Last week, we finally exchanged phone numbers. Rather awkward and silly feeling, all things considered, and yet that didn’t stop the nervously excited leap my heart gave when he handed me back my phone after creating the new address book entry for me.
He’d put himself in as “Tris”, not “Tristan”.
Even on the days we haven’t seen each other, we’ve texted all day, sending little snippets of stories and questions and answers back and forth. And every morning and every night,Good morning sunshine. Good night sunshine.
I don’t think there are words to sum up how ridiculously huge the smile plastered across my face is when I read those corny texts.
And of course, he still plays his keyboard through the wall. The first night, he started out just the same way he had before the two of us had realized who the other was. That handful of notes. His invitation for me to join him.
Maybe knowing now that it’s him on the other side of the wall might have made someone else in my shoes less nervous, but it had the total opposite effect on me. I’m not too proud to admit that my hands were literally shaking on the keys when I’d held my breath and tried to plunk out the notes to the slow, jazzy piece I’d supposedly mastered a few weeks before. My timing was off though, and what felt like half the notes came out wrong.
And seamlessly, from through the wall, Tris, with his supernatural and inexplicable magic, turned my fumblingdisaster into a masterpiece, almost seeming to anticipate my mistakes and rushing in with the right chords or notes to weave them back into something cohesive and polished. At the first remotely logical stopping point, I let my fingers fall silent on the keys and listened instead as he took the piece and ran with it, improvising it into something entirely his own.
Me:You make me nervous.
I’d typed it out of impulse, right after the last of his notes had faded into quiet, wanting to justify my crappy playing. The moment I’d sent it though, I’d regretted it.
Until his responses had come in a few seconds later.
Tris:I know*sun emoji*
Tris:Its fucking adorable *heart eyes emoji*
Tris:Told u I love it when u blush
Tris:Want to play something else?
For the first and only time, I was glad we had that damn wall between us. He definitely did not need to see the completely besotted look of gratitude with which I’d beamed down at his messages.
How does this man make everything right? How does he turn my awkwardness and introverted bumbling into something good?
Me:Can I just listen to you?
Tris:Anything for u *sun emoji*
And then he’d played, piece after piece, until finally his keyboard went silent. A few seconds later, my phone pinged.
Tris:Goodnight sunshine
The nights we’ve played together after that, I’ve done better.
Last night, we played so long that I ended up running through my entire repertoire of semi-decent pieces until I’d run out. By then, that easy, comfortable feeling had overtaken me, and so with a grin, I’d plunked out “Hot Crossed Buns”, the first song from the early days of my foray into the online world of piano lessons.
Tris’s laugh through the wall set me laughing too, and for a long minute, my fingers hovered over the screen of my phone as a debate raged in my head. Text him? Invite him over? Tell him how much I miss him after just these few days apart?
Christ, I want him to know that I can’t stop remembering the feel of waking tangled up together with him. That, aside from just missing the simple sight and closeness of him, my head has been full of non-stop fantasies. Of touching him, kissing him, peeling away his clothes and exploring every inch of his beautiful body. That, each time, the nervous kick of guilty anxiety has been less and less. That I think, maybe—
In the end, I’d just tucked my phone away and picked up my book. Not that I’d been able to read a damn word, just stared at them as all of them danced on the page, as dizzily restless as my thoughts.
These days of not seeing each other aren’t intentional. At least, not from me. It’s just that, until this last time we’d seen each other, we’d always agreed on our next date in person, before saying goodbye.
After the movie on Tuesday, by the time I’d forced myself to stop kissing Tris, the taste and feel of him had so completely filled my mind that there wasn’t room to think to ask him back the next day. To offer to make him dinner again.
I’d just kissed him that last time, fighting against the urgeto drag him back into my apartment and not let him leave. By the time I’d realized that, apart from our vague plans to do something bigger on Monday, we hadn’t picked the next time we’d see each other, he’d already gone.
Now, I feel stuck waiting.
I don’t want to smother him. I don’t want to push him too fast or too hard.
