It’s Friday night. They’re nestled cozily on the dusty blue couch of his apartment with a bowl of cheap microwave popcorn in between them while watching some Hollywood chick flick on TV.
“I can’t believe I put you in charge of picking the movie for tonight. Not something I thought a lover of good stories would go for” He playfully states while stuffing a mouthful of popcorn in his mouth.
“Hey, you made me sit through an hour long documentary on how guitars are built last week.” Pointing an accusing finger to the orange head.
“Oh c’mon, you said you enjoyed it. Plus, it was way more interesting than watching three mean girls trying to outmean each other and see which one of them gets the boy next door to kiss them first.” He jokingly mocks.
Her lips curl into a frown, but keeps her eyes trained on the TV. She isn’t mad at him, he’s just always loved annoying the crap out of her since high school. The movie she picked is not even what she really wanted to watch. She partly just picked a bad chick flick to slightly annoy him out of his wits, and partly because she just wants to spend time with him. They’ve been having these Friday night hang outs every week since high school without fail. Even as professionals now. However, with the demands of work looming over them, she can feel that soon they won’t be able to have these as frequently anymore.
He is a blooming musician just as he has always dreamed of becoming and spends most his days (and nights) in his studio composing and producing songs. His studio is his safe haven, so he rarely, if not never, lets anyone inside it. Except her, of course, which she has always taken pride in. It’s like having a secret treehouse as kids, only with soundproof walls and instruments sprawled out in every corner, and crumpled music sheets everywhere.
She’ll never forget the day she walked into their empty classroom for first period, except it wasn’t really empty. She almost didn’t notice him at first if it wasn’t for the low humming of his guitar. His hair was all scruffy back then and his bangs always covered his hazelnut brown eyes. He didn’t talk, much less acknowledged her sitting down at her desk which was situated right next to his. They sat there, without a word for about a week. It became a routine. He would pluck soft melodies on his guitar while she just sat there and listened. Until one fateful day, a day she sure as heck will never forget, when his guitar peacefully leaned against his desk, and her, being the queen of poor foot coordination and clumsiness, tripped over it sending all her books flying across the room and his guitar crashing to the floor piercing the air with the shrill cry of its strings. He sprung out of his seat, and she was sure that he was going to yell profanities at her for not looking where she was going, but to her surprise she felt a hand reach under her arm, pulling her up. “Are you okay?” he asked, his face was laced with genuine concern. “I-I’m okay.” She stuttered and she felt the heat rushing to her cheeks as her eyes met his. “Your guitar,” she gestured behind him. “I’m so sorry about your guitar. I’ll pay for the damage. I’m so sor—“ Before she could finish her sentence, the boy quickly cut her off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s pretty old anyway, and it has endured far worse. So, don’t worry.” He assured her with the sweetest smile plastered on his face. They started hanging out every day after that incident. Then the rest just went into blur and before they knew it, they became inseparable.
She jolts at the sudden jab of his index finger at her ribcage, almost tipping the bowl of popcorn off the couch. “What was that for?!” she shrieks.
“You were so quiet I almost thought you were upset for real.” He teases, still reaching over trying to poke her again.
“Well, I’m gonna be if you don’t stop. The popcorn bowl almost fell over because of you, and I swear I’m not going to spend the rest of the night picking popcorn off your living room floor or else you can spend next Friday night alone.” She half-heartedly threatens grabbing the bowl sitting between them and placing it on the coffee table to avoid any spillage from actually happening.
“If there are two things that I know for sure it’s that you can’t stay mad at me for too long, and you and I wouldn't dare break Friday night tradition over cheap spilled popcorn.” He moves closer, pulling his face up to hers. So close, their foreheads almost touch. Light dancing in his beautiful brown eyes. Heat prickles her cheeks so she pushes herself up from the couch hoping he wouldn’t notice
“I remember the days when you were quieter and only plucked your guitar.” A slight hint of annoyance in her voice as she makes her way to the restroom. “I need to pee.”
She isn’t annoyed with him, but more with herself. She splashes her face with cold water five times just to make sure the reds dotting her cheeks subside.
Sometimes she just doesn’t understand how and why he just has this massive effect on her. They have been friends for years and years, and they have gone through everything together. She was with him for his first ever band performance at school, screaming her lungs out cheering for him. When he got his first rejection letter from a recording company, she drank an unreasonable amount of beer with him (and she wasn’t a drinker at all) counting all the reasons why that company sucked and how it was their loss for rejecting him. When they were in college, he cancelled a huge gig which could’ve possibly guaranteed him his big break just so he could see her win her first award at a national story telling competition. He bought her a huge tub of Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough ice cream and let her sob into his shirt over her first break-up because her douchebag of an ex-boyfriend cheated on her with some random girl in a forsaken bar downtown. It has always been them against the world, and somewhere along the way she fell in love with the messy orange-haired musician.
She knows it’s the most cliché thing ever, falling in love with the only guy best friend she ever had, but she also knows that it was bound to happen. It was all just a matter of time. If he felt the same, isn't a thought she likes to entertain, because she is sure that that is downright impossible.
She dries her face with a white towel hanging beside the shower curtain, which strangely smells of his cologne. She catches herself taking in the musky whiff for a second too long and quickly puts the towel back. “Okay, stop being a creep.” She lectures herself in her head and saunters back into the living room where she finds him back on his side of the couch, slouched and a half-empty glass of Coke in hand.
“You’re back. I was about to check up on you in case you accidentally got flushed down the toilet.” The smirk on his face unforgiving.
SMACK! The sound of her palm’s forceful impact with his thigh rings throughout the living room. “OW!” he roars, clutching his thigh. “What was that for?!”
“Equal exchange. A slap on the thigh for a jab to my side.” She jeers at him looking smug, resuming into a cross siting position next to him.
“I distinctly remember you being more caring and less violent too, you know.” He continues poking fun at her while massaging his thigh.
“Pain is caring, now shut up, I can't concentrate on the movie.” She deadpans.
“Never heard of that saying before, but okay. Whatever you say, my dear.” He sighs through a wide Cheshire cat grin.
My dear. Her heart flutters in her chest as the words escape his mouth. He would occasionally call her by sweet names you would only address a lover with, especially when he’s in the mood to for teasing her to no ends. There really isn’t much to it, but damn it, she loves hearing them from him. She feels a sudden rush of emotions bubble up in her belly as well as new hot flashes stinging her cheeks anew. She scoots a bit closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder, grateful that this is perfectly normal for them.
He’s right. Watching the documentary on guitar ensembles really was more interesting than this: Unpopular nerd falls in love with the popular jock, jock ignores her until one day, she de-nerds herself and becomes popular, engages with some nasty basics, gets into endless trouble, then jock comes to save her and tells her that he loves her for who she really is, she becomes a nerd again, they kiss and live happily ever after. Ugh.
The movie drones on for what feels like forever, but she doesn’t complain despite rolling her eyes every ten minutes and internally scoffing at the lack of substantial plot the movie has if it means that she can be this “intimate” with him. They both sit in silence, her head still lying against his shoulders. She loves this. She loves every minute of them being this close. For a brief moment, she closes her eyes, smiling to herself basking in this beautiful moment.
The TV screen blackens and the credits float onto the screen. Both sit there with only the movie’s upbeat pop (and surprisingly catchy) OST filling the air. Finally, he’s the first one to break the silence. He let’s out a loud yawn, stretching his hands towards the ceiling behind her. Sparks trickle up her spine as she feels one of his hands come down resting on her back. For a while it just stays put, then he starts lightly scratching her back in an up-down motion just like you would do to a baby, trying to lull it to sleep. He knows that she likes light back scratches (as weird as that sounds), and that they make her sleepy too.
“I can’t believe I sat through this whole chick flick.” He says lazily.
“It was cheesy,” she adds. Instantly, she feels his head turn towards hers.
“Oh, so you finally admit that it’s cheesy, huh?” The grin evident in his voice.
“Oh, shut up.” She grumbles to which he only responds with an outburst of laughter. The kind of laughter that comes from the deepest pits of your stomach.
His laughter slowly fades, letting silence seep its way back in. The credits disappear and the TV screen stays black. Neither of them move. She waits for him to reach for the remote and change channels or go for a pee break himself, but he doesn’t. His hand is still on her back moving in gentle stroking motions. Maybe she should move too, or at least say something to cut the atmosphere. But there is nothing awkward about this whole situation that needs to be broken. They sit in complete comfortable silence, and she loves it. She figures that you don’t always have to talk to be able to enjoy each other’s company. To her, the night couldn’t be any more perfect than this.
With her eyelids growing heavier, she almost dozes off when she feels the fingers on her back shifting movements. For a second she thinks he’s idly drawing random shapes against her back. He draws them slowly and with careful precision as if he wants her to figure out what he is trying to draw. Midway through his doodling, she realizes that it’s not shapes he’s drawing, but letters. The same ones over and over again. She holds her breath determined to decipher his scribbles.
He’s done writing. His hand lay flat on her shoulder, unmoving.
It couldn’t be. Her breath hitches while pins and needles prick her fingers as a tsunami of emotions crash down on her as she tries to make sense of what he had just written on her back:
She doesn’t know what to make out of these three words. He must be messing around with her again. The realization dawns to her that it’s her turn to do something; maybe even say something. But what? How does she just get up and look at him? Fear slowly creeps up on her. Fear that all of this isn’t real. Fear that he’ll mischievously grin at her and say that it’s just a joke to get her attention. Her heart hammers violently against her insides and her head feels dizzy. What will she say? Will she even say anything at all?
Slowly, cautiously, she lifts her head off his shoulders and looks at him. She’s trying to remember what words are. There is tension; so much tension between them right now, and she doesn’t know how or what to say to loosen it.
“Say something. Anything. Please.” She internally pleads. But nothing.
She starts thinking that everything really was just a mistake. A cruel joke to get her attention because he sure got it. It was too good to be true anyway. Defeated and disappointed, she bows her head low when suddenly, he speaks up making her glance back up at him.
“I mean it.” His voice as soft as his face against the dim light of the living room, but he’s still not looking at her.
She is completely flabbergasted. Her head is buzzing trying to process what just happened; what he just said. Everything seems so ludicrous to her that she wants to laugh and cry at the same time. How do you reach to this? More importantly, what do you say?
“W-What?” is the only thing she manages to say, coming out more like a whimper than a question.
His jaw clenches and he swallows hard. “I…” he starts. “I’ve never been good with words. At least not saying them out loud.” He tells the blank TV screen in front of him. “I mean, I can write lyrics, crack jokes, and hold a fairly decent conversation, but when it comes to my emotions I fail.” His voice full of pain and frustration, and a little hint of… anger?
He nonchalantly runs a hand through his orange locks. Some pieces fall right back into place while some of them stand up messily. He lowers his head with his hand still atop of it. His chest puffs up slowly, taking in a deep, deep breath then exhales just as slow. He drops his hand and finally turns towards her. Their eyes lock and for a brief moment she forgets to breathe. Her hands cold and slippery against the hem of her white shirt, bracing herself for what is to come next.
“I love you.” Just like that, the words come tumbling out: raw and sincere.
There is no stopping the balloon of euphoria growing in her chest and the butterflies in her belly. The world around them goes into a blur while they sharpen into focus. She feels her face flush into a pink color again, but this time she doesn’t care that he can see it. And she doesn’t care that her mouth hangs just a tad bit open. She’s too damn happy to care about all of that, because the boy whom she had loved in secret all these years just told her that he loved her (too).
There is nothing she can possibly say now that will properly express the intensity of how she feels for him. Sudden courage grips her, making her respond the only way she knows how. She leans into him, closing whatever gap there is left between them. His lips warm and soft against hers, just like he has always imagined them to be. A small pang of fear tugs at her gut. What if she moved too fast? Was she too eager? Did she ruin the moment? Just as she’s about to pull away from him, his lips part ever-so slightly returning her kiss. It’s slow yet steady and full of longing.
After a breathless eternity, they pull away from each other only so much that their foreheads still touch. Both gasping for air, he gently cups her face into his hands, tracing its lines with his thumbs. His milky eyes latch on to hers in anticipation and want. She’s trying to scramble for all the right words in her vocabulary to describe the boy in front of her, but all she can come up with is beautiful. His soul, his heart, his face, his… everything! She loves him. Damn, how she loves him!
With her head in a daze and her lips still quivering from the kiss, she holds on to his hands which are still caressing her face, and in almost like a whisper she says, “I love you, too.”
His eyes light up in a flash at her words and his lips stretch out into the widest smile she has ever seen him make. She lets out a small giggle at the sight of him and without a hitch, they close the distance between them again. His hands travel from her face down to her waist pulling her body closer to his as she locks her arms around his neck, the insufferable yearning for each other evident with each sigh escaping them.
She can’t believe it. It all feels like a dream, and if it was, she doesn’t want to wake up from it. The scruffy-haired boy she met in first period years ago, who spoke through melodies on his guitar strings, who became her everything, loves her back.
With only the sound of their low breaths against each other’s lips, there is nothing she wants more than to stay in this moment and live in it forever.
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I’ve been writing poems, or practicing how to write poems (better) rather, that I kind of put story telling onto the back burner for a long time. So to slowly get back in shape, I decided to write little drabbles here and there as well as practice writing out scenes that I find very challenging.
I found it a bit difficult write the kissing scene because a) I haven’t really written kissing scenes before, and 2) I really wanted to get it right and not rush it.
Anyhow, I hope you guys enjoy this one and I’ll really try to write drabbles more often. :)
dailybridgerton
titsay
origamiaround
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tangentwithtanner
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turnnoffyourmind
