What about you and me driving through the streets at night makes me feel this alive?
Maybe it's the summer nights, cooling down the world after the day. Its lingering heat still radiating from all around, making the crickets sing and the appeasing head wind a welcome companion as the asphalt breathes hotly in anticipation of a few hours of rest.
Maybe it's the city lights, blurring in the darkness. Uncatchable. Barely seen and already gone again, shooting past us like comets.
Maybe it's your hand on my knee, or mine on yours, depending who's driving. I can feel your warmth, your soft smile as you look out of the passenger windows, your green eyes watching the world rush by as your fingers send their never-ceasing caresses through the fabric of my trousers, their drawn circles holding me together and tearing me apart from the inside out. It all makes me want to melt into the seat that smells of your cologne, and drive on forever. Give you the world. Whatever it takes.
On other days your leg bends and stretches under my fingertips while you adjust the pressure on the pedals. I can close my eyes, or simply let them wander over nothing in particular as the wind through the open windows blows away my worries and the tension of the day. On a straight passage your hand always comes to rest on mine, your thumb brushing over my knuckles, your fingers easily slipping between mine for a moment or two, and I feel it again: your gentle smile. It's like feathers on my skin until my heart is so full that it seems to burst any moment.
Maybe it's the music when we drive. The calm tunes of the radio wafting quietly into the summer night, leaving a trail of song and rhyme behind us like idle fingers running through water. Fleeting memories, too fickle to catch.
Maybe it's the feeling of being in control behind the wheel. Driving you, only you. Your free hand held out of the opened window, diving through the airstream, the other one holding on to me.
Maybe it's the feeling of giving the control away on the passenger seat, knowing you would never take me to places I don't want to go. Curiously wondering if it's one of those nights you stop the car in the middle of nowhere, just so you can lean over to kiss me.
Maybe it's the night mirroring in your eyes when our gazes meet briefly. They are fueled by hopes and dreams, shining with trust, and giving me the wish to drive you to the moon and back.
Maybe it's my own, surprisingly relaxed expression in the side mirror. The air cooling my cheeks after a day too hot, blowing over my neck where you nuzzled me before when we stepped into the car. Your wild hair tickling my brow and smelling of your shampoo and Eren, Eren, Eren. Your mouth soft against my pulse, your breath warm and damp against my skin, and your lips moving gently with a whisper against my ear while your fingers eased the car key out of my hand. "My turn today."
We never talk during these trips. Don't need to.
We never have a destination or certain route either. Just the driving itself.
My shoulders relax, the tension fades, slips away into nothing. The world is beautiful, so very beautiful, and for once in my life it doesn't even have to make any sense—as long as you're next to me. With the street running under our feet, and the stars shining over our heads while your favourite band plays on the radio.
I'll never be able to listen to their songs again and not think of you. Of your fingers resting of the steering wheel, the engine purring in delight, the summer filling my lungs. Your occasional humming carrying away my thoughts, while we leave everything else behind.
I don't know about you, but I can always tell when you begin the way back. Your eyes would be carefree and at peace, your mouth curling around little secrets while your hand would reach down again to warmly squeeze mine; if in an apology for the return or in reassurance for the rest of the night, I never can tell.
All I can tell is that the world feels as though it's just the two of us, and that we're driving.
Driving home. Home to you.