me in the greenhouse?"

Stella looked at the pile of clothes still on the floor. She swallowed a warm emotion she didn't care to name. "Y-yeah. I'll be down in a few minutes."

Keith brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He told her how to get to the greenhouse, before turning to leave.

Stella went back into the bathroom. She noticed that her face was red from his kiss. She quickly texted Howie that she did not need a ride and would see him at dinner. Quickly, she changed into the clothes Keith loaned her. His shirt was baggy on her; she had a hard time believing that he wore a medium seeing how it draped off of her like elephant skin. She tried to get his pants on, but no matter how tight she managed to get the drawstring, they slid off of her and onto the ground. Deciding that his shirt was long enough to act as a very short dress on her, she left the pants behind and headed downstairs.

Once in the living room, she paused to look at the pictures that he had on a table. Her suspicions of them being family photographs were right. There was one, of a much younger Keith Park, with him and who she assumed was his mother. They were at the beach, building a sandcastle by the look of it. There were other pictures of the two of them together, sometimes with a Korean man Stella assumed was Keith's father, sometimes not. She stopped appearing by the time Keith was a teenager. There were other pictures, mostly of what Stella assumed were various members of his father's family. A familiar ache started as she traced the picture of him and his mother at the beach.

What was her mother like? 

Would she be proud of her? 

Did she even matter to her? 

Stella shook her head, clearing her mind. She walked through the dining room and kitchen, not pausing to take in any significant details. The greenhouse was attached to the house, immediately behind the kitchen. She found Keith on the wicker sofa in there, sipping a glass of water. The sofa itself was faded in places, and the cushions were indented from use. In front of him was a table, with her glass of ice. She also spied a pile of sketchbooks and a pencil case next to her glass.

Then she noticed the plants; they were definitely different than what she had seen in the house. There were roses, orchids, more ferns, lilies, violets, and other flowers she did not know the name for. Stella paused as she walked over to the sofa, running her finger on the smooth texture of an orchid leaf. She smiled at it, as she remembered pleasant memories. Finally, she sat on the sofa next to Keith. She took an ice chip, enjoying the crunch of it as she chewed.

"I brought out a bowl of strawberries too, fresh from my garden." He gestured to the bowl that had been hidden by his sketchbooks. "Help yourself."

Stella took a strawberry and closed her eyes in bliss as the flavor exploded in her mouth. She remembered summers spent playing in a field with other foster children, eating ice cream, and stealing strawberries from the garden. Her eyes flew open.

"Are they ok?" Keith asked as he noticed her change in demeanor.

"Yeah, they're really good actually. I just finally realized why I like your house so much." She ate another strawberry, enjoying the sweet flavor.

"Why's that?" he asked as he leaned towards her.

"My favorite foster mom, Melissa. She loved flowers. And music. And gardening. She used to have me and the other foster kids pick strawberries from her garden every summer to make jam and pie with. I used to eat at least half of what I picked." Stella smiled at the memory. She flinched as Keith wiped a tear from her face.

"What happened to her?"

"Dollars for DHS happened," her voice cracked. "It was the move that busted everything wide open." She wiped another tear away.

Keith wrapped an arm around her and scooted over next so he was up against her. He held her tight as she buried her head in his shoulder. Keith tangled his fingers in her hair, using his fingers to comb through her wavy hair.