Song: Fantastic by King Princess
It’s the way he says your name, how the sound rolls off his tongue and reverberates through you. It’s the look in his eye, the slight smile playing on his lips, and you’re drawn to him like a moth to flame... again.
Your fingers are on his wrist as he pours the beer, and it’s like the room has narrowed to just this moment, this touch.
He doesn’t look at you, but you know he’s aware of the contact. He’s always been like that — attuned, magnetic.
You ask something meaningless, just to hear him speak, to watch his eyes light up.
He answers, and then he’s looking at you, really looking, and the air feels charged, dangerous.
His fingers are under your chin, tilting your face toward his, and you know this is wrong, but it feels so right.
Then he’s kissing you, and you’re kissing him back, and it’s all heat and want and years of history between you.
His hands are on your hips, your waist, your neck — everywhere. He’s like fire, consuming, and you want to be burned.
You pull away, breathless, but his lips are on your neck, your collarbone, and you can’t think straight.
He knows you, knows how to undo you, how to make you forget everything but the way he makes you feel.
And you know him too, know just where to touch to make him groan, to make him lose control.
It’s like falling, weightless, inevitable.
You don’t even make it back to the bedroom. The balcony door is open, and there’s a breeze cooling your heated skin, but you barely notice.
His hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours — that’s all that matters.
You’re frantic, desperate, years of tension released in this one moment.
And when it’s over, you lay there, breathing hard, trying to process what just happened.
You always do this, fall into the same patterns, the same mistakes.
But as he pulls you close, kisses your temple, you wonder if maybe this time, it could be different.
Maybe this time, you won’t let go.
His hands are still on your body when your phone vibrates, a shrill sound cutting through the afterglow.
You tense, but he just sighs, his breath warm on your skin.
You do, he just turns off your phone and tosses it over the balcony.
“You don’t have to worry,” he says, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. “No one will find us here.”
You should be alarmed, should push him away, but you don’t.
Instead, you sink back against him, feeling safe, feeling wanted, feeling everything you’ve been missing.
And as you drift off, wrapped in his arms, you can’t help but wonder — what happens when the sun comes up?
The sun is too bright, too insistent, and you blink against the harsh light, momentarily disoriented.
Your head aches, and you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or from hitting it against something. Memories of last night are fuzzy, fragmented — the party, the drinking, the arguments, the makeup sex.
