A/N: "If I Cut My Hair, Hawaii Will Sink" by Chiodos.
if i cut my hair, hawaii will sink
It wasn't so much habitual as it was natural when they ended up curled and nuzzled together on the couch, a blanket thrown over them and all the lights turned off, nothing but the glow of the TV and the sounds of a Netflix movie playing on the screen while they watched.
It had been her idea, of course. To "watch something funny on Netflix." After they spent half an hour sitting close together while she showed him dozens of memes and funny videos on her phone that she said had 'reminded her of him' during their time apart - and she seemed to have saved every single one in the hopes of getting a chance to share a few laughs with him sometime in the future. He tried not to read too much into what that could mean. Although he knew the feeling all too well. He couldn't even count all the times he'd seen or heard something that he'd immediately wanted to share with her, only to quickly realize that they weren't speaking anymore.
And now she was lying with her head on his chest, their bodies intertwined and the blanket tucked in around them, her small arms wrapped around his middle and his large hands resting atop her warm back. Her hair tickled his chin and he could smell nothing except her flowery conditioner but he liked it that way. She was warm against him and she weighed practically nothing, even as she lay nearly completely on top of his body. They were forced to snuggle even closer due to the limited space on the couch. But now her heartbeat had synchronized with his, and so had her breathing, and he could feel her cheek moving against his chest every time she smiled, and the vibration that her soft laughter sent through his ribcage whenever she laughed at a funny part in the movie.
And it felt like home.
He couldn't have possibly cared less that it was nearing four in the morning. He was still dreading having to get up early for work, especially after so many drinks and so little sleep, but every second he got to spend with her was worth it. He hadn't even had the willpower to ask her if she needed a ride home or if she was staying the night or what. He was partially afraid that it would bring the end of their night closer. Like maybe she forgot that she had somewhere else to be. Maybe she lost track of other priorities and responsibilities when she was around him, just like he did when he was around her.
If she was trying to convince herself - or him - that they were better off as friends, then she was doing a poor job so far. He was pretty sure that friends didn't cuddle like this on the couch, or cuddle at all. Nor did they make each other come.
They were past the halfway mark in the movie when he felt her lifting her head from his chest. He looked down to find her heavy-lidded eyes gazing up at him through a few loose tendrils of blonde hair. Her chin was resting on his breastbone, and she licked her lips before speaking quietly through a hoarse throat.
"You know that yer the best friend I've ever had… right? Like, you're still my best friend."
Had the liquor settled in her head while she was lying down and relaxing? Was she speaking through whiskey slurs and beer breath, or was it another veracious outpouring from a well-oiled tongue? Sometimes he hated how honest alcohol made her. She'd always been complete shit at controlling her inhibitions, mostly when it came to her verbal outbursts.
But he couldn't look away from her intense cornflower blue gaze, and once again, he didn't have the strength to pull himself out of her gravity. She was reading his mind, again and again and again. And then she was telling him about it. And it made his stomach feel like it might begin eating itself. Or maybe that was the whiskey.
He had to clear his throat before he could respond, his voice low and breathy. "What about Brittany? Or Lauren?"
He was prepared to list off more names but she shook her head and smirked lazily, eyelids lowering for a brief second as she huffed out a breath against the cotton of his T-shirt. "No - they're… barely friends. We don't really talk about anything. They don't care. Whenever I have a really good day or a bad day, or somethin' happens - I always wanna tell you first. It's always a - a battle with myself ta not text you or call you or whatever…"
His hand found its way up her back to the nape of her neck, and he pressed his palm against her warm skin, tangled his fingers in her thick hair. She barely leaned into his touch and he could feel the unspoken words surging between their shared body heat, echoing in their jilting heartbeats.
"Me, too," he whispered, watching thick black eyelashes flutter against milky skin before he was thrown back by the yearning that radiated from her watery blue eyes.
She was staring right through him again, whether she realized it or not. "I love you."
The way she said it made it sound nearly pained. His lungs tightened and he swallowed hard, and his hand gripped the back of her neck a little harder. He was urging her closer against him, pulling her nearer inch by tentative inch.
"Ya ain't gotta say that," he mumbled, staring into her eyes and studying them carefully.
She frowned briefly and blinked. "I know I don't got to. But I want you ta know."
"Why? If it ain't ever gonna work again - then what's it matter?"
Maybe the liquor was giving him loose lips tonight, too. Or maybe it was just her, in all her honesty and vulnerability, colliding with his bruised ego and broken pride. Maybe he was completely powerless to stop himself from wanting her, needing her, in the same way that she seemed to be powerless to stopping herself from being drawn back to him.
At least now, he was learning how to be truly reliable.
"If you don't want me ta say it anymore, I won't," she muttered, her eyes darkening.
He could feel her beginning to tense up atop him and he immediately regretted his choice of response. Why did he keep doing this? Falling back into this pathetic little game? What was it about being with her that made him turn into a different version of himself? He wanted to be better. But goddammit, she made it so hard sometimes. How was he supposed to act? What was he supposed to do? What did she expect of him?
Why did her mouth keep saying we will never have another chance, while every other part of her kept telling him, please keep trying, it's not over yet?
"'S not what I meant," he grumbled.
A flicker of hope dashed across her face as she gazed up at him, though her muscles were still tensing. She blinked.
He quietly added, "You know I love you… An' you know why that shit hurts. Fer me."
He could see her swallowing hard and then nodding slowly, her eyes flicking away from his momentarily. Then she was resting her head on his chest once again, relaxing into him, pressing her body closer against his. His heart sped up and he knew she could hear it and feel it. And she squeezed him tighter.
Despite her physical grasping at him, he could sense her silently pulling away and beginning to close off. He knew what she wanted: to live in the moment, to relish in a past that was long gone and out of reach. She wanted to pretend they were there again, like they'd never even left. She wasn't intentionally doing it at his expense, but it was still very much at his expense. He wasn't equipped to handle that kind of emotional ping-pong game, even with all his rusty armor and cracked shields poised and prepared to stave off the overwhelming sense of loss. He didn't have the strength to delve into that fantasy with her again, not when it had become so fucking hard to pull himself out time and time again. He was already so close to falling apart.
It felt like she was handing him a knife and demanding that he slice open every vein in his body, just for her. Like she was demanding to see the intricacies of his tendons and nerves, but refusing to help him stitch it back up. She just wanted his blood. She wanted him to pour himself out at her feet so she could use it as warpaint in her quiet battles.
If he let her, she'd sap every last bit of sanity and competence he had left inside him. Every remaining ounce of hope and optimism and motivation to be good. He knew she didn't mean to be, but sometimes, she was like a tiny vampire with a direct line to his life source. And sometimes, he was tempted to let her suck him completely dry, with no fights or complaints.
It wasn't like he could ever do any better than her anyway.
Without really thinking about it, he slid his hands down the length of her back until his palms were cupping her ass, fingers digging into the crevice above the back of her thighs, pulling her in closer against him hips-first. Wordlessly pleading for her forgiveness, begging her to understand his grief and pain and reluctance, to welcome him inside once again and reassure him.
She read his silent body language almost immediately, deciphering his unspoken apology, and melded into him. Her muscles untensed and her hips bucked into his as if on reflex. Come back home, they seemed to cry.
Once again, it was like falling back into a familiar place of solace and comfort. That thread tightened around them and yanked them together until they had no choice but to ride it out. Until he had no choice but to give in to every silent demand of her body.
And fuck, she was so warm and then hot, and she'd been sitting on his couch looking so goddamn good in those tight little jeans and that top that hugged the gentle curves of her hips and holy shit, the sensation of her soft, pert breasts pressing against him, dragging up his ribs and across his chest, sent all the blood rushing straight between his legs. It sent every slightly doubt-filled thought flying out of his head and dissipating into the darkness of the apartment. Her clothes were so thin and she was pressed so tightly against him that he could feel every rise and dip of her petite form, he could feel every tensing and quivering muscle as she closed the distance between their faces.
Her hair tickled his neck and his cheeks as her soft lips pressed against his. His eyes fluttered closed and his breath stuttered as the taste of beer and Beth filled his mouth. Her scent was encompassing him and she was stealing the very breath from his throat, kissing him harder, sliding her hands up to grasp his shoulder and the back of his neck while she began to writhe atop him. The blood was racing through his veins, hot and thick, pooling in his center and bringing to life the burning need that made his cock twitch and jump in his pants. It was quickly growing hard and prodding into her inner thigh through layers of clothing.
She felt it and intentionally ground her pelvis down against it, providing him with a delicious friction that sent a shudder of anticipation trembling through his whole body. He swallowed back a low groan and kissed her harder, shoving his tongue between her lips and gripping her ass in both hands. She dragged her hips against him in sync with his hands urging her closer and he shuddered, his cock throbbing harder and a trickle of precome dampening the inside of his boxers.
The movie playing on the TV was long forgotten now, the sounds becoming background noise to their quiet grunts and groans, the gasped breaths that bounced off the walls around them. The blanket quickly fell away and ended up in a pile on the floor while they squirmed together on the couch, bodies bucking and grinding together in need of a closeness that was impossible to achieve with so many clothes on. Yet they couldn't seem to pull away from each other long enough to strip off the barriers between them.
We shouldn't be doin' this. This ain't what friends do - why do we keep repeating this pattern when I just told you how much it fucking tortures me?
But her hips were grounding into his so perfectly, and he could feel the heat between her legs, the need that resonated through her body and ached for him. Even through denim and cotton and heartbreak and resentment, he could hear her calling out to him. Begging for him. And who was he to say no? She was relentless.
But in all fairness, so was he.
He wasn't even trying to stop himself. He pulled her closer, dug his fingers in and cupped her ass harder, with more intent and demand. Her breath was hot in his mouth, and she bit down on his bottom lip without warning, eliciting a low growl from his throat. There was no hint of inhibition left within him, and he immediately pulled his hand back and slapped her ass in response. She jolted against him and shuddered, kissing him with deeper desperation and moaning softly into his mouth. Her hips bucked into his and he could feel her sharp hip bones digging into his abdomen, sending another rush of desire straight to his throbbing erection.
And he'd be goddamned if he was about to lie to himself right now, or try to deny the fact that he'd jerked himself off at least four times over the last two weeks to the very explicit memory of Beth squirming in his bed and gushing all over his dick. He'd replayed that night so many times in his head by now that it almost didn't feel real anymore. And even though he didn't want to, he'd longed for another night just like it. One more moment with her bare naked before him, hot and wet and moaning with need. One more moment that he could drag out for eternity and get lost in whenever he was stroking himself in the shower or lazily touching himself while trying to fall asleep.
Here it was, happening when he'd already given up hope that it might ever happen again.
And the flare-like burst in the pit of his stomach was building to the point of explosion, his dick growing harder and more engorged with every brief brush of her thighs. Even through the layers of clothing, he could feel the heat between her legs growing more intense, and she was bucking against him with more desire every time his tongue found a new spot inside her mouth. Their lips grappled and fought for dominance, breaths becoming pants and gasps that vocalized their matched passion, the unspoken obligation to prove something to one another. Though he was pretty sure that neither of them knew exactly what that something was.
His fingers drifted over to the tantalizing warmth between her legs, and he stretched his arm a little farther to reach down below her ass and slide his fingers between the heat that had pooled there, pressing the seam of her jeans teasingly against her moistening cunt. She gasped in sharply against his mouth and he bit down on her bottom lip to elicit another gasp, smiling in satisfaction with the reaction he'd gotten from her. She ground her hips down into his, begging for more friction and contact. He dragged his fingers between her legs, pressing upwards and relishing in the way she trembled against him.
He broke his mouth away from hers just long enough to growl against her lips, "Take those fuckin' jeans off."
She immediately leaned away and reached down to undo the button of her pants and slide them down her legs, struggling for a second as she jerked them off her feet and tossed them to the floor. And without any urging, she quickly pulled off her shirt and camisole, then unhooked her bra with one hand and tossed it aside as well. Before he could fully take in the glorious sight of her sitting atop him in nothing but a tiny pair of panties, she was reaching down and tugging at his sweatpants, slipping them down his thighs and off his legs before moving to urge him out of his T-shirt. He obliged and sat up long enough to pull it off, tossing his clothes into the pile they'd rapidly built on the floor.
Then she was on him again, bare breasts and peaked nipples pressing against his chest, hot tongue invading his mouth and sharp hip bones digging even sharper into his middle with no cotton barrier to protect him. He bucked up against her and revelled in the euphoric friction between his boxers-covered cock and her bare, supple thighs. The moist heat between her legs was radiating outward, teasing and taunting him from beneath cotton panties.
When she pressed herself against his bulging cock and slowly slid across the outline of his length, he nearly came completely undone right then and there. He bucked upward and his dick throbbed painfully, precome seeping out, wet against her thigh through the thin fabric of his boxers. She moaned into his mouth and he dug his fingers into the fleshy part of her ass, hips thrusting against her and begging for more friction. Every muscle in his body was wound tight and stretched taut, trembling beneath her petite frame.
She broke their swollen lips apart and began trailing wet kisses down his jaw and his exposed throat, sucking lightly at his pulsepoint and teasing the soft spot beneath his earlobe. She ground herself down into him again and elicited a deep groan from his parted lips when he felt her hot breath on his ear and her teeth nibbling at his neck. She seemed to swallow it up quickly before repeating the motion, and her teeth dug into his skin painfully, until he was sure she was leaving a mark. He couldn't have cared less, though. All he could think about was his achingly hard cock pressing between her legs, and how he could feel every lip and fold of her barely-covered pussy dragging across his length.
His dick twitched and prodded against her hot inner thigh. And then her lips were moving farther down his neck, lingering at his broad chest for a moment before continuing south, leaving a fluttery light trail of moist kisses and teasing flicks of her tongue.
Oh - he knew where this was going. Even after all this time, she still had the same pattern, the same little ritual. And the sudden realization made his pulse rabbit nervously. It sent all the blood rushing even faster to his already-engorged cock.
Fuck, he'd missed having her perfect little mouth around his hard dick, but he wasn't sure he could last through that. He hadn't had nearly enough whiskey to keep himself from disappointing her.
But he didn't really have the chance to object. Or the willpower. He was frozen where he lay on the couch, watching with wide eyes and itching fingers as she pulled out of his grasp and slid down between his legs, hooking her small fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and yanking them down until his cock was springing free, inches away from her face.
His hands felt oddly empty without her pert little ass filling his palms, and he reached down to wrap his fingers in her long hair while she placed her lips to the tender skin below his abdomen, just above the patch of coarse black hair. He quivered when she kissed him there, and his cock twitched against her exposed throat as she slowly and torturously trailed her lips downward, purposefully ignoring the aching need that was right next to her face and still leaking with precome.
Finally, mercifully, she wrapped a warm and dainty hand around his shaft, squeezing lightly and drawing a long, guttural groan from his throat. His eyes slammed shut and his fingers dug into her scalp as he resisted the urge to buck his hips up into her, to shove her head down onto his waiting cock. She gave it a long, slow stroke, swiping her thumb across the glistening tip and spreading his sticky precome around teasingly. He shuddered and his thighs trembled and he barely felt his teeth digging into his bottom lip. His heart was thumping against the inside of his chest so hard he was afraid it might burst out of his sternum entirely, and his back arched reactively to her touch.
He moaned through gritted teeth, a sound of torture and desperation. When his eyes fluttered open and he looked down, he found saucer-like pupils staring back up at him and soft pink lips hovering over the head of his cock. His breath hitched in his throat and he watched anxiously as she slowly, slowly closed the remaining distance and wrapped her lips around him.
And holy shit, it was even better than he remembered. Even better than he could've imagined during all the carnal fantasies that played out in his head whenever he was pleasuring himself.
She knew exactly what he liked, knew exactly how to tap directly into his most animalistic spot, how to make him moan like a goddamn cat in heat. All it took was some light humming from the back of her throat as she took his hard cock into her mouth, sliding her wet lips down his shaft inch by inch. And then the slow and torturous way she slipped him back out of her mouth, barely lifting her lips from the head and flicking her tongue out across the slit. A shudder wracked his body and washed through him like a riptide.
Then he could feel her hot breath on his cock, the gentle vibration of her voice as she whimpered out, "You're so hard, baby…"
He was almost certain he would never find another woman who could talk dirty like Beth could. She always knew exactly what to say and when to say it to make him melt into a puddle in her hands. And there was something about the sweet innocence in her voice that made it feel even dirtier, like she only talked that way for him.
A faint and foreign sound escaped his mouth, like a whine mixed with a groan, and when she wrapped her lips around his cock once more, he couldn't stop his hips from reflexively bucking into her this time. But she gripped the base of his cock while her other hand steadied on his thigh and slowed him down, methodically slipping the rest of his thick length into the wet warmth of her mouth, swirling her tongue around as her lips reached her hand. Then she was stroking him in time with the gentle sucking.
"Shit, babe… I'm not - I ain't gonna last long," he panted, trying to warn her that she was doing too good of a job. His eyes squeezed shut as he fought to push back the rapidly building sensation in the pit of his stomach.
Her tongue swirled around his head again and his engorged cock throbbed in her mouth, then he felt her taking him in farther and teasing the back of her throat. She hummed softly and he dug his fingers into her scalp, trying not to tug too hard on her hair but unable to resist the urge to shove himself against the back of her throat with a jolted thrust. At the same time, every slight tug on her hair elicited another low groan from the back of her throat, and he couldn't stop himself from repeatedly drawing the sound out of her until it vibrated through his cock.
She gripped his shaft harder and sucked a little more intently, draining every ounce of resistance from his body.
"F-fuck, I'm really not - yer gonna make me come quick, girl," he growled.
In response, she slipped his cock from her mouth and breathed out against it, "That's okay - that's what I want."
Then her warm, wet mouth was consuming his entire length once more and he was shuddering and shivering, barely able to register the sensations before he felt her hand abandon his thigh and slip downwards. She grasped his balls gently, cupping them in her palm, and massaged them in rhythm with the movement of her tongue and her determined sucking on his pulsing cock.
His back went rigid and he froze for a second, melting into her hands and falling apart before her. He threw his head back and gripped handfuls of blonde hair to keep himself from floating off the couch. His hips bucked up and he shoved his cock farther into her mouth, down her throat. She barely gagged before sucking him harder and giving his balls a tantalizing squeeze.
"Jesus Christ, baby," he groaned, barely able to hear his own low and breathless voice over the pounding of his heart and the rushing blood in his ears.
And her. Her slight humming, the wet and sloppy sounds of her lips on his cock, the occasional gagging whenever his head prodded the back of her throat. The more he squirmed around her, the more she moaned around his cock. LIke she was getting off on his pleasure.
He wished he could reach down and swipe a finger through her wet cunt, just to feel how turned on she had gotten from having his hard dick filling her mouth. And yeah, part of him really wanted to fuck her right now, to feel her pussy gushing around him once again. But she was doing way too good of a job at sucking him off for him to want to stop her anytime soon.
The world could've been ending outside his window at this very moment and he wouldn't even bother to bat an eye at the sight. Not when he had such a magnificent view right before him, kneeling between his legs on the couch, humming and moaning around his cock until the sensation was reverberating through his very bones.
His limbs began to fill with static and prickling needles as a rush of incinerating heat swirled around below his stomach. And though she was still working her lips and tongue around his cock, sucking every inch of his engorged length as far into her mouth as possible, his entire body had gone stiff, tensed and taut with anticipation for the sensation that was inevitably about to wash over him. His fingers were frozen, wrapped up in long golden locks, and his hips halted mid-thrust. He silently handed control over to her, and she grabbed it up with vigor.
Before he could fully register the onslaught of new sensations, her hand was releasing its gentle grasp on his balls and slipping downward. With her wet mouth consuming his cock, tongue flicking and teasing at the bulged length and its protruding veins, she slid one finger down across the sensitive patch of skin below his balls. Then she fluidly slipped it inside him, pressing past the tensed circle of muscles until her fingertip was grazing that dangerously sweet and well-hidden spot within his depths.
He didn't even have a chance to wince, to attempt at pulling away or resisting. She'd caught him at the edge and given him a hard shove, in a way that only she could.
All it took was one gentle poke, a teasing drift of pressure against that spot - combined with the hot wetness around his cock, the soft back of her throat pressing against his near-bursting head, and the small hand wrapped around the base of his shaft… he was done for. He tightened around her finger, barely pushing back against it, and bucked up into her mouth. The pressure that had been steadily building below his stomach reached the point of explosion, and his brain immediately turned to mush, just like the rest of his muscles.
She sent him tumbling, flailing and screaming, over the edge. Head-first into an all-encompassing pool of ecstasy, where his body was no longer his and he had absolutely no control over anything that was happening to him. Everything became reflexive as the tsunami of his orgasm washed over him, sending bright and blazing bursts of fireworks flaring outward from his center. He wanted to warn her, but his mouth was incapable of forming anything more than desperate sounds of carnal pleasure.
He was coming, hard and intense, fingers barely grappling for purchase amongst her scalp as every last ounce of his being was drained out through his cock.
It spewed from the throbbing head of his hard dick and across her tongue, down the back of her throat, his entire length pulsing and rippling within her mouth. Hot and thick and seemingly never-ending, spurting out in long threads to mix with her saliva. He bit down on his bottom lip, stifling the long and loud moan that was erupting from his throat. His abdomen went rigid and his toes curled, and he thought his whole fucking soul might be bursting from the head of his cock and down her throat. The waves of euphoria wouldn't stop, consuming him one after the other and drawing bone-shattering shudders from every inch of his body.
"Jesus - fuck!" The words poured from his mouth uncontrollably, slurred and dripping with heady lust.
He felt her slowly pulling her finger back out, leaving him with an odd emptiness that he kind of wanted to fill. Then he managed to lift his heavy eyelids and look down through his post-orgasm haze to watch her leisurely lingering on his cock, and it sent a whole new burst of desire through the pit of his stomach when he saw her wide, lust-blown pupils meeting his as she meaningfully swallowed around his still-pulsing dick.
He shuddered when he saw the muscles of her throat flexing, felt them constricting and loosening around his rapidly softening cock, knowing she was taking in every last drop of the hot and sticky load he'd released inside her mouth. He thought he might shatter apart and break into a million tiny pieces right before her when he saw the look of animalistic desire on her angelic face and heard the deep, guttural moan that echoed out from her throat, felt it tingling through every vein in his sensitive dick. He trembled and bit down on his bottom lip, barely able to loosen his grasp on her long hair while she let his swollen, wilting length fall from her mouth and parted lips.
Before he could collect himself and react accordingly, she was climbing him again, pawing her way up his bare torso with wide, endlessly black pupils and an insatiable thirst flickering across her face. His short gasp of a breath caught in his throat and he found himself trapped beneath her touch, frozen and unable to do anything more than slide his hands down through the thick tangles of her hair to rest on the hot back of her neck while she drew closer and closer. Her lips were still swollen and red from sucking vigorously on his cock, glistening with traces of his come.
It wasn't until she was an inch away from his face, with one hand tangled in the back of his shaggy hair while the other pressed hot against his sturdy chest, that she breathed out a tantalizing and torturous statement. Her mouth was so close to his that he could feel the stutter in her breath, and her tiny pert breasts were pressed so tightly against him that he could feel the slight inflation and deflation of her lungs in time with the words pouring from her lips.
"I love you. Endlessly."
Fuck, why did she have to be so naturally melodramatic? Why did her voice have to sound so heartfelt, so painfully authentic? Why did every second with her have to feel like some kind of tragic, bullshit Shakespeare play?
He wasn't even sure if she meant it anymore, or if she just liked the way it sounded. Maybe she liked the way it rolled off her tongue, or maybe she just liked the reaction it evoked from him. Did she say it because she wanted him to hear it, or because she wanted to hear it repeated back? Was she searching for validation in him? For some kind of selfish reassurance? Or was it nothing more than the falsely inflated affection brought on by too many drinks?
Her fingernails were digging into the skin of his chest and leaving tiny, sharp indentations in their wake, reaffirming his sense that she was searching for something. Without another second of hesitation, he closed the miniscule distance between their mouths and kissed her hungrily. Desperately. He could taste himself in her saliva and it sent another aftershock trembling through his muscles. His lips grasped at hers with need, nearly identical to the way his hands were grasping at her hair and the back of her neck. She returned his desperation tenfold, pouring out an intense and heartfelt need so deeply ingrained within her being that he nearly doubled over at the sensation.
Fuck, he'd never missed her - or anyone - so much in his life. He'd never craved someone so intensely and so intimately that missing them became a loss that was similar to misplacing a vital organ.
But most of all, he'd never felt that loss reciprocated before. Not with anyone else. Not with anyone but her.
She was the only one who could see him - really see him. And she still wanted him. Needed him. Missed him. She was the only person, he was pretty damn sure, that was left on this planet who was capable of feeling that sort of affection toward him. She was the only human being who could see anything worth missing within him.
Was this what she'd meant when she'd voiced the same sentiment two weeks ago? He tried not to ask himself, tried to avoid the obstacle altogether. But it seemed impossible. Sure, he saw her as a million and one things that every sane straight man would want, but she didn't see herself that way. And it was no different for him, apparently. When he pictured someone accepting him, welcoming him in, seeing his scars and looking past them… he could only picture her. Everyone else was terrified. Everyone else had caught a glimpse of the wreckage and ran in the opposite direction. Except her.
She saw it all and wanted more. She stared at his grisly scars and smiled. She didn't run. Instead, she turned around and showed him the gruesome scars of her own. She reminded him that he wasn't so alone after all. That he never was, and would never have to be again. Not if he didn't want to be.
And then she laid him down and proved it to him. Over and over and over again. And this time was no exception. She'd taken him fully in her mouth, swallowed every last drop of him, and looked back up, expecting more. Asking what else she could do to make him happy.
Or was he misinterpreting that look in her eyes? Was she just trying to drown her grief within him? Was she using him just like she used alcohol and drugs and razorblades? Was he actually nothing more than the reliable old tool she knew she could count on to get the job done?
He couldn't really blame her if that was the case. Maybe she saw him as hopeless. The One That Got Away, but only because he pushed her away. Maybe, outside of that bed and this couch, the only thing she saw when she looked at him was the shabby, run-down remains of a man she'd once thought was perfect. A man she imagined marrying one day - until she realized he would never really change. Not for her. Not for anyone.
She kissed him a little harder and nibbled lightly on his bottom lip, then pulled away to gaze into his eyes. Her stare was unfocused, eyelids drooping and pupils still wide in the low light of the apartment.
And he suddenly realized that he didn't care. He didn't know what her exact intentions were, didn't know what she wanted from him or what she was getting from him, didn't even know if she would ever give him another chance… and he didn't. Fucking. Care.
If she wanted him to stab himself over and over just so she could watch him bleed, then he'd die in a pool of his own blood with a knife grasped in his hands. If she was getting a kick out of dragging this out, dragging him out, then so be it. Because honestly, he was kind of getting a kick out of it, too. For once, he didn't feel numb. When she was around, he no longer felt like he was walking through life half-asleep. And sure, it was like a nail embedded into the bottom of his foot, constantly aching and sending sudden jolts of pain up his whole body whenever he stepped down on it. But shit, did that pain wake him up and make him feel alive.
She made him feel alive. Without her… what was the point of anything? Where the fuck was his life supposed to go if she wasn't part of it? She was the goal, the endgame, the entire reason for moving forward at all.
"I love you, too," he whispered. "Endlessly, forever, always - whatever. I jus' love you. Can't stop lovin' you."
She smiled and he saw the blue in her eyes barely brighten.
And that was the moment Daryl stopped asking if he was where he was supposed to be. Because it suddenly clicked in his head, all at once: wherever Beth was... that was exactly where he was supposed to be.
No matter how much it might hurt.
to be continued...