"I love you," she breathed against his lips, their breaths mingling, warming up themselves. She lifted her gaze from his lips to his eyes, awaiting his response. She was met with the loving look of adoration in his beautiful gold eyes, staring back at her.
He hesitated, leaving panic in her chest. He doesn't love you, she thought hurriedly.
Your so stupid, she scolded herself, Why would he love you? The voice in her head sneered.
But she was filled with relief and warmth when his lips crashed into hers, eating away every horrible thing in her, leaving her with only love, for him.
It was...perfect. The tingles that he gave her reached every part of her body, enveloping her in an overwhelming passion. Everything was perfect...like him.
They're lips melded together, moving perfectly, like each other. It was the perfect kiss-the perfect love.
Nothing could be more perfect than kissing under the stars, on an impromptu picnic, at midnight.
She swore, it was like all the flowers bloomed right as he kissed her. At exactly midnight.
She would never have thought this joy could end...not in a million years.
One day, after work, he walked in, his shoulders tense and angry. He was muttering about how the students had tried to fight him. It wasn't his fault that he worked at a school for disciplinary, okay, it was. He wanted to help such troubled children, but he ended up needing the help.
The love she gave him was perfect. He looked around the space, surveying the room for any sign of his lover. She usually painted in the day, in the living space, but he found it empty. The sleek, black couch was left perfect, just the way he had left it. It was against the wall, next to the doorway that opened to their bedroom. The floor didn't have a single Newspaper on it, which she put so she didn't ruin the floor. He enjoyed cleaning her mess and was mildly disappointed to find it already perfect.
The T.V was off, but the remote was on the floor, not exactly where he left it. Sighing in relief, he put the remote back on the clear glass coffee table, where he had left it this morning.
She always enjoyed messing with his order, and he found it funny and amusing. He rather enjoyed cleaning. Clary always joked that they were perfect for each other and in some ways they were.
The clean glass of the windows was smudged, something Jace found rather odd. Putting the abnormality aside, he stalked off to his bedroom.
He smiled when he was the sleeping girl on his bed. Her hair was down, just like he liked it. She was napping, snoring away like no one was watching, but he was.
She was absolutely perfect. Her freckles that danced across her pale face were perfect. The stray curl that fell on her face was perfect. Her petite form that held so much strength was perfect. His heart sped up, beating louder in his chest. He felt that swell in his chest, which was the most perfect feeling in the world.
He couldn't stop the smile that formed on his lips.
"Angel," he whispered, crouching next to her in her jumble of sheets and blankets. "Guess who arrived at the house?" He teased, knowing that she knew it was him.
She turned her head slightly to look at him. She opened her eyes, and then he saw those eyes that just made him want to kiss her.
Those eyes were perfect, just like them.
"Babe?" She frowned, eyeing his shoulders and hands. "Why so tense?" Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. He could see the burning curiosity and shriveling worry in her eyes.
"Nothing." He shook his head. "I just want you to kiss it away." He smiled. She was not buying that, he could tell. She sat up slowly, assessing her surroundings, which she was so used too. The room needed to change, she thought bitterly.
It was so clean and perfect, she thought.
She finally met his gaze, which was staring at her intently. "What's wrong?" She scanned his face, smiling softly. He seriously thought that her smile was the most perfect thing in the world.
"Some kids got on my nerves, almost got punched in the eye." He sighed in defeat, leaning into her forehead.
"Do you want to lay with me?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, smiling widely. He grinned back. "But you have to repay me." She smirked.
"Of course," he said stripping out of his suit and pants, leaving him in just his boxers. So they lay there, in happy, perfect silence.
"Do you want kids?" She asked one day. They were sitting on the couch. She had changed something, hoping he didn't notice. He wouldn't get mad, but he wouldn't be pleased, she knew. He liked things in orderly...perfectly. And while she loved him, she got tired of perfect. So she made sure that they were never perfect, or they would become boring.
But she still wanted the life with him. There was no one she could imagine herself with other than him.
"I guess," he shrugged, unsure of how to answer. He shifted on the couch so he could face her. "With you? Yes. It would be...perfect." He smiled, and kissed her, catching her lips with his own, feeling how perfect the intimacy was between them. How perfect they were. And he knew why because they had passion. A burning passion that, he was sure, would always burn.
Their fights weren't perfect, but they were still, in all the ways that mattered, perfect.
Months later, after so many beautiful kisses, that led to amazing love-making, they were fighting...but it wasn't a normal fight. It wasn't like all the regular, sex-inducing fights, it was perfect. The fight was...perfect.
Not one of them had to apologize because they were both right. No way to settle it.
She hadn't been crying because he was a complete ass, and he wasn't there to kiss away her tears as he apologized for being wrong. How could he?
They fought, all the time. So much, that it drove the passion in their relationship.
It was then, during the fight, he realized, that they were no longer perfect. That maybe she wasn't crying, like all those other times, because they were no longer perfect. He knew that she hated perfection. Hated it, that's why she changed everything.
She didn't want perfect, she wanted passion.
She wanted passionate make-up sex. But he didn't want that.
And he also realized that he had made her cry. That she and he could never be the same. He wanted the family with the white picket fence and dog, and she wanted the family who weren't the most conventional-perfect. They made each other hoarse with their screaming, not the perfect sex. It was the in-perfect fights that made them cry and lose their voices.
It was in perfect that she wanted. She wanted the fights, the way they had passion.
He wanted the perfect love story, and as much they wanted it to happen, it would not happen with each other.
So with that in mind, he wrote. Wrote why he was leaving.
My dearest,
Do you remember that night on the couch, when we talked about children, and we wanted? I thought it was perfect. Remember when I came home angry and tense and you did the most perfect thing, and love me. You didn't let the passion excite you, you just let me be with you, in that perfect bubble. But we popped it.
You cry because of me. You cry because you want the fight, and it leaves you sad. You want the passion that we don't have on our own. We fight because that's what we resort too. You cry because we love each other, and are trying to save the poison that is us.
You loved me perfectly. You were there for me, you were my first love. But first love never sticks-We were meant to break up. As much as we plan, someone is going to go, and sadly, that person is me. I'm already gone. We wanted so much. But we got so little, scraping for the small thing that we had in our non-existent passion.
This relationship is not perfect for the either of us. I thought it was, and I'm sure, you always knew we weren't perfect.
I know it hurts, it's because what we had was perfect. I love you, I do. But you will find someone who will love you the in-perfect way want, and I will find someone who loves me perfectly. If I told you this to your face, I'd kiss you and ask you the most perfect question, the most perfect way. You will find someone who can give you passion without the tears.
We can't be perfect. We can't have that relationship we want. Nothing can keep this love alive. Only passion, the one thing we don't have. Perfect can't keep this love alive.
Love, your in-perfection-or not perfection.
And just like that, he left he scribbled his note where he knew she would find it: Taped to the ring box that had set in her art set. The night was going to be perfect. But like their perfect relationship, it wasn't going to last...