Hello lovely readers! This one-shot is inspired by a quote from a book called Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur. The quote is "You are the faint line between faith and blindly waiting." It's a fantastic book and I recommend reading it. It's chock full of beautiful quotes that's worthy to inspire fanfics.
I'm leaving it to you guys to decide who you think the narrator of the story is and who is the narrator's love interest. On Tumblr, with numerous of my followers liking my reader insert stories (don't judge, because pairing doesn't matter as long as the story is good), I allowed them to choose their poison. On here... well, I'm pretty sure the majority of you lot are here for Phan.
It's your choice. Your decision. A choose-your-own-character. Who is your narrator: Dan or Phil? Same with the love interest. Personally, writing in a general perspective is the most difficult writing challenge I put on myself. Coming up with a decent plot is already hard. But to write in first person with an unclear narrating character? Has anyone in the phandom ever even done that?
Alright. Rambling over. I'll let you read now. If you'd like to read my alternative author's note on my Tumblr, my username is awkwarddezzy13 (just cause, you know, you can leave a like there if reviewing isn't your thing).
The fire remains raging in my chest. Once in a while, its flames will spread elsewhere, the heat licking right below the surface of my skin. The oranges and reds were once at their brightest. Now the colors have dimmed, a battery running low on energy.
The electricity is fading, but it hasn't gone out completely.
People come and go. He crushed through the walls built around my heart. As every slab of concrete chipped away, I snipped away the strings of resistance. I swallowed the fears and doubts that constantly bubbled in my head. I started to reach for a rope that promised me eternal happiness.
I lived on optimism that there's always a light at the end of every tunnel.
Nothing in life is predictable, but I never would have predicted that he would change his mind. The moment he walked away as a stranger, I was left in the aftermath of a hurricane. My emotions were all over the place. For months, I tried to find myself again. I wandered through my existence in an attempt to recover who I was before I met him.
That former self is long gone.
People ask me if I'm fine without him. For a while, I wasn't. I couldn't breathe without being in his radar.
It has been two years. Time is supposed to heal all bruises. I still have the scars. I haven't given up the battle. I'm moving forward, though I'm still looking back.
I'm still holding on to a possibility that the past can be a future.
It isn't over until fate says it's over. When he first came into my life, he was an angel dropped from heaven.
When he makes a return, the gates of heaven reopened, a pure mist masking the figure of a demon in the guise of an angel.
In the busy hours of a city populated by the thousands, I'm one amongst dozens of others awaiting to cross the road. It's the same street at the same intersection that I walk, to the same Starbucks that I order the same coffee that fuels me to stay awake for another day. Every day is a repetitive motion. Every day is living another day fortunate to have a beating heart.
Every day is another day being without him.
The stoplight changes from red to green. I blend through the crowd, following the movement of bodies to the other side. I've gotten used to the morning rush hour. I'm one more human out of the constant stream of people and a flurry of voices. Outside the flat, I'm another person. I'm another living specimen navigating their lonely life.
It's at this intersection where it began, and it's this intersection that opens up a second beginning.
Nothing bizarre occurs until I'm on the other side and a body collides against my back.
I huff, irritation flowing through my veins. "Watch where you're going."
"Sorry."
I'm caught off guard. The single word is spoken from a voice that I'm familiar with, the same one that whispered "goodbye" before he walked out my life.
Or so I thought.
I turn around. Standing there is the man that I least expected to see today.
I stare at the face of the person that once belonged to me, with hands that I used to hold and legs that used to chase me at a wooden cabin deep in the woods that used to be ours. Even with the time that passed, nothing has changed. He still looks the same. What I see is the same man that stayed up late during summer nights and spent hours talking to me on the phone when we're away from each other.
"Hi," he says.
"Hey." I don't know what to say. This is an encounter that is supposed to remain as a dream. This kind of moment doesn't always happen beyond the big screen. Yet here we are, an ironic, iconic moment where we reunite at the same place we shared our first kiss, beneath a lamppost that served as a beacon of light. I can still recall the joy that ran through my body as our lips mashed and the tips of our tongues touched one another.
"It's been a while since I last saw you." His eyes scans me from head to toe, analyzing who he unintentionally bumped into. "How have you been?"
"I've been okay." Okay is an understatement. Words are indescribable to compare the range of emotions I have on a daily basis. When he's not on my mind, I feel normal. But the moment he crosses my mind or I'm with someone that mentions him in the conversation, my mind loses it. It takes all my willpower not to break and let my feelings spill.
"I see."
"How are you doing?" Have you moved on? is a sentence I want to add. Two years, twenty-four months, numerous seconds spaced between then and now. Somewhere in that duration, surely he could have met someone else. Maybe there's a different person that's filling the void.
"Well, I suppose. I've been pretty busy."
Busy with what? Busy with his career? Busy moving on? Busy with forgetting? The word is too vague. The word implies too many questions that I want to ask.
"Alright then." It's too much to read into his words. Without coffee, my mind is muddled and my thoughts don't function properly. If I don't separate myself from him now, I could say something that I can't take back later.
"Right." He nods. "I have to go meet someone. Maybe I'll see you around?"
We went this long with no contact. What are the chances we'll even run into each other again? Destiny is for foolish thinkers who rely on a nonexistent force to make their wishes come true. When we parted, I learned the hard way that patience is not always a virtue. Even though time can't be controlled, our actions were. If he wanted to, he would have came back to me. If he wanted to take it back, he would have done so already.
"Yeah. It was nice seeing you."
"Hmmm…" His eyebrows crinkle, a habit he has when he scrutinizes something. "Are you by any chance heading to Starbucks?'
He still remembers. He knows about my regular dependency on caffeine. He was the one that once gave me a Starbucks gift card before a big exam. He didn't want me to do an all-nighter, and he worried that I'd start searching for alternatives like Red Bull (which I realized isn't the same as a standard, traditional English/American freshly brewed cup of coffee).
I crack a smile. "Starbucks still has my back."
"As always."
Is he trying to prolong the conversation? I'm still processing what's happening. One half of me wants to continue to talk to him. The other half wants to search for the nearest opportunity to flee. The smallest of fractional instincts wants to slap him and tell him that he was the cause of my sorrow and emotional solitude for the last two years.
"We should get coffee sometimes." His lips incline upward, into the littlest of smiles that implies a silent hint. "It would be nice to do a little catching up."
A possibility. A window opening up a chance for an authentic dream. I stopped waiting for this chance when reality showed me a clarity that fate doesn't always works in ways that we want it to be. Sometimes, fate has plans that we can't accept, but have to obey anyway in order to keep moving forward.
"That sounds great."
"Awesome! Would Saturday work for you? I won't be doing anything."
Saturday is two days away. That's enough time for me to compose myself.
"I'm free on Saturday too."
He gives me a time. Promises me that he'll be there. Utters my name once before he sets off in a different direction.
I don't keep my hopes up. If he does show up, it's only so we can have a casual talk. We'll be two acquaintances revisiting events we experienced without the other around. We'll be two people that, at one time, labeled themselves as soulmates.
Soulmates.
We chose to be together. He chose to end what we had.
That in itself doesn't make us soulmates at all.
He's sitting at a corner two-seater table, sipping from a Grande-sized Starbucks cup. It's probably a white chocolate latte. He prefers lattes over frappes.
I don't have a preference. I order what my mouth is in the mood for tasting.
Avoiding his expectant gaze, I walk up to the counter and order a Venti caramel macchiato. I stand off to the side and wait for my order. The seconds tick away. This is the meeting that I'm not one hundred percent ready for. Despite my eagerness to learn what he has been up to since we last spoke, it's difficult for me to be in the same environment as him. If I can't handle his presence, how can I handle having a conversation, much less if he might ask me to meet up again?
"One Venti caramel macchiato."
I'm here now. Before, I didn't fight when he chose to flight. There will be no running. If he runs, I'll run after him. I'll gulp down my fears and make this right.
I grab my drink. With an indifferent expression on my face, I head over to the table that he's sitting at.
"Hi." He smiles, setting aside his cup. "I thought you couldn't make it."
I put my cup down, taking the empty seat directly across from him. "It's not raining. It's nice to spend the day out."
"Still like being indoors most of the time?"
"Indoors is where I don't have to talk to people."
I glance out the window. Gray clouds cluster the sky in thick airy masses. If it's not raining now, it could rain later. With the bundle of nerves coiled in my stomach, I completely forgot to bring an umbrella with me. I cross my fingers that the hood of my jacket will be enough to protect me should the dreary weather come.
There's a red umbrella on the floor next to his feet. He must have checked the weather forecast before going out. There were days that he would never leave the flat without an umbrella if there were any signs that it won't be sunny.
"So." He folds his arms on the smooth surface of the table. "What's been going on with you? I met with Zoe a few weeks ago and she told me she hasn't seen you in a while too."
If "by a while" means two months, then that counts. After we stopped speaking to each other, I had irregular contact with my friends. I didn't drop them altogether, although there were days when I was in the mood to be by myself. But I didn't become an unsocial hermit. I talked to them when I need to. I didn't want to worry them further after the first few depressing weeks without him.
Two months without contact with Zoe is the longest that I went without communicating with my friends. When he and I went our separate ways, she and Louise were two of the first people I went to. Louise let me stay at her place overnight. Zoe went to the nearest stores and bought as much candy as she could purchase. They were the ones that helped me get back up on my feet. They cared so much that they barely spoke about him around me. When they did, it was to give me a small update on how he's doing.
Zoe is vacationing with Alfie in Puerto Rico, which is why I haven't seen her lately. She's supposed to be back sometime next week.
"Same old, same old," I reply. "Still living the YouTube dream. Still loving Tumblr. Still have friends. Still me, I guess."
"I can see that. Looks like nothing changed."
Nothing changed? Everything has changed, thanks to you.
"Nothing stays the same." Underneath the table, my fingers fiddle with the zipper of my jacket. "Seasons change. Leaves fall from trees. Dark turns to light. Caterpillars turn to butterflies. If things stay the same, things remain dull."
A flicker of surprise reaches his facial features. He probably didn't anticipate hearing this from me within the first five minutes of our meeting. He should have seen it coming. He knows about my strange perceptions of the world.
"That's true." He moves his arms so one of his palms lie on the table and the other rests directly above that hand. "There are things that stay the same. Matter never disappears. Water can turn to gas or ice, but still be water. The earth hasn't ceased to exist. There are things that don't change, and those things are important to keeping us alive."
"Are you using science as a rebuttal?"
"Science isn't wrong."
I don't hold back the chuckle that falls from my lips. "What would we do without science?"
"Precisely."
There's one thing he's missing. If things that remain the same is important, why didn't he believe our relationship was worth keeping? He turned his back on us. Is he making a subtle hint that our relationship wasn't that important to him?
I clear my throat. "Speaking of science, there's going to be a full moon tonight."
Gearing the subject elsewhere, we carry our conversation in a different direction. We talk about anything and everything aside from the time period when we were together. We revisit memories when we were friends and discuss ideas we have for upcoming YouTube videos. He asks if we could do a collab. I tell him I'll think about it.
An hour passes. On the other side of the glass windows, rain is pouring down in heavy sheets. I'm not risking getting my clothes wet, so we're waiting for the rain to slow down or cease altogether before leaving the coffee shop.
We've consumed all our coffee. All we have to keep ourselves productive without resorting to using our phones is talking. For the last hour, I've almost forgotten what happened between us. It's as if our separation never happened and we're acting like friends spending quality time together after days of being wrapped up in our work schedules.
This is how we were. We were two people that knew how to pass time with nothing but mindless chatter. On camera, the whole world knew how close we were. Off camera, the closeness grew into something beyond friendship.
We became something more. Memories of those blissful months are still fresh in my mind.
But bliss didn't last forever. Eventually, reality crashed through.
At the start, the love was equal on both sides. As months passed, the love became one-sided. I was unaware that our relationship was inching closer to a halting end.
"I can't do this anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't love you anymore."
"What are you talking about? You're not making sense. Maybe you need to get some sleep."
"No. I… It's not you. You've done nothing wrong."
"Then what is it? You're making me scared."
"Don't be scared, love. I know you love me. I love you too. But the way I love you now isn't the way you love me."
"A-Are you breaking up with me?"
"I… I don't know. I don't want this to end, but I can't stay with you. It isn't fair for you and me. I shouldn't be with you when you want more and I can't give that to you."
He stopped loving me. From all the nights we laid in bed and whispered countless "I love you's" to each other, I hung on to the idea that we were forever. I built my life around him. I pictured a little boy or girl with his eyes and my hair color, or vice versa. I thought I was foreseeing the remainder of my future with him by my side.
His fire died down. I tried to spread my flames to him in an attempt to light him up again.
I couldn't reignite the fire.
He left when he realized that he didn't want to be with me anymore.
We no longer crossed the same path. Somewhere along the way, we reached an intersection. At a fork in the road, we diverged.
Two days ago, the parallel lines reached an intersection.
At this moment, in a coffee shop on a rainy day, I'm unsure of what will happen next. After today, I don't know if we're on our way to rebuild our friendship or preparing ourselves for another goodbye.
The rain slows down, morphing from a heavy downpour to a light drizzle. We toss away our coffee cups and head outside. He opens his umbrella. I put my hoodie on.
"Don't be like that." He grabs my arm and positions me under the protection of his umbrella. "You'll get wet."
"I'll be fine."
"Don't be stubborn. My umbrella is big enough for the both of us."
Of course it is. It's the same umbrella we'd share whenever we are outside on rainy days. We use it far more often than mine. He'd love to jump into puddles and splash me with the murky water. He wouldn't care about getting us wet. It was his way to making the best out of a rainy day. My way was treating rainy days as sweater weather, wearing jumpers and sharing kisses next to a fireplace while watching a movie.
"I'll pass." I take off on a brisk walk. I could care less about getting wet. Reliving our memories means being sucked back into the past.
He's easily catches up with me. Before the end of the block, he's back by my side, holding the umbrella above our heads.
"Where are you going?" he asks. "If you're going back home, I'll walk with you."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
And what? See the place where I spent nights wishing we could have another day like today?
He doesn't live far from me. After he moved out, Zoe told me he found a flat in London that's a few blocks from the train station. If he lived nearby, then it's strange to think why we haven't seen each other around England. YouTube events and parties are the only places we'd be in close proximity with each other. My friends are careful to help me avoid him.
"Don't you have… you know… someone waiting for you at home?"
He has an confused expression on his face for a few seconds before he understands what I mean. "Oh! Ummm… it's just me. And Percy. You know, my goldfish."
"Right." He mentioned earlier that he has been taking care of a goldfish that he won at a carnival.
"It's no bother. It's boring living alone, so I try to get out as much as I can. Meeting up with you is my highlight of today."
So is mine. I think it's the highlight of the year thus far.
"Fine." I brush off droplets of water off my sleeves. "Can't afford to get a cold again."
I walk side-by-side with him. We share more random exchanges on the way to my flat. I considered getting a new flatmate after we broke up, though it felt odd to think about having his room belong to someone else. The thought of a different person sleeping on a bed and utilizing a closet that used to be his is unbearable. I may be renting the flat, but I see that room as his and his alone.
That room brings painful memories of happier times. It would be more painful if the memories of that room are replaced by a person I won't share the same bond as compared to him.
We reach the building of my flat. We go through the lobby and ride up the elevator. On my floor, I fish for my key in my jeans pocket. I unlock the front door. The door swings open and I gesture for him to come inside.
At the lounge, we slip off our shoes and socks. He leaves his umbrella next to his footwear.
His eyes roam around the room. "I miss this place."
I purse my lips. He has no idea how diverse my feelings are at the fact that's in here. I have to watch my words. This place is ours. This place gave birth to our friendship. This place was where he showed me that I was worth loving.
You're the one that misses our flat. I'm the one that misses you.
He remains in the flat for the rest of the day. We order pizza from Dominoes. We look through my video game collection and play through some of our favorite games (we get mighty competitive at Mario Kart). I use my laptop to put my iTunes library on shuffle (I omit telling him that the songs are from our joint playlist that we created during downtime at a friend's social).
To an outsider, it seems like an average domestic moment in the flat. If I don't think about the reality of our situation, I view today as another day spent with a person that once meant the world to me. All that's missing is the hand-holding and the kisses.
We use ingredients in the fridge and cupboards to make tacos and fajitas for dinner. It's refreshing to eat Mexican cuisine. It has been a long time since I last ate Mexican food. I don't think I've had a Mexican-style dinner since the days when we were together.
It hits me as I'm adding spices to the fajitas. My grip on the handle of the frying pan tightens.
We were eating Mexican food when we told each other "I love you" for the first time.
"I have something to tell you."
"What is it this time? Wait, did you have to pirate another episode of Breaking Bad again?"
"No! If I won't pirate anime, I won't be pirating our favorite TV shows."
"Thank god. So… out with it. I'm not getting any younger."
"Alright. God, you can be so demanding."
"That's not helping the anticipation."
"It is if I'm telling you that I love you."
"The tacos are done!" I turn around. He's smiling at me and holding a hot tray of our homemade tacos.
"Those smell delicious."
"I know, right?" He places the tray on the kitchen table. "How are the fajitas?"
"It's coming along."
"Well, hurry up. Eat the tacos while they're still hot."
"I'm on it. Don't be so demanding."
"Funny. I thought that was you."
I pause for a brief moment. Is he doing this on purpose? Is he trying to mess with my head?
How can he mess with your head if you're not even sure he cares about what you were to him once?
Shoving the thought away, I resume cooking the fajitas. Reconnection. One minute after the next. Every action with no sense of absolute purpose. Going with the current, riding it to an unknown destination. This is how the entire day has been. Unpredictable and holding back subconscious instincts. There's no certainty of what will happen by midnight.
When the food is fully prepared, we carry it to the kitchen table. He sits down on the same seat where we had candlelit weekend dinners. I grab two bottles of beers from the fridge. Minus the candles, the setting is reminiscent to our home dates.
"No candles?" He grabs one of the bigger metallic spoons and scoops two heaps of fajitas on his plate. "I sort of thought a scented candle would be perfect to put right here." He eyes a space on the table that's large enough to place a candle on.
I barely use scented candles anymore. Zoe and Louise occasionally give me one if they are on a shopping haul and want to give me something from their trip. The only times I use them though is when the power goes out in the flat. Scented candles is the smell of regret and demolished dreams.
"I don't have any," I say briskly. "Let's eat, shall we?"
For the first few minutes, we eat in silence. My comment about the candles brought in a new tension in the room. I dismissed his question as quickly as me to leave a classroom after taking an exam in high school. As much as he's trying to lighten the mood, all it's doing is inserting memories of our happier times, a past that I wish we can still be living. My second chance is sitting feet away from me, but I'd rather let the opportunity slide than seize it and have it fail me one more time.
"How's the food?" I ask when we're in the middle of eating our tacos. For a man that isn't the best chef in the world, tacos is one of the foods that he doesn't mess up. The shell is crunchy. The ground meat, vegetables, and grazed cheese melts in my mouth. The sauce has the perfect spice that doesn't leave me with an inflamed throat.
"Delicious," he replies with a mouthful of taco. "You've outdone yourself with the fajitas again."
I smile. When it came to Mexican dinner nights, we have our specialties. He does tacos, I do fajitas. It's a system. It was something that didn't change. "I'm not here to disappoint."
"As do I."
We finish their dinner, and he offers to take care of washing the dishes and silverware.
"No! You're the guest. You already helped make dinner," I insist.
"Exactly. I'm your guest, so I shouldn't sit around and watch you do everything."
"Yes you can. I say so."
"Then I'll beg to differ." He grabs the dishes with the silverware balanced on top of the circular items and carries them to the kitchen, dropping them into the sink.
"Why are you doing this?" Why is he being so nice? We're not together anymore. He doesn't have the right to do things with me anymore. We're only a little more than acquaintances after how the day progressed. Acquaintances don't have a solid base to do favors for each other, even if it's a polite action.
"You know what? That's it." He narrows his eyes. "What happened to you? All day, you've been a bit moody. I get it. We broke up. We haven't seen each other in two years. But I'm here now, aren't I? I'm trying to make things right. I didn't want to leave you back then, but how else was I supposed to deal with my shame of falling out of love? How am I supposed to tell you that leaving you was how I realized I shouldn't have stopped loving you?"
"Then why didn't you come back!" I shout. "TWO YEARS. You threw away what we had. Do you have any idea how many nights I cried, wondering what I could've done that made me unlovable? I hoped that you'd change your mind. I hoped my pain would be worth suffering if it meant I'd live to see the day that you'd come back to me. But after a year, nothing. I was forced to come to terms that I was being stupid to still be holding on to you."
"You're not stupid." His eyes softens. "I'm sorry. I still love you. There's always going to be an us. I won't leave you again. I was the stupid one to screw things up and give up on you. You were right. We should have tried to fix things."
"You could have fixed things by coming back," I snap. "And what makes you think that I'd forgive you so easily? You could be lying about still loving me just so we'd be friends again."
He glares at me. "After all I said, you're still stubborn to believe I'd treat you so lowly."
"It's not impossible." I cross my arms. I won't be treated as a fool by this man again. If he wants us to rebuild our friendship, I can give him that. But he shouldn't expect me to jump into his arms and get back together. From the two angsty years living on my own, I learned how to prevent myself from being blindsided. Trust wasn't something that I sold in a can.
"Then I should leave," he resigns. "If you have given up on me, then there's no point in asking you to be friends again."
My blood boils. That was the reason why I hesitated from the idea of giving him another chance. Our relationship ended because he fled. And now he's choosing to flee for a second time?
"What happened to fighting for us?" I say in a sarcastic tone. "I thought you wanted to make things right. Are you gonna choose to be a coward and hurt me again?"
His jaw goes stiff. "Yes."
I rein in my impulse to slap him across the face. My fueling anger is close to doing violent actions that I never would have wanted to unleash on him. "Then you are a coward. Why the hell did I ever let you in my life?"
"Because I'd rather be a coward than do something we'll regret tomorrow." He grabs my wrists. His touch sends an electrifying shock that knocks the air out of my lungs. "Because being your friend won't let me make it up to you the way I want to."
He pushes me against the adjacent wall where the sink is. He relinquishes his hold on my wrists to caress my face in his smooth hands. "Because if I didn't love you, I wouldn't have asked you to meet at Starbucks." He leans closer, his nose brushing the arch of my nose. "Because you never left my mind since we broke up and I'm thinking, 'Fuck it, if I'm walking out that door in the next five minutes and I'll never see you again, I can't leave without proving to you that I'm not lying.'"
His mouth lands a firm kiss on my lips. I'm frozen in place, my widened eyes staring at closed eyes. His mouth is hungry, attacking my lips like I'm the last piece of his favorite cereal in the cereal box. I resist the moan that's seconds away from escaping. As his tongue traces circles along my sealed mouth, my hands falter from settling at his waist. This is wrong. You didn't want to give him a second chance. Break away. Push him away now while you still have the chance.
When he pulls back, he looks at me with a dejected expression. "Goodbye, love. Thank you for the proper goodbye."
His palms inch away from my face. His watery eyes is a bullet shot to my heart. He has no idea how much I want to forgive him. I may have accepted his choice a few months ago, but the memory of the day that he gave me a note before he left for good is still a searing memory.
I thought we were forever, but sometimes forever isn't for everyone.
My limbs are rigid as I watch him back away from me and walk out the kitchen. My right hand presses against the wall, bracing my body from a probable fall. What am I doing? Why am I not going after him? He kissed me. Every word he spoke was the truth. He took a chance to kiss me, and I reacted with cruelty by doing nothing.
He was the one doing everything to fix things. I was the one that pushed him away. I had wondered if he still cared about me. He did. I should have been happy and ecstatic, not look for an excuse of insincerity to his actions. While he made the moves, I was a statue. I was cold and unchanging. He showed me that the moments that happened today didn't have to be confined for 24 hours. Today can be tomorrow, tomorrow can be the day afterward, and so on and so forth.
I call his name. I sprint out the kitchen. In the lounge, his shoes are back on and he's holding his umbrella. The door is open. If I lingered for another second, I would have wasted our intersection.
"Don't leave." I swiftly move to the door and slam it. "If you want to make it up to me, stay with me tonight." He knows what he wants. Will you let yourself do what you want too?
He turns around. His glistening eyes swim with hope. "Do you mean that?"
I nod.
"Can I… Can I kiss you again?"
I smile. Screw logic for one evening. We can talk tomorrow. "Please."
This time, when he kisses me, our chapped lips match in intensity. Unlike the first kiss, I allow my hands to touch him, dragging up his shoulders and into his hair. The atmosphere within the room is enhanced with a lesser dense air. We're not holding back. He opens his mouth, and my tongue slips in. He tastes of vanishing grudges. He feels like the first day of spring, the aroma of blooming flowers bursting in a garden and the rays of the sun being the ideal temperature for warmth.
"Bedroom. Now," I mumble.
We hold hands and retire to my bedroom. The onslaught of lust coursing to the lower half of my body causes a blush to rise on my cheeks. I haven't been with anyone else since our breakup. Did I remember to stock up on condoms? I kept buying them on the off chance that I might be in the mood for a one-night stand.
I never was. I relied on a subscription to a porn website and many, many pieces of erotic literature.
He tackles me to the bed as soon as we get inside. Clothes are ripped away and thrown haphazardly throughout the room. Three days ago, I didn't imagine that my Starbucks meet-up with him would end with us here. We were pretty adventurous behind closed doors. There's a box of toys and other sexy stuff buried somewhere in my closet. We lived through our share of fantasies. But right now, the fantasy we're living is more similar to our first night together. Stripped down. Just our bare bodies and the darkness enveloping us in a cocoon.
He's on his back when we're fully naked. I pepper kisses on the column of his throat, down his chest, teasing his nipples with my tongue and forefingers. By the time I crouch down to his hard member, he's a panting mess. I fondle the base of his cock with one hand and use my other hand to skim my pointer finger up his shaft. At the tip, I lick the head teasingly. His answering moan encourages me to expand my mouth and take him all in.
"Shit."
I hum. I love seeing him all worked up.
My mouth takes him in further, his cock hitting the back of my throat. One of my hands continues stroking in the part of him that I can't fit in my mouth. My other hand squeezes his balls. His moans are getting louder and his hips are arching up to meet my mouth.
"Uh…" he groans. "Stop. I want to come inside you."
I draw my mouth and hands away, giving the head of his cock a final suck. I grab a condom from the top drawer of my dresser. He watches me with glazed eyes as I rip the wrapper open and put the condom on.
He pushes me on my back and gives me a brief kiss. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
I nod, snaking my arms around his neck. I waited two years for this to come. I'll be more of an idiot to say no when both of us want this and we're not depending on alcohol for it to happen.
"Less talking, more fucking."
He chuckles. "The bed cusser isn't gone."
I roll my eyes, but my mouth curves into a small smile. "Shut up."
He grabs hold of my hips and slides slowly into me. It's my turn to moan as my insides take in every inch of him. His thrusts gradually picks up speed, and silent screams escape my mouth. The feeling is indescribable. It's incredible. Amazing. My toes are curling and my heart rate throbs faster against my rib cage. I spread my legs further open, bringing my knees up to the back of his shoulders. The new position causes him to hit my sweet spot, eliciting a guttural moan from me.
"More…" I gasp out. "Fuck me more."
He smirks. "More, you say?" He stops thrusting and pulls out of me. "On your hands and knees."
I grin. I do as he commands, flipping my body so my ass is in the air. When he takes control, his dominance is the side of him that's completely different from his kindhearted personality. He may not be able to harm a kitten, but when he's in the bedroom, his confidence would make you think twice about defying him.
I yelp when his palms smacks my ass, but the temporary sting is quickly replaced by the feeling of him entering me again. Instead of his initial steady pace, his thrusts are hard and fast. The motions bring me closer to the edge. Our breathy moans and slapping of skin are sounds that bounces off the walls of my room. I crane my head to the side, and I see his face contorted in sheer pleasure.
Incoherent words escape my mouth. My body is slick with sweat and my arms give out. I bury my face into a pillow, his name all I can say when I find my release. I'm shaking and I think I hear my name coming out from his lips too when he climaxes. Quivering, his frantic motions slow down. He lets out a content sigh, letting go of me and me collapsing on the mattress.
My mind is surrounded by a hazy afterglow while I come down from my high. I miss being with him like this. That was the best orgasm I've had in months. It doesn't even compare to the time that we acted out a teacher-student fantasy.
"I love you," he murmurs. His arms encircle my waist, his lips millimeters from my ear. "I'm yours, and not just for tonight."
"Do you mean it?" When tomorrow comes, I want to have the hope that what our relationship isn't entirely lost. I want him to be next to me in the morning, knowing that he sees through my invisible barriers. I want him to be true to his word about still loving me and proving to me that I can trust him again. I want to have my faith in him restored so I too can freely say the three words back to him, like it used to be.
"Yes." His hands clasps onto mine, his fingers tracing circles on my knuckles. "You're the one for me. You and only you."
"Do you belong to me?"
"Always."
"I'm yours too." It'll always be him. No one can ever take his place.
When I wake up, I hear someone frying something in the kitchen. I squint at the trickle of sunlight that beams through my window. I yawn and rub my eyes. I glance down on the floor and see that our clothes are still on the floor.
Except his boxers.
"Thought you didn't like going commando," I say in an amused tone. Laughing to myself, I get off the bed. I gather my clothes and dump it into the laundry basket. In the closet, I put on a clean set of clothes. I forgo freshening up in the bathroom, eager to see what he's cooking for breakfast.
Strolling into the kitchen, the smell of pancakes hit my nostrils. His bare back is facing me and the apron leaves nothing to the imagination. My mouth is salivating; both for him and the food
"Good morning."
He turns the stove off and angles his body to face me.
"I made us breakfast." He puts the frying pancakes down on the stove. "I made our favorite."
Pancakes. The same breakfast I made for him in bed the morning after we told each other "I love you" for the first time. Seeing him cook the round, flat, battery food is a reminder that my two-year anguish is over. At our intersection, we're choosing to walk the same path again. But the paved path isn't how it was before. The path is a representation of the inner battle we fought.
It's a fresh start. We can't click on a rewind button to erase the years that tore us apart, but we can learn from our mistakes. We have every second ahead of us to establish new memories.
No more tears. No more aches. Today, it's a day to begin again.
This story is my longest DP fic so far and it's my baby. Feedback would be much appreciated! I'm still not an expert at writing smut.
Until next time.
~ AA