(no subject)

Summer was in the works, and Kavinsky was grateful for it. He'd been busy, running around like a mad thing to get the concert put together in time for the Fourth, and it was exhausting. No wonder Beca had ended up needing an assistant.

But today was just for them. It was balmy out in the garden, and Kavinsky had all the windows open for a cross breeze. He was refusing to put on anything more than soft, light cotton lounge pants, migrating in and out of the house to enjoy the sunshine and nibble food sporadically. His freckles were starting to really come in dark, smatterings of constellations across his arms and chest.

On one of his crosses he caught Newt around the middle and pressed a kiss against his ear. "Hey, I love you."