“You never have to thank me for giving you what you need, baby.”
She lifts her head and searches my face. “Still. I see it.”
I lean in and her lips meet mine.
It’s slow. It’s sweet. It’s everything I’ve been craving.
She smiles into it, her fingers curling into the sleeve of my sweater. When she pulls back, she nestles herself between my legs, back against my chest. I wrap my arms around her and press a kiss to her shoulder for good measure.
We sit there for a while, talking about everything and nothing. It’s the kind of conversation that lingers more in feeling than in memory. At some point, she giggles, and the sound is music I’d memorize if I could. I wish I remembered what I had said to make her laugh like that, so I could keep giving it back to her. When she’s like this, I’m helpless to do anything but fall deeper.
She steals the last bite of the almond croissant I picked up before class, smirking because she knows I’ll let her get away with anything.
“Hey,” I say in mock protest, brushing a flake of pastry from her lips. “That was mine.”
She simply kisses the inside of my wrist as a peace offering before sighing in contentment. “We haven’t had a day like this in a while,” she remarks, her voice dreamy.
She’s right. The last few weeks have been a blur of work and tension. Although she’s started staying over again—thank god—it’s felt…tenuous. Like we’ve both been afraid to breathe too deeply.But this?This feels different…almost like before.
“We should have more of these days,” I decide.
She looks up at me, eyes shining. “Yeah. We should.”
I hesitate, but the moment feels right. “Spring break’s coming up.”
She hums.
“I was thinking maybe we could go away. Just the two of us. Somewhere warm. Somewhere quiet.” I keep my voice light. Like I’m offering a gift, not holding out my heart.
After all, she agreed to winter break. She let me have that. Maybe she’ll say yes again.
But then I feel her still. Her smile doesn’t drop completely, but it falters—the corners less sure, her lashes lowering.
“Maybe…” she begins. “Or…we could stay local? I haven’t really thought much about it.”
She has. I know she has.And whatever she thought about…doesn’t include me.
I nod like I’m unaffected. “Of course,” I reply, voice easy. “Whatever you want.”
It’s a knife in the chest when all Iwantis to put her on a plane, keep her pressed against me for seven uninterrupted days and mend whatever is still clearly broken between us.
I don’t trust myself to say anything else. Instead, I take her hand and kiss the inside of her wrist, then I guide it to my chest, hoping she can feel what I don’t dare to speak aloud.
Though she says nothing, she must sense the shift in me, because the next thing I know, she’s climbing into my lap. Her legs settle around me, and her hands cup my face.
Then, she kisses me—deep and full of intention.
Her lips part mine, and I kiss her back—my tongue sliding into her mouth as my hands grip her waist too tightly. But shedoesn’t pull away. She moans against me and presses her body closer, molding herself to me like she needs it just as much.
She gives and gives, and I take more than I should.
Sometimes I wonder if this is the only language we still speak fluently. When we touch, we understand each other perfectly. In these moments, everything makes sense.
When we finally part, her forehead rests against mine.
“I love you, Nathaniel,” she whispers.
She’s the wound and the balm. The ailment and the cure.
