Sin título

Over the Moon - 7

By Màrian

Silence, only disturbed by the soft sound of their rhythmic and nearly identical breaths, hers over his hair and his caressing the smooth skin on her shoulder, was very afar from being uncomfortable. As far as it could have been, indeed. The lack of conversation was not in this occasion a symptom of being wasting their time, as it so usually was with other people, but the opposite. It was the unmistakable indicative that they were both enjoying each other's simple presence, not needing anything else.
That silence was speaking more about them both than any other parley. It was telling about the commodity that they both felt having the other near, of the lack of needing of any other thing to be well. It was speaking of friendship and murmuring of mutual affection.
Needless to say, he, from his 'boy in love who loses his poise' point of view, could not see hear at all that susurration. For him, life was wonderful and it was hardly possible to be happier than between her arms. It was almost too much for him to feel all that bliss and he was too busy being happy to wonder what she was thinking about. So, too occupied with the joy of her closeness, was she bored, he would not have been able to tell, even though he insistently asked himself so.
Absent-mindedly, not conscious of his owns acts, he caressed her arm over her sweater with his free hand, the one that was not encircling her waist. The sleeve was pulled upwards by his stroking, leaving a part of her wrist uncovered. It was a sky blue top, with a low collar, very fine to the touch. It was not one of his T-shirts, as he had imagined it would be, but she had groomed herself better for the event, not losing a bit of her beauty in the change, only gaining. Those T-shirts of his, which collection he increased from time to time, buying some ex profeso, were of his like more because of their connotations than because of their appeal. Seeing the girl of his dreams in such a casual dress, that informal, than intimate, was a dream itself. And, even when the shirts were not very special, knowing that they were his was enough to make him feel closer to her, in a way.
The sensation of intimacy, though, was not enough to take away his good judgement and it was undeniable that she looked much better with the clothes she was wearing, more feminine and better dressed, with that skirt showing off her beautiful legs – that he was able to see only turning his eyes, flexed below him, with her feet on the couch, perhaps too much of them exposed for what was good for his self-control -, even though the fact that he chose his T-shirts taking into account what would suit her better or that he lied when saying that they were old. The clothes she was wearing made his T-shirts nothing to be compared to.
He though, resting his forehead against the cloth, how he would love to stop all that fake and worry about her acceptation. He wished he could arrive at her house, kiss her on the lips, caress her sweetly and give her some present much more personal than any T-shirt. He wished he was able to tell her that he loved her without having her thinking of their friendship when doing it, able to show her his passion and affection, without any fear, without taboos, with nothing else than time around them both, wrapped around them, with infinite patience. To be quiet, like they were than, but entwined, indistinguishable, for hours in a house that belonged to them both, wherever it could be, even at the Cc, but together. Although he could not like his own house that much, even if he wished he didn't have to live with his sister and her clever husband, if they were together and she accepted to live with him, his house would be heaven, with her by his side.
Her hand, slowly stroking his cheek, got him out of his inner world, making him blush perceptibly. Her fingers were travelling incessantly over his face, tracing invisible ways that were making him shiver when she redrew them, centimetre after centimetre. He closed his eyes, abandoning himself to the sensation of her fingertips on his flesh, and smiled, knowing that she would notice because of the movement of his cheek.
"Do you like it...?", she asked, rhetorically, in a whisper, finally breaking their silence.
He nodded, convinced, and the hand that was around the girl's waist gently rubbed her back.
"How cute you are...", she dreamily murmured some instants after.
He withdrew himself from her close embrace, in order to look at her in the eyes for a moment, and leaned closer to her face afterwards, sitting up on the couch, to give a sonorous kiss to her cheek.
"You are cuterrrrr!!", he exclaimed against her peach-like skin.
Pan smiled, contented and happy, closed her eyes, resting her head against his, and the silence came back for another while. Life was simply perfect and he could not help but feeling immensely fortunate.
It was not such a big deal, if he was to coldly think about it. Even though in public they behave as normal friends, just like him and Goten or her and Bra, but with, perhaps, more confidence, for they both told each other everything, without any of the filters that they self-imposed when they were around her uncle and his sister, on being alone that constant contact had long ago become a custom. Looking through it from a very rational way, he could explain their behaviour as the logical following step to their total trust, nothing else but one step farther, a step composed of several infinitesimal and punctual tiny advances. Advances that were nothing but the result of small acts out of courage, carried out by one of them, being himself more frequently the responsible, advances taking the form of constant murmuring and, later on, entwined hands in the darkness, in the cinema. Timid and fearful first times that, little by little, were becoming something they got used to. As if every time that he caressed her or kissed her cheek when saying goodbye he was pulling a spring farther than its maximum flexibility helplessly in his favour, making their contact more and more comfortable each time. He imagined that there would be a point where the contact would be finally enough to break the metaphorical spring. Then their feelings would come to light, more or less violently and more or less agreeably for both of them.
But, whom was he kidding? Even though he could force himself to think in a cold and rational way... nah, he would let them for her! When she was near, logic fell, discarded, not being valid any reasoning. Yes, he could believe all that being alone, in his bedroom, at his office... but not at her home, not with her by his side, not that way. When distance was that short, there was no mind. Any reasoning that could tell him that his feelings would end by emerging, sooner or later, was useless. When the need of her was unbearable, the future had little meaning and there was only a possible present. The moment that those necessity and urgency grew too big, he would just let himself go and it would be him who told her of the feelings that had long ago overwhelmed him. He just wished he knew when it would be and which events would follow it. That was to say, past and future of a so long wanted fall.
He rested his head again against her shoulder, feeling the cloth against one cheek whilst the other one was travelled up and down by Pan's smooth hand. Feeling that comfortable and protected, he lost his own mind's control for enough time to find himself, when recovering it, thinking anew of her children. Her, they hadn't even to be his. Her children... He felt envy toward the not yet conceived offspring, because of the relationship that they would have with their mother. Because of the way she would always love them, how she would hug them and kiss them. How, some day, one of them would be holding the place that he was then occupying, with his princess's hand fondling him, drifting him to sleep, making him feel safe and warm. When he was nearly convinced of its impossibility, he found that envy could be good as well. He wanted that for her kids, it was the wish of sharing that with other people that had carried him to imagine the hotshots, either than the possible menace that those children could mean for him. Jealous, he was, of those kids that would doubtlessly be the most adorable in the whole world? Never!
A premature question filled his mind for some instants, spinning around and around. He was tempted to ask it to her, but he withdrew many times when he was about to make it. He did not dare, he was afraid that it was uncalled, that it could make her suspect of his chain of thoughts. If he could only make it part of a path of thought that was, as much as possible, innocuous!
He ruminated, looking for a suitable context. On his own, he was not able to answer it, and he needed to know what her opinion was on that matter. He could always wait for another chance, to ask her, when talking about little kids was more recent, even though he could hardly resign to be patient.
Obsessed with finding the scenery, her motherhood came back to his mind and this time he realised that he could not hold any doubt about the children's father. In the current situation, that was very likely to be kept stable for quite a long time yet, he was the one and only candidate. And it was not only the only candidate, but also the relationship that they had made them reliable enough to afford such a luxury. As long as there was no other man around her – chance that was filling all his fears although, as he himself very well knew, with no basis –, it could be no other way. Looking at it straight and emotionless again, and following the previous reason, it was quite probable than the future that he so much dreamed of became reality.
So was it that, in conclusion, he was in an optimistic mood that day that was little usual on him. He believed, and that was not something he did frequently at all, that their relationship held a future, a real one, past his utopian dreams. Definitely, very optimistic!
She made him feel that she had noticed so with a smile against his hair while her hand kept on drawing on his skin.
"You are pretty happy today, eh...?", she whispered tenderly.
He assented, sighing satisfied.
"Yes...!", he dreamily exclaimed.
"Good news...?", she asked, as if sighing as well.
"No... Nothing in special... It makes me happy, to be here, with you..."
She nodded.
"Me too, hotshot, me too...!"
Sitting up again, he looked at her in the eyes.
"How cute...", he couldn't help but murmur, staring straight to her big black eyes, that shone in the semi-darkness. In fact, he did not realise his own words – and of the fact of repeating himself – until the sounds abandoned his lips.
She blushed, half uncomfortable, half pleased, and shook her head.
"Dumb...", she purred, with a voice that clearly indicated that the least she was trying to do was to insult him any way. He, knowing so, answered with a sweet smile and moved a naughty strand of black hair away from her face.
"Don't believe it if you don't want to...!", he exclaimed, almost inaudibly. "Me, I don't know what to tell you so you know how pretty you are...!"
"Nah...!", she answered, implicitly asking for a change on the subject.
He observed her still for a while, wondering what would unchain the confession that he had wished to make the most in his life, with the only purpose of making the process faster. Knowing them, it would probably be nothing that special; nothing would happen that would make them be sincere with each other. Knowing them, it would be as natural as if nothing was happening, although meaning a whole world.
"What are you thinking about...?", he finally asked, as he was playing with the strand of her hair that he had put aside, slowly curling and twisting it between his fingers.
She moved her free shoulder up, inclining her head towards it, and shook her head.
"Nothing in particular... I'm afraid my mind is thinking on its own will..."
"I hope...", he cut her in, with a playful smile, "that it had nothing to do with work...!"
She laughed softly and shook her head decidedly no.
"Of course not! You bet...!"
"So then...?", he insisted. "What...?"
She shook her head again.
"Nothing..."
"What...?", he repeated, more insistent each time.
"Unimportant things....! I've told you, I've relaxed the control of my thoughts, and they were floating on their own..."
He nodded.
"They're the better thoughts. The most spontaneous... What...?"
She chuckled at his insistence and gave in.
"I was thinking about the house... considering what's for and against it..."
He looked at her, lowering one eyebrow, wondering what sense her sentence had, a bit deceived when seeing her busy with thoughts that were so afar from him.
"Against...? Don't you like this house...?"
She shook her head in response.
"That's not it... I haven't found any reason against it... But I haven't looked through it very objectively either... And... objectively... well... there are some problems, indeed..."
He shot an even more confused glance at her.
"Are you thinking of moving to another house...?"
Unconsciously focused on her mouth, he saw how her lips formed a thoughtful expression and, having been less distracted with the conversation, it would have been rather difficult for him to help but caress them.
"I've been thinking about it...", she answered after a pause. "I've been thinking about it, but... I don't know... I like this one a lot, but... I don't know...."
He shrugged.
"Panny... I don't understand you, you know...?"
She nodded and couldn't help but smiling.
"I'm sorry... It has its logic... but I'm explaining just tiny bits to you and..."
"You don't want to explain it all to me...?", asked he, a bit worried.
She nodded.
"Sorry... It's not that I didn't want to... I was not considering what was for and against this house... I was considering what was for and against of living here on my own..."
He nodded as well, understanding her a bit better then. He sketched a smile that was cut off by her intense and decided look.
"No. That was not it either. I was weighing... what was for and against... And don't take it the bad way, eh? Don't feel obliged or anything... I've already told you, they were just floating, and..."
"Pan", he interrupted her. "What."
"I was thinking of the benefits and drawbacks that would carry the fact... that... you came to live with me, here."
He looked at her speechless, his eyes open wide, as his illusions started flying to the sky.
"Are you saying...?"
She slowly shook her head.
"No... I would love you to come, but I'm not saying so... I've told you, I was weighing the possibility..."
"But you've said that there were things against...", he anxiously broke in.
"Not subjectively", she answered. "You know that we would be very good here, together... We are the closest of friends; we are very comfortable with one another... You were not expecting me to ask you...?"
"No...", he sincerely confessed.
"Well... I have thought about it... a few times..."
He nodded, trying to hide his surprise. She had thought a few times of having him living with her? Why hadn't she told him before?
"I... I didn't know... Why... hadn't you told me...?"
"Because I always conclude the same thing..."
He looked at her, waiting for her to go on, intuiting that her next answer would include a more or less hidden 'it can't be'.
"Subjectively, it would be great...", she went on. "But, if you look at it from an objective point of view..."
"It can't be", he cut her in, before she had the chance of saying such a hurtful remark.
"It could be", she corrected. "It could be... but... I... there would be some problems..."
"Which problems...?", he asked, curious. "Our parents...? Cc...? Publicity...?"
"No...", she assured. "Your parents, perhaps... Everything else, I couldn't care less... But... let's say that I have my own reasons, ok...?"
He observed her, wishing with all his heart that he could ask her of her reasons and that she answered him without any shame or fear. Nevertheless, he knew that he shouldn't even want to know them, if she did not tell them to him willingly.
"So...", he tried, slightly dropping the subject. "That's the reason why you've thought of moving...?"
"No... It would change nothing. At all...", she murmured, shooting a quick glance at him. "You want to come to live here, don't you...?"
Before answering, he decided to think twice what he would say. She found some problems into it. Saying that he did not find any was a bit temerarious.
"Of course I want to come to live with you...! I hadn't thought of moving here now, to tell you the truth...", he lied. "and I guess that I also had my reasons for not to think about it. This is your house, it would be some kind of invasion of your personal space... I don't think that I could be comfortable knowing that I would ruin your intimacy... I do also have my reasons, see...?"
She shook her head slowly.
"No, you wouldn't ruin my intimacy... It's not that, Trunks, it's not that at all... I'd be as comfortable as I'm now if you came to live here with me. It's not that."
He studied her, intrigued although not allowing himself to insist. If he moved there she would lose freedom. She could not do certain things. And perhaps she'd be comfortable with him around, but he probably wouldn't, living with her. There were certain things on the daily life that could lead him to lose control momentarily more than once. He knew he was not ready to deal with such amount of close contact, since it would be like living together... but not in all. They would spend lots of hours together every day, and that would most likely precipitate an end that could be more or less painful. Moreover, knowing that she was in the next room, sleeping, having a shower or reading was something to what he would perhaps, and only perhaps, get used to without constantly visiting her.
"I've not hurt you anyway, have I...?", she asked, taking him out of his thoughts. "I don't mean that I would not like to live with you... It would be great...! I've thought about asking you when you've told me that you wanted to move... but I've judged that it was not a good idea... Now... I was trying to give another chance to the concept, for I would love you to live with me..."
"But you couldn't...", he ended.
"No, there are still some things in the middle... But... it's not because of you, you know? Don't get sad or angry or nothing of he sort... eh?"
He smiled reassuringly.
"No, don't worry. I see."
She smiled as well in reply, telling him without any word that she believed him and that everything was just fine between them both.
"I don't want it to be... like this...", murmured she, so softly that, not having been looking at her, he wouldn't have understood her.
That way... which way? What did she mean with that?
He questioningly looked at her, but she didn't realise. Silence grew between them again while he went over and over the last sentence. That way? What did she want to be changed? Perhaps she did not want them to move together being the way they were then... as friends? Maybe that was it, she did not want them to move together being friends, but... No, he was jumping into conclusions too fast. It was him who wanted that, not, as far as he knew, her. He did not want to go to live with friend-Pan but with lover-Pan. Of course that from her words it could be extracted that she wished some kind of change in relation with what they then had, and he could not think of much changes but that one. If that was not what she wanted to change, he had no idea about what it could be. Her job? Her timetable? No, all that was already optimised. She liked her life. Otherwise, knowing her, she would not take too long to change it after having taken the decision of doing so. Was there, then, some problem with him? There wasn't, was there? She would have told him... Yeah...
Sighing, he decided to drop the subject. He would get nowhere. And to insist would be like betraying her. If she needed to tell him, she would. To question her in order to get more information would be inappropriate for their relationship. And it would leave him uncovered by making very obvious that he needed to know her opinion about him. No, no, in the end, any farther question about it had no sense. Even though wondering what she would like it to be like after the change was to be something that, he was certain, would keep him busy on the insomniac hours of the following nights.
Once again, it was her who took him out of his concentration.
"What do you think about it...?"
He shrugged with a smile.
"That you have your reasons and that, though I'd love to come to live here with you, I don't think it's a good idea either."
She nodded and hugged him, hiding him on her shoulder again.
"Do you think that... some day...?", she asked with a small voice.
He nodded, hugging her tighter, and wondered if he would notice when the reactions that would lead them to be together started to release or if, on the contrary, the process that would join them had started long ago without any of them realising. Just how afar they were from heaven?
"I love you very much, Trunks...", she whispered, hiding herself on him. "A lot..."
A shiver passed through him and, before realising what he was doing, he found himself looking for her lips as if they were water in his desert.
"I do love you very much as well, Panny...", he purred before their lips met.
His heart, beating in his ears, made him lose a great part of the perspective of what was around him. The only think that he got to consciously notice were her eyes, intensely staring at him, with a surprised brightness, and her rapid breath on his skin. After perceiving that, her lips got all his attention, capturing his very softly for some instants. It was a short and nearly innocent kiss or, at least, it was innocent from his side. Despite having lost control for long enough to find himself millimetres away from her without realising, his mind got hold of himself sufficiently for making that kiss a chaste and friend-like one, only misplaced. Obviously, that was not what she had in mind, and that realisation made his stomach jump with emotion. She had took his lower lip between hers, forcing him to open his mouth, and had kissed him as he had always wished she would, a quick, reliant peck. Not enough to be remembered as their first one, maybe – though he doubted that he could ever forget it – but not a common thing in his life either.
While he drew back his face from hers, not yet believing what had happened, his eyes opened out of instinct only to find a smiling Pan that was observing him with an expression that he incorrectly took as uncomfortableness. It was not until she passed her hand behind the back of his neck, attracting him closer to her again, that he did not understand her face. He hid on her neck, just like seconds before, and smiled happy.
It had not been uncomfortableness. It was, and his stomach jumped again in his abdomen, hunger. Hunger. Hunger!