A/N: Something that poured out onto my keyboard. Take with it what you may.
Disclaimer: Of nothing.
She closed her eyes and thought about all the ways he drove her crazy. His husky voice, sweet and satisfying to her in ways she never could have imagined were possible.
His hands, rough and strong and perfect, hands that could hold her against everything but remain soft and warm against her body.
His eyes, Oh God, his eyes. Brown, brown, circling deeper into the depths of her mind, tracing, burning holes into her skin, innocence and guilt and love and lust and lost. Now, then, never, close, here. They were here.
She wanted to go over and kiss him, to force him to force her out of this misery, this being that she didn't want. Because she didn't want to be this. Because she didn't want to be here.
She wanted him, all of him, anything and everything and nothing at all, silence that was filled with more sound than all the music they had listened to in their adolescence, disk after disk of drum sets and guitar solos and noises they couldn't even identify. Sounds she remembered almost as clearly as her own heartbeat, almost as clearly as his.
(Almost.)
Silence that flattened day into night and was filled with the wind around him and the leaves beneath his feet and the smile on his lips. Silence that was filled with contentment of being just. Just now. Just then. Just never. Just close. Just here.
His hands inside hers and, Oh God, she couldn't breath but she didn't care and she wanted it and him and all.
And she couldn't remember the last time she had felt this alive except for when she was in that silence that she remembered so well that was filled so much in the space of her mind that seemed empty because how could it ever be full when there was too much of him to end, a line.
It went on and on and off the paper, circling her head, dizzy with love and drunk off happiness that she knew she didn't deserve. Not now, not then, not never, not close, not here.
Did he know that he was making her crazy? Romeo-and Juliet, Sid-and-Nancy, take-the-red-pill, follow-the-white-rabbit insane?
Did he know that his touch, just his touch, so warm and familiar, could make her wish that she could spend forever watching the brown of his eyes fill her head with chocolate, dark, dark, intoxicating into nothingness that was everything she could never have. Even now. Even then. Even never. Even close. Even here.
And there weren't enough words in the dictionary for her to explain the feeling in her stomach, the clenching, tingling, horrible, electric feeling that sent pins and needles down her spine and made her toes curl and her eyes shut in such excruciating pain; because she knew that she had lost. Lost. Her chance.
And she wished that she could find away to make it up, and convince herself to forget—if only she could. But there was no way for her to forget something so terrible and wonderful and falling and flying and winning and losing and him. There never would be.
Now, then, never, close, here. Him.
