Breath

It's a damp Saturday night as I hear the familiar click in the door.

I'm sprawled out on the couch, the slightly cold, chipped coffee mug I bought for him resting lightly in my left hand. The fuzz of the TV is droning deep into the night, and the clock reads 3:00 AM, but with heavy eyelids, I can't concentrate on anything other then the expected click of the front door.

I hear his heavy footsteps on the floor, and the same click as he tries to close it without making too much noise. I can hear his heavy breathing, and if I concentrate hard enough, I think I can hear the drip of every little drop of water that falls of his body as he walks through the house.

He puts his coat on the rack, and slips his shoes off. He walks over to the couch and peers down on me, with that familiar look. I have my eyes closed, but I've stayed up enough times to know what he looks like when he sees me like that. He gets this far away look that I've come to know like my own reflection.

I wonder what he's thinking.

I know almost every Saturday and more he comes home like this, with messy hair, and messy clothes, smelling slightly of lavender, his limbs much more relaxed.

It strikes me that I have never seen him like this around me. Maybe I have, I can't remember, but that was a long time ago when I didn't know his favorite color, or why he always wears those tattered blue socks I keep telling him to throw away, the ones with holes in them, or why he doesn't like the taste of grape juice. When I didn't know him and everything he did was a mystery.

Now I think he is a stranger. I don't know who he is anymore.

I don't think it bothers us anymore, that we're two strangers. It stopped a long time ago. It doesn't really matter anymore. I know what he does and it hurts even to think about it, so I don't.

He used to say I think too much. I put too much thought into what should be easy to understand. I just shrugged when he teased me like that. I think I just have to have an explanation for everything.

He stands there over me for several minutes, breathing quietly, the only sound in the room other than the rain falling on the window in a steady drum. I breathe just as quietly, feeling the pressure of the silence bearing down on both of us. I'm almost suffocated before he turns and walks to the room. I let out a big sigh, but don't open my eyes. I know better. I wait it out to see how long it is before he goes to the bed and falls asleep.

Suddenly I hear his footsteps into the living room again and I almost frown because I don't know why he would come back. I force myself not to wrinkle my eyebrows, and make a straight face. He comes back to the couch, and I almost panic. He's never done this before. He leans over me, because I can feel his warmth, and I have this unexpected urge to wrap my arms around him and kiss him until we have to come up gasping for breath like two teenagers holding each other in the back of a car. I don't.

I wait while he moves the stray hair from my face. I force back a smile. I can feel his arms wrap around my body, and for a second my face goes slack. I quickly regain, though. He picks me up, blanket and all, and I let the coffee mug in my hand fall to the couch, spilling a small amount of liquid. He readjusts me, until my head is leaning on his chest.

My heart melts.

I want to look into his eyes. Isn't that strange? I've always done that. Hah, I remember this one Autumn morning, he took me to the park. He were just walking, doing nothing in particular. I kept looking at his eyes. I didn't even look at the trees around me. God knows they must've been beautiful. It took him a while to realize I was staring at him. He chuckled and asked me what I was looking at. I didn't laugh. I told him I was looking at his eyes. I know his smile faded and he wrapped his arms around me, and for a while, all I could see were his eyes when I slept.

They were beautiful.

I barely breathe as he leans down and gently lays me on the bed, his fingers lingering on my skin. Then he crawls in with me, and I feel his stare on my face again. He leans in closer until I can feel his breath tickling my face.

Seconds pass before he leans in and kisses me. It isn't an ordinary kiss.

I can feel the desperation and passion in it. I don't move against it, feeling his lips exploring ever part of my mouth as if he wanted to lock in the memory. Before I know it I'm kissing back just as eagerly. He pins me tightly against him, and I groan against the kiss. I run my hands through his hair, and let my fingers rest against his head.

After a while, we break apart, and I can hear myself gasping for air. I look into his eyes and I freeze as I see the hurt and pain in them. I've known him long enough to decipher his eyes. They make me feel uncomfortable, though, seeing that in his eyes. I want to pull him down for another kiss and never let him go.

Instead we stay like this for a while. I don't know how long. It could be seconds, it could be minutes—it feel like an eternity. He still leans over me, our eyes meeting each other, and I wonder what he's thinking. He brings a finger and brushes it over my check. I'm surprised to feel him wiping wetness from my face. I was crying? I don't know, but all of a sudden, I can feel the wet of my tears weighing down against my skin.

He takes a deep breath and I shudder against the feeling of him near me. I don't why know, but I blurt out something I know I will regret, because I regret everything I blurt out.

"I love you." It's just a whisper, really. I'm afraid to say it out loud, afraid it might get lost in our breaths mingling together, unable to describe this feeling. He blinks and stares at me, with a look. I don't know what kind it is. It's not something you describe casually. I stare into his eyes, searching for something. He sees this and turns away.

My heart breaks. It shatters. I don't know why, because I thought it was already broken. Saying my heart broke seems strange to me, because I don't think you can break the same thing twice without fixing it first. I look away also, turning to my right, my hand falling from him and clutching the blanket faintly. I feel tears in my eyes, but I don't let them fall. I swallow the huge lump in my throat as my chest tightens.

I should have known this would happen. I should have kept my eyes closed and let my mouth fall still. I become angry at the though of thinking it would be okay again.

He calls me name. I flinch at the noise and turn towards him, finding his eyes again. He shifts nervously, and asks me if I'm okay.

I almost laugh out loud at that. Of course it's not okay. Everything's bloody horrible, and I can't imagine anything worse than this. You're seeing other people, leaving me here to an empty apartment all alone. I swat away that thought because I know what it does to me, and swallow another ball of emotion rising up my throat.

I nod.

He looks at me skeptically, "Are you sure?" I stop breathing. I don't know how to answer that question.

"Yeah," I breathe. I let myself sigh, unsure what it is that I'm sighing at, but it feels right. He nods and shifts his body so that he is lying beside me now. In this time I start to think about all the times we had together.

When we met. I smile at the thought of his quirky awkward self stumbling into a grocery pyramid. I still don't know why I walked over and helped him pick the damn thing up. God knows I was late already, and did you know it takes almost an hour to readjust those things without employee help when you keep stepping on your own shoelaces and falling into his arms? I smile, the thought washing over me like a warm wave in the cold.

We lay there for a while, until I feel I might explode if he doesn't speak.

I call his name.

The body in the bed stirs slightly and is silent again. I watch him for a moment, wondering if he's awake. He doesn't move again, and I realize I am alone. He wouldn't mind if I were to wake him, but I don't want to. So I sigh, breath hitched in my throat as I delve backward into memories.

A/N:

This was so much fun, and I wanted to write more. I might, maybe, I dunno. It felt like a one-shot, but think I put too much information in for it to be. I might just leave it like this. If I kept it going God knows I wouldn't finish it. I suppose it does depends on my fans though. Haha, we'll see.