i was frustrated.
i was angry.
i was nervous.
i was scared.


it came off as grumpy, and bitchy, and stuck-up. i invited him over and then acted as though i didn’t want him there. he sat on the bed while i did my laundry and cleaned my room, watching and teasing me gently and ignoring the disdainful looks i was throwing his way.

he made fun of my persistence to clean even when he threw a pillow at me, and laughed at me when i whipped it back at him. he made popcorn and and jumped onto the bed, demanding a hug. when i started to eat, he asked: ‘hungry?’ with that little half smile on his face. i shrugged and answered: ‘i didn’t really eat today.’ his immediate reaction was to find a solution - for once he was absolutely determined to feed me. ‘how about mcdonalds? no? burger king? yeah, agreed, it’s gross. hm. i’d buy you ice cream, but i don’t think anything is open right now. we could order pizza! but your buzzer doesn’t work…’ i insisted i was fine, and he only insisted that i give him a hug.

eyes laughing, arms open, he sat there looking silly - as he must have known full well - demanding a hug in silence. i lay back on the bed and ignored him, paying attention to the movie he’d thrown in when i’d refused to be social. he raised an eyebrow and promptly moved in beside me, threw his arm over my stomach, and rested his head on my shoulder.

i couldn’t help it.
i cracked.

i ran my fingertips over his spine, lightly, teasing, and he shivered. he’s ticklish beyond belief, which is amusing and somewhat unexpected, but it makes touching him entirely too enjoyable. i weaved my fingers through his hair, rested my cheek on his head and felt him sigh as my other hand found his, fingers interlacing as naturally as ever.

he filled me in on what i missed in the movie, becoming more animated as i made the connections and began to talk to him again. he held my hands as he did so, playing with my fingers absent-mindedly and squeezing them gently if i seemed to be retreating again.

the movie ended, the credits were rolling. some sort of italian music was playing, and he winced. obnoxious, he called it. he turned off the tv, turned off all of the lights, and sat down on the bed with me. i could barely see his face; just the outline of his jaw and the shadow of his hair across his forehead. he pulled me closer, settling me between his legs until our foreheads were touching and i could feel him looking at me.

he kissed me, then.
slowly, so slowly.

a ghost of a touch,
just a whisper of skin against skin;
i shivered.

we stayed that way, lips teasing, foreheads touching in a moment suspended. he sat with me as though he had nothing else he’d rather be doing; he sat with me as though he had all of time to sit there, tracing the outline of my lips with his fingertips and the ridges of my collarbone with feather-light nothings.

‘Hollis’ i whispered.
‘Sam?’ he answered.
‘i think you’re kind of really important.’
‘you’re really important to me, too.’

more silence,
more nothing,
more darkness,
more touching.

‘Hollis?’
‘yeah?’
‘i’m really, really glad i have you.’
‘…Sam?’
‘yeah?’
‘i can’t imagine you not here.’

more silence,
more nothing,
lips touching,
hands tracing,
more everything.



i can’t imagine you not here.