(Thank you Tess, CA, Judith, JJ for suggestions and encouragement.)
I imagine the pressure of your hand on my sternum. I breathe into it, remembering when you used to sit with me on the couch and hold me like that for hours at a time, and I'd soak you up with everything I had, your heartbeat drumming into my ear, tuning the rest of me to it.
I imagine turning to face you, gazing into your eyes, blue like—remember that field of cornflowers, the way they moved with the wind? no, deeper and bluer and clearer, like the sky over the reservoir in August—that's not it, either—how to describe them without cliche? Your eyes are the reason I bought that blue leather jacket, so I'd have something to remind me of you when we're apart, so I could imagine you wrapped around me when it's chilly out—it's all been said before a million times, but your eyes to me are unlike anything I've ever seen. They draw me in, and I want to stare for hours. You look away first.
I have to keep reminding myself I was the one who left you behind.
I imagine holding you at night, my arm around your middle, touching my lips to your shoulder like I used to. I'd wait until you were asleep and so casually turn over and wrap my arm around you, inching myself closer, so close my lips would touch, just touch, your shoulder. I loved when you slept in a tank top because your shoulder was bare and I could breathe in your shampoo and your deodorant and your lotion and your— you, picking them out one from another. I'd lie awake all night some nights. I couldn't miss a moment.
I lie awake a lot of nights now.
I imagine you beside me, touching my toes with your toes, touching my leg with your leg, touching my arm with your arm, not doing anything, not really, reading or studying or watching TV, just being close, just being—just being yours.
Because I am yours.
I imagine your you soaking into my skin, soaking into my muscles, soaking into my joints before my feet hit the cold floor mornings. It's a good way to get up. Gets me to the coffee, and when I drink it, I imagine the warmth as it goes through me as your warmth, flooding me, the way it would any time you smiled at me.
I imagine you imagining me with a real girlfriend. I hope if you do, you imagine you are jealous, because I am jealous of Sam. He has no idea who or what you are. No idea. Sure, there's been girls, but only one girlfriend. And you are the realest, Britt-Britt, because I can always be real with you.
You know me and I know you.
And I know this, too: you are mine. Just like I am yours. I imagine you knocking on our door in the middle of the night some night. Maybe it's our anniversary, the first one, or maybe the second one, or maybe—sometimes I get carried away—but there you are and it's you and me and I look in your eyes and I know: it's for keeps.
It keeps me up, some nights.
Tags: brittana fic Thank You venuscomb confusedanon chantgirlthemostrandomfandom