Everything had been rather rocky recently. It wasn’t that either of us had fallen out of love, I am honestly still falling head first in love with the boy but, well life happens. Cliche I know, but he had his shit and I had my own shit.
Ironic really, that’s how it started. He’d called me, after a couple days prior screaming he never actually wanted to see me again, that I was selfish and indignant. Maybe I was selfish, but when it came to him I would give up everything. I hated seeing him like that, he hadn’t bothered to do his hair for me. The usual slick and movie star look, had fallen out of place, traces of grease and sleep lacing it. His eyes held remnants of a hangover he clearly had yet sleep off, unwilling to be praised by the sunlight, sunglasses sat on his pale nose as he stood, tears sliding down the blotched skin.
As soon as I told him I loved him, I could see the snarky roll of his eyes as he hissed in angry laughter. “Love? fuck off” but then he had called. Everything he’d poisoned me with a series of days before suddenly became bearable because he asked me if I was okay. ‘Of course i’m not okay’ I’d thought but instead I found myself laughing out a “yeah” as it ended in a sob.
“I’m sorry” he’d whispered through the line.
That’s how i found myself a day later. Sat perching on his sofa as he leaned forward turning the volume up. We’d purposefully sat at other ends of the settee. Both knowing he only held the intentions of maintaining a friendship. Funny now that I look back on it.
He slid his hand up his jaw, massaging his chin, where he had yet to grow a beard. I just kept wanting to look at him, It'd been a week since we’d hung out, a month since I hadn't argued with him every time I saw him. It was always over stupid things, both of us too scared to bring up the fact that one of us had screwed up, instead pointing out who had misplaced what instead of who had betrayed the other.
He looked so pretty, just sitting there, eyes glazed over as he pretended to watch the TV, too stuck in his own mind to realise he’d stopped paying attention. The blessed boy jolted as he snapped out of his frame of mind, noticing me gazing at him, he jutted his eyes towards the torn up sofa, to then rejoin my gaze as he looked up.
“Smoke?” He’d offered with a crisp voice and a lick of his lips.
When we’d sat back down, we were closer, still nowhere near where i wanted to be but the least bit closer. I didn’t want to assume but I was hoping that this day would end with me on my back in his bed. His quilts were fresh heaven, crisp from the wash but smothered in the scent of him.
We continued to bore our eyes in the static perversion of a recording of an old TV show. Something was off about the audio, but we both chose to ignore it, too lazy to fall ourselves into the faff.
His hand was now stroking his neck subconsciously as he tried to concentrate on the TV and not the growing puddle of abruption that I had become, i needed to move, my attention span running out, eventually he glared at me. “Smoke?” he repeated again, this time, half an hour after the previous question. I nodded without saying anything, embarrassed I’d pissed him off with my childish tendencies.
As we smoked in silence, I let my hand wind itself in my jacket pocket, clenching the unseen fabric in uncertainty, scared of the consequences this blemished day may end in. “It’s fine, I’m not annoyed” He spoke in a small voice, whilst staring at the splotched eyes that seem to of appeared in the patterned surface of the floor.
The next time we sat back down, I was within arms length, and to my immediate pleasure, I found myself wrapped by his arm, he hadn’t bothered to yawn and pretend to pull me in. He simply looked at me with warm eyes, biting his lip and then rested his arm on my shoulder, his finger stroking a line down my neck, making me shiver in sensitivity.
His gaze met mine, “Your lips are cracked” he spoke slow words. My shoulders dropped and i looked up in shock. He’d been looking at my lips. “I’m nervous” I said in reply as I stood up to grab my handbag. Pulling out the lip balm I always carried with me. Opening the tin, I smeared it delicately on my lips. “What flavour?” he asks even though he couldn’t give less of a shit.
Lost in nostalgia, I replied “Why don’t you find out?” flirting as if we were still dating. I noticed my faux pas after i’d said it, too late. His lips pursed and opened slightly, shock filtering his expression, before raising an eyebrow and chuckling darkly. “And how should I find out?” He asked sitting forward on the settee as I settled back down. This time our legs were pressed together.
I was leaning back, he was arched slightly above me, inquisitive. “Doesn’t matter” I muttered not leaving his gaze, too curious to know where this may lead. An expression of wander crossed my face, soon banished by the red spread on my cheeks that embarrassment brought me as he said. “Were you insinuating I should makeout with you?”
It sort of made my wonder whether this was something I didn’t know about him. Did this get him off, embarrassing me, making me blush? I let my eyes flutter shut as I stuttered out “Shut up” before opening my eyes, to see him leaning further towards me. My eyes bounced up to his his. Losing myself to the moment, the desperation.
“Please..?” I whispered out, as he hovered above me. Meaning crossing his eye line before he leant further in, his breath reaching my skin, as i felt the heat in his body.
His lips came crashing down like a tidal wave crashing onto a beach. It was wet and harsh, his teeth shells that dragged across my soft flesh.
God I’d missed the taste of him.
Sunny afternoons filled with tastefull breaths and gasping sounds.
The kiss was anything but innocent but it felt like it was born from the first moments of our relationship, before we’d started arguing.