It was colder now. The sun was setting on the world, bringing the night, and the night was always colder.
Especially when you are alone, his mind prompted.
He pulled his arms in closer to his body, hunched his shoulders as his hands buried deep in his pockets. The wind whipped at his bangs, his shoes crunching over ice as snowflakes landed on his cheeks like cold kisses.
How strange the world looked sometimes, under the cover of night. He ducked his ears closer to his upturned collar, and absently took in the streets and alleys that he had been seeing for over a month now, looking slightly different and strangely pristine beneathe shadow and snow.
Little shifts change everything. Seeing things in new lights-it can change the shape of things you have been seeing for years.
Aya is Aya, my vision of her hasn't changed much over the years.
She has only grown sharper in my mind. Colorfast, like disappointment has washed the world to grey, but her colours only grow more vibrant in contrast.
The gold of her hair, the blue of her eyes. I know that these are features that we share-but I can't help but feel-always feel-like I fade around the edges while she glows. Like I am just a star in the shadow of the moon, and any light I have is just a reflection of hers.
The closest stars disappear when the moon is full...
A random thought. He glanced up at the sky but saw no moon. The heavens were too full of clouds and snow. The moon was there, but just hidden.
He sighed, lowering his head again. The wind was too blustery and bitter to keep your head lifted.
It was too cold, period, to be out.
The truth is, right now she is too fragile. And I am too intent. I don't want to be out here, but being around each other right now is a dangerous temptation.
Dangerous in my desire to reach. Dangerous in her desire to push.
In the morning, he promised himself, knowing that the morning would make for a long, anxious night.
In the morning we will begin our dance.
He wasn't sure what he was going to do, and he didn't really think on it as he scuffed his shoe in loose, new snow, drawing a strange pattern. He found a concrete fragment under the snow and he kicked it absently, watching it mar the pure white path before him. He followed soon after, obliterating those small imperfections with his heavier footsteps.
A perfect night would see me home (home being a synonym for 'Aya'). I would hold her close, and together we would scare away the cold.
A cozy image in his head, not of lust or heat, but of closeness and comfort. Of togetherness. It was tinged gold with soft light, and there was an aurora around them as if they created this light.
When he imagined such moments the wind grew increasingly bitter in their wake. In irony though, the physical world became less sharp.
He glanced down at his watch and saw that little over an hour had passed. He didn't want to stay away until she was safe from him in sleep, but he understood the need for time to sort your own head out.
One night won't be enough, but it will settle her somewhat into our new roles.
Maybe better to say...the true nature of our roles? They are not quite...new...
Is that what really bothers her?
So many moments, situations, so many things he can see now from this new angle. Behaviours understood, words explained, to some extent.
When she looked at me that other morning...that look was real?
A shudder through his body that had nothing to do with cold. Because there had been definite confusion there, but peeking out from behind that confusion had been real...desire. He tried to think of other ways to describe it, but that was the word that kept coming back to him.
Along with the intensity of that look. Lasting for barely more than a few seconds, but bright enough to burn into his mind, bright enough to leave after-images on his eyelids when he closed his eyes.
It –haunted- him.
He bit his lip, and promised himself that look. Swore to himself that he'd see it again. That he would coax it out from behind her confusion. Find some way. And once he had it, he'd keep it. He'd build on it.
They would build on it.
Every day. Every night.
Cold barely touched him as heat suffused his blood. He felt his cheeks begin to sting as his face flushed. But not with embarrassment, oh no. with anticipation for the future. With an echo of the night before, that had left him feeling bold and anxious, rather than shy and uncertain. He had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk as he fairly shook with desire.
Thinking this way doesn't help, he chided, forcing his feet to move again. Standing still was the last thing he wanted to do. When he was still, his thoughts began to stagnate, the cold became un-ignorable. Better to keep moving.
He paused and looked up, and realized that he was standing at the steps of their apartment building. That his feet had led him full-circle. He frowned as this puzzled, turning to the steps and taking one forward on habit.
He frowned, tilting his head back to stare at their window. Of course, he didn't expect to see her, but that wasn't the point, he could see her well enough in his mind if he didn't try hard enough.
He imagined the falling of walls and barriers, trying to picture her, not as he wanted to see her, but as she really was at the moment...
It was too difficult...She was too unpredictable in this state. He could barely stand to imagine her crying, so he imagined her staring at the bathroom mirror instead. Her state of dress was hazy, because it just didn't matter, but her face was distinct and clear. Her pupils widened to darkness, until the iris was just a rim of blue, like the halo of light around an eclipsed moon. Her lips were loose, but down-turned, maybe with confusion, maybe with wariness. And she stared at herself and...
Did she see him? In the gold of her hair? The blue of her eyes, made so much darker by constantly shifting thoughts?
He imagined her hands, at first loose at her sides, and then curled over the edge of the sink, tight as she leaned forward, as if to peer closer, as if that would bring clarity.
Thoughts never stay the same. Even in his own mind he couldn't stay away from her. He stepped into the reflection of the mirror as if stepping onto a stage. A private stage, meant only for their eyes. She stood and his hand settled, unhurried and steady on her hip. He watched in the mirror the way the cloth of her robe wrinkled under his fingers, and he imagined the feel of it in his head. Thick, rough fabric, too coarse for his tastes, but a pleasing contrast to her true beauty. Under this unworthy material was soft, smooth flesh, heat and sleek strength. He kneaded his hands, sliding them slowly to cross over her stomach and take in as much of her as he could.
He wanted to close his eyes at the distracting feel of her shuddering against him, but he kept them open and was rewarded with the soft part of her lips, the soft catch of her breath.
Pushing down gently on her stomach, he drew her back into the line of his body, practically humming in restraint and pleasure as she was enclosed more firmly in his arms. He turned his face into her hair, and her head slowly tilted back to lean against his shoulder. Some thoughtless gesture, but strangely, sweetly reminding him of given trust.
The embrace was slow-moved, but pleasant. Still evolving but growing only more perfect. Her hands lifted to caress lovingly over his, running up his arms and curving her back more prominently so that her breasts were lifted temptingly.
He had to take a breath at the image they presented, had to breathe deep of her scent and close his eyes to feel it all moving through him.
And this feeling was why he knew she'd give in eventually. Because this feeling was too strong and pure to be kept under for long. And she had to feel it. The conflict in her eyes said it all. There wouldn't be such clear conflict if she wasn't struggling with her own emotions.
She loves me, I know she does.
Gods, the hot flush of emotion that went through him at that thought. It was enough to distract him from his point as he opened his eyes and stared at their empty window with longing and gentle confusion.
But he lowered his head and doggedly pursued it, pushing himself to return to the cold sidewalk, and turn away from the window.
She loves me, and that is the point. You can struggle with these emotions, but they cannot be conquered.-He wished he could say such a thing to her, and have her understand it and believe it. But she wasn't yet ready...
tbc...