For my dear heart.
He always felt a little awkward when he went to pick her up. She'd smile at him, a bright smile that made his stomach twist, and invite him in 'just for a minute'. She'd go off and do countless little feminine things that took forever and no time at all, leaving him to look around her house with an odd feeling of intruding. And yet, he knew he was welcome.
She'd grown up. At one point, her house had been all pinks and bright colours. It had softened - the pinks, and there was no more of that obnoxious pink, were softer, swirling in with whites and paler pinks. Tasteful. Pretty. Like her.
He always squashed that thought as quickly as he could, because it wasn't a good thing to be thinking sat on her couch while she brushed her hair and kept up a running commentary of how she wouldn't be long, how nice it was to see him, how happy she was that she'd be seeing the others soon.
She always left him a little breathless.
He was always careful to time these visits. Sometimes he would arrive too soon, and spend an agonising few minutes in the car, waiting until the time was right and they were running just a little late. He had to balance it.
He liked her chatter, watching her get ready, but arrive too soon and there would be an awkward time when they couldn't quite leave but there wasn't much to do, and she would move to sit beside him, and he'd have to concentrate very hard on not turning his head and tangling a hand in her just brushed hair and pulling her closer and kissing her. He'd have to come up with answers, words tangling on his tongue, and talk to her.
He wondered if, one day, it might be easier just to give in to the urge and stop dancing around it, but maybe he wasn't quite ready for that yet.
It was easier in the car when he could be a little irritable and focus on driving. In the house, he was always just one step ahead of the urge to take her face in his hands and kiss her dizzy.
One night he took her flowers, and cleared his throat and ran his fingers through her hair. He wanted to give her flowers, to tell her she was beautiful and that he wanted her - no, not wanted her, that was too... real. The moments he spent with her were surreal, delicate, almost fragile, he'd have to tell her... but...
She made it easier, her eyes bright and a faint blush on her cheeks when she took the flowers from him. "Wufei?"
The words rose and spilled out in an easy gush, like breathing out, natural, easy. "I love you."
There was a thud as the bouquet hit the floor and then she was in his arms, and his efforts seemed meaningless, time wasted, but the moment was so much sweeter for it, painfully sweet as he pulled her close and kissed her as he'd been longing to.