“Yeah, it’s tomorrow. It’s the next day.” I’m doing a shit job of explaining it, but it’s the best I can do. “It’s morning, and I’m awake, and I don’t regret anything.” His arm is outstretched, bent at the elbow, hand and forearm on top of the covers. I put my hand over his and squeeze gently. “Come on. Come with me. We have to go and see about the sun.”
His face creases like it did last night, all over, everywhere, and he sits bolt upright. He goes from sleepy to wakeful to happy in under two seconds. Connor Lockwood happy is a beautiful thing to see. A right thing. A the-way-it’s-meant-to-bekind of thing.
We shove our feet into our shoes, giggling as we grab jackets from the closet at the front door. We shrug them on as we head out the door. I think I might be wearing his, and maybe he’s wearing mine. Either way, everything smells like him.
Everything feels like him.
We ride the elevator side by side, shoulders touching. We don’t talk, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable or really even silent. There’s a hum of cables and a motor. A whirr of electricity that might be coming from the building’s wiring or the city, or it might be coming from us. I’m so excited that I’m buzzing. So nervous that my feet aren’t touching the ground.
When the doors open, we get out, bodies turned toward each other. So much so that it makes it hard to walk, but also easy. I couldn’t make my arms or legs work if I wasn’t close to him now, and I think—hope—he feels the same.
As we take the stairs, our arms swing, brushing against each other, and our fingertips find each other. It’s a light touch. A soft sensation we both recognize. Skin on skin. Pulse against pulse as fingerprints blur into one.
We know this touch. This feeling. He knows it, and I know it. We remember it, even though it’s brand new.
Fingers find their way home and curl. His, mine, lacing together.
A soft grip that tightens and turns to iron.
Connor’s breathing changes. It goes from something calm and reflexive to something that costs him. Something that makes his lips part and his chest rise and fall visibly. It makes him look like the beginning and the end of the world. Like someone who’s only just woken up, and someone who’s been waiting for me forever.
When we get to the roof, we don’t sit on the small bench like we usually do. Instead, I lead him to the railing. To the ledge of the roof. To the edge of the world.
To tomorrow.
To the start of something new.
We turn to face each other, fingers still laced together, and look at each other.
There’s a tiny vibration of tension around Connor. Excitement. Nerves. I know how he feels, and I recognize it because I feel the same way.
A tremor.
A question.
A moment that stretches out.
A before moment. A last moment. The last second that will ever exist where Connor is Connor and I’m me. Where he’s there, and I’m here, and we’ve never kissed.
In the nighttime, in my rambling plans of how I wanted today to play out, I planned to ask him to remind me to kiss him. I decided to make him say it because I wanted to hear him say thewords, “Lennon, you asked me to remind you about something,” or “Lennon, don’t forget to ask me to kiss you.”
In the nighttime, I thought I’d be afraid to do it without the prompt. Too locked in myself to be the first to speak. I thought I’d have to wait until he said or did something to give me the courage I need.
Turns out, I don’t.
Turns out, I have everything I need because I’m looking into his eyes.
“Connor.” My voice is raw. Peeled back and stripped naked. “Kiss me. Please.”
He drops his gaze fractionally and his lips curl up in a slightly deviant way. A way that’s unlike him, and also like him exactly. When he looks up, he does so with lingering eye contact and such pure idiotic joy that I’m left in no doubt whatsoever what he’s going to say.
It chokes a huff out of me. A huff of anticipation. Of hope and humor.
He’s Connor, so of course, he doesn’t disappoint.
He lowers his chin to lower his voice and looks up at me through a forest of lashes. “As you wish.”
It’s the silliest, sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, and it might be the very thing I didn’t know I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear. It takes the tension between us and screws it into a tight ball that quickly evaporates completely. What’s left in its place is sweet and soft. A warm gust of familiarity. A cool breeze of camaraderie.
