Plot: Kissing in the rain after a long, painful longing.
A/N: I've come up with a few ways to ease me back into writing, so I'm writing very short snippets, so people who don't know me (hi guys!) can get to know my writing style, and people who do know me (love you all) can get set back into what I do. A portfolio, if you like. :D I'm using as fewer words as I can in the hope I can still evoke the right response, as a challenge to myseldf.
Words: I'm challenging myself to make you feel something in as little words as possible. I have no idea how many words this will be, but it won't be many. If you liked it - let me know, man.
He meets you on a secluded street; drizzly and dark, in a clouded November.
Ben has always been to big for his own body - he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he approaches you, his hair catching the sheen of the slightest rain. The scent of it lingers; somewhere at the very end of the alleyway, you see the lights refracting on the pavement.
He closes the distance with a few awkward strides, and his eyes look anywhere but at you.
"What's this about, Ben?"
He's always fretting on a word. Plush lips on an ideal - he tries to find the spare lines in poetry, when he's alone. You've heard him, when you've tried not to hear it.
He's human, after all.
He chews the inside of his cheek, and the rain comes down like it's waiting, somehow.
"I needed to see you."
Needed.
You shudder.
"Doesn't give me a lot to go on."
Ben's heel finds a piece of loose gravel. Somewhere far off, sirens echo out; leave the city behind you, as he looks down at the pavement at his feet for the longest time.
But when your eyes look up; he finds you.
His throat bobs; brown eyes dark with something. Hell, it's so intense that it hurts you - there's an ache that burns as it goes down.
Ben takes the longest time before he asks.
"Don't you know?"
Don't you?
Haven't you always known?
Haven't you known, when he squeezes the steering wheel? Haven't you known, when his smile reaches to the top of his eyes? The way he presses his lips together when you share something broken and quiet? The way you find his hands, amidst a dark place?
You know.
But your feet tremble, all the same, as you step towards him.
His hands - these huge, calloused hands - they tremble like he's hooked to a live wire. And when you're in range of them--
--Ben crushes you to him.
Ignites, like a live wire.
And the rest...
...the rest is left to a drizzly, November sky.
Left to whispered lips, and crowded bricks,
And the crescents you dig on his shirt - long since promised, after years of waiting.
