'U' was being seriously difficult.
Untitled
Ash stares into the ceiling fan. The thin blades slice the air as he pulls the covers under his chin for more warmth. His eyes move to his right, to the girl just inches away, shivering under those same covers. He can make out her delicate shape, against the thin blanket pretending to hide her body. Misty takes her share of the covers and bunches it just above her chest. She sits up on the pillow -his pillow- and moves a wild bang back into her messy hair.
She looks sad, as his eyes caress her body. Misty steals another few inches of his blanket and tucks it under her thigh. The covers flush against her slender form and he can oddly see everything and nothing at the same time.
"So," his voice begins weakly, like he hasn't used it in ages. "How are you?"
There isn't an answer. The emptiness is unbearable, and Ash can hardly believe the room filled with so much passion a few moments ago. His mouth opens to reiterate the question, but realizes she did hear him and chose not to answer. All she does is continue fixing her hair to satisfaction and wraps her arm around her stomach.
As Ash moves closer, he swears he can feel her fall away, and he surrenders most of his blanket until it drops to his waist. His bare chest gently bumps her equally bare shoulder and he retracts to the accidental contact. It seems ironic now, considering the circumstances.
"Is something wrong?"
Another thin bang falls against her cheek, but this time he takes the initiative to brush it from her milky skin. Finally she moves; moves in a way he's accustomed as his finger traces her jawline all the way down her collarbone. Her eyes close to his touch, but he can't tell if it's because of disgust or pleasure, begging for more. He takes the former and stops, but it's impossible to ignore how dangerously close they are. He's close enough to see the marks he left in the slide of her neck and can smell their entangled scent lingering on their skin. It's a foreign aroma, a stranger to them both.
Misty shakes her head, undoing the hair he just put back into place.
"Then it's me." It's not a question but more of a realization.
"No." The blue in her eyes meet the brown in his. "It's not you either."
He doesn't get it, and she knows. It's so hard not to ask her the hundreds of questions bouncing in his mind, but he waits for her to continue. Eventually, she does, after another tedious pause Misty rests her head against his chest. It's comfortable, like it's meant to be there. Her skin is warm against his, it always feels that way. Why something can feel so right and so wrong at the same time, he can't understand.
"I just, don't know how to continue," she mumbles with eyes shut.
Again, he waits for explanation.
She sighs. "Just like that, we've gone from being friends to, well... this. What do we do now?"
Now its his turn to speak. But just like her, he can't give an answer, as if they're both asking unanswerable questions. All he can do is lean his cheek against her forehead as he rubs her back over his blanket. They stay there for a few minutes, half joined, fully blank, holding on to the unfamiliar.
"I don't know either," he finally says, disregarding the five minutes of silence. "I wish I did."
So does she. At least they can agree on something.
"Technically, I'm still dating David. You have someone too. I don't want to get you in trouble with the League. You're reputations on the line, Ash."
"Forget that," he says abruptly. "I don't care."
He doesn't regret what happened, not for a damn second. How she showed up at his door, alone, without explanation. How innocent talks morphed into something deeper. How years of dancing the friendship tightrope broke suddenly, and they couldn't stand it anymore. How it all happened at the worst time, when neither had the means or freedom to do it.
As morning arrives, she's forced to leave, hair just as messy as she left it. He watches her go, down the stairs with a promise to call, a million questions still unanswered and feelings still unresolved. He hopes she'll call, so he can make some sense out of the greatest night of his life. Still, he knows things should have been better under different circumstances -- the right circumstances. In a time where she doesn't have to leave him before sunrise, where their relationship can finally have a label, and solving a problem is as easy as fixing her hair.
I'm done with the depressing stuff. It's all flowers from here on. I promise.