The Twilight Twenty-Five
thetwilight25 dot com
Prompt: 9
Pen Name: Glitterb1234
Pairing/Character(s): You decide :)
Rating: T
Word Count: 487
Photo prompts can be found here:
thetwilight25 dot com/round-eight/prompts
I had always loved holding his hand. From the time when we were just silly little kids at the playground, running from swing to slide to monkey bars without a care in the world. We held hands whenever we could, whenever we needed it. When it wasn't cool for boys and girls to be friends any more, we would meet in his tree house and just sit holding hands in secret. Our parents used to watch us with a mixture of concern and hope in their eyes, as if they would love nothing more than for our hand holding to mean something more, but at the same time worried that we were becoming too dependant on each other. As we got older, we were both given talks about how dangerous it could be for us to spend all our time together and never see any of our other friends. We both argued that we did nothing of the sort, and when we met up that evening we talked about how silly they were, and laughed at their fears, and held hands that much tighter just to show them.
We were always there for each other. When we each went through our first break ups, when the bullies got particularly vicious, when my parents started fighting and when they finally told me they were getting divorced. When one of us had been sick and we hadn't seen each other for days, when he found out his mom had breast cancer, and the day she finally went into remission. Every high and low was marked by a trip to the tree house and hand holding. We didn't need to speak, we didn't need to hug, we didn't need anything else but to sit close and intertwine our fingers and squeeze as if we were never letting go.
I don't know when I fell in love with him. It happened slowly, over all those years of sitting in silence. All of a sudden, holding his hand felt like holding a precious diamond, or some delicate glass figure that would break if I dropped it. I thought there was no way he could feel the same way for me – we were just friends, he'd never looked at me differently, his girlfriends were never anything like me – and for the time being, I was content.
When we were 18, we were in the tree house again, just sitting there, and suddenly he turned and kissed me on the cheek. When I turned to ask him what he was doing, he kissed me again... on the lips. From that day on, hand holding was never enough. We discovered all kinds of new ways to touch, to kiss, to hold. We learned to talk too, and both admitted the feelings we had held in for far too long. So much changed, but one thing stayed the same.
We still hold hands all the time.