Inspired largely by R5's cover of Girls by The 1975. Oops.
Been a while since I've written anything, but I suppose getting back in the saddle isn't terrible.
She's pretty. Not in the abject way, where someone would notice walking down the street, but in that way where the sun catches her eyes and he's sinking too far into what he knows is trouble. (He supposes that she's pretty in the abject way, too, from the stares they're getting as she eats her ice cream and laughs.)
But there's something about her, about this girl he's known for years that's making him second guess everything in his life. Something that's telling him that she's something worth hanging on to, something meant for more to him. Something in the way she's incapable of looking down to see that she's going to tumble forward over the crack in the pavement, and that he's helpless to catch her and tuck the hair that fell in front of her face back behind her ear. There's something in the way that she's looking at him that's making him question everything he's ever felt about her, because somehow, he knows it's all changing. (He knows that it has changed, since they're dating, but there's something more beneath the surface that he can't place, something foreign and familiar at the same time whenever he sees her face.)
She's more than just his best friend. More than his partner. And he'll be damned if she even looks at anyone else, since she's his girlfriend. She twirls around on the sidewalk, and that feeling comes up again, warming him more than the Miami sun from the inside out. This girl was going to kill him. And it was becoming more apparent as they got closer to the house, since he was powerless to stop her once she got started. Firsts were becoming the norm with them. First serious relationship (for him, anyway, since he couldn't ever remember anything feeling like this. He wasn't sure about her, but he was convinced he was going to change that). First time meeting the parents as more than friends. First making out. First time figuring out that he should probably thank the gods for making the Miami summers unbearable without getting in pools, since she was likely to join him and make him grateful the water made him buoyant, since he was weak at the knees at the sight of her in a bikini next to him. First time he had brought a girl into his bedroom. First time he had gotten to explore a girl. (And God help that discovery, since those overwhelming feelings were shared. God help him to resist that girl when she had made up her mind.)
He worked the door open as she worked a button on his shirt. Those eyes were going to kill him. He swore that he was going to be in control. He had a movie. He could make popcorn. Things would be safe. Safer than the buttons that had slowly all become undone on his shirt. Safer than the hands pushing the shirt off his shoulders. Safer than the feeling of her wrestling him to the ground. God help him now, he thought as he worked her shirt over her head and dropped his head to run his nose along her collar. Her mind was made up, and he was more than willing to comply. Her hands ran along his sides, and he swore he could see heaven. Her eyes were bright, and the feeling came along again. Swelling up, begging him to name it. He kissed her to ignore it. It coming back tenfold was not the kind of control he was looking for.
More firsts. He wasn't looking to lose that last first on the floor of his living room, but some others were negotiable. Entirely negotiable. And as they came, that feeling bubbled up in his chest. Relaxed as he was, a thought floated in. And just like that, the feeling had a name. His eyes flew open, scared out of his mind. Naming it was the single most frightening thing he could have done. It had a Name. A big, secret, can't-keep-it-to-yourself Name. And he couldn't un-Name it, now. She was lying on his chest, and her hair tickled his nose. He moved it, and the Name leapt to his mind again. Her head lifted off his chest, and her eyes caught his. Oh, God. He was lost, sunk, and begging for anything else to make him feel this way. But those eyes. They were probably going to kill him, but there wasn't a thing he could do about it. They were drawing out his soul slowly, and it seemed the only way to stop it was to Name it.
And so he did.
He was wrong about it stopping the feeling of his soul coming out of his body. So entirely wrong. She named it, too. And that feeling of everything changing intensified, and nothing, nothing would ever be the same again. Another first together, he noted. And last? That was another feeling for another day. For now, Naming it was changing everything, and he was consumed by the intensity of it. He held her face in his hand, and knew it was everything he needed.
"I love you, Ally."