But now... I have traced by heart every curve of her body; I’ve come to know what truly stirs her, what draws forth those piercing moans of pleasure.
I know her body like no one else ever will—because she’s my girl.
I know precisely what she desires from me, just as she knows exactly what makes me lose my mind.
She alone holds the secret that can bring me to my knees before her.
I love everything about her. Every freckle, the dimples at the base of her back, the birthmark shaped like a blotch between her neck and shoulder, all her tattoos, her voice, her fingers playing with my hair, her kisses. Everything.
––––––––
•*?? . ??? ??.•*??
“Do you remember when I told you that in the clinic I had music lessons with a woman obsessed with Oasis?”
She nods while watching a cartoon she used to love as a kid, the one where the Hello Kitty characters acted out fairy tales. Roxy is curled up asleep on her blanket at the foot of the bed.
“The one who hadDon’t Look Back in Angeras her ringtone?”
“Yeah. I talked to her a lot about you... And she made me listen to a song.”
Nova sits up, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “Which one?”
“A song that screams your name in every possible way.”
“Yeah?”
I nod and she takes my hand, pulling me down. “Someday you will find me caught beneath the landslide... In a champagne supernova in the sky...” I whisper against her lips.
“Wait.” She suddenly sits up, her hair falling forward in messy waves. “I’ve heard that song before.”
“Yeah?” I tease, leaning my head back against the pillow with a lazy grin. “And here I thought I was surprising you.”
I reach for her wrist and gently tug her back down, but she resists just enough to balance on her elbows against my chest. The weight makes me laugh, a quick, helpless sound, because I’m insanely ticklish and she knows exactly how to use it against me.
“I’m serious. I know I’ve heard it somewhere,” she insists, narrowing her eyes like she’s trying to drag the memory out of thin air.
“Where, then?” I ask, brushing my fingers along her bare shoulder. Her skin is warm, soft, distracting. Curiosity flickers in me.
She shrugs. Then, without warning, she lowers herself fully onto me, her chin resting on my chest, her eyes closing as if the answer might come if she’s still enough. She lets out a little sigh, and I start threading my fingers through her tangled hair. It’s grown long again, like when we were in high school, and God, I missed this.
Her hair is so dark, so heavy when it spills over my hands. I love winding the strands around my fingers, tugging gently until they knot and trap me there for just a moment longer. And she knows it. She knows I use it as an excuse to keep her close, to stay attached even in the smallest ways.
She’s been weaving tiny beads into her green braids lately—little silver charms shaped like flowers and fruit. They click softly when my fingers graze them. I think about how even her hairtells a story: messy and wild, yet carrying pieces of beauty tucked secretly inside.
The truth is, I’ve loved her hair short, long, braided, uncombed. I’ve loved her through every change, every version of herself. The bigger truth? I love everything about her. Every detail, every flaw, every facet.
“Got it, baby?” I grin down at her, half expecting she’ll give up.
“I’m thinking,” she mumbles, eyes still closed, lips twitching as though the effort physically hurts.
“Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re done,” I tease.
She groans dramatically, squirming a little as though the thought is just out of reach.
For five full minutes she mutters, frowns, sighs, and makes little frustrated noises until, suddenly, her eyes fly open.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, staring at me like she’s just unlocked the secrets of the universe. “It’s from the spider-kiss scene between Seth and Summer! I’m a fucking genius!”
