Summary: I couldn't even tell you the last time we spoke, and now, out of nowhere, he shows up, kisses me out of the blue, and leaves me with two words and a promise to call. But can I trust him? Can this really be happening?
I felt something warm enclose itself around my wrist, and, with a gentle tug, I was pulled into a little alcove in the wall. Curious, I looked up to see who had mysteriously snagged me out of the swell of the in-between-class mob in the hallway.
I stopped breathing.
He stood there before me, in all his god-like beauty, his beautiful dark caramel hair just brushing against his forehead, not quite reaching his shining blue eyes – the ones that, of late, I had only seen graced with a cold steel, not this unfamiliar (although quite welcome) sparkle that was reminiscent from our childhood.
"Tristan," I murmured, his name escaping my breath in a quiet whisper, barely there. "What…"
His gorgeous lips curled up slightly, in a half-smile, half-smirk, and all of my questions—the ones that wanted to know why, after all this time, he was finally interacting with me again, breaking our trend of mutual ignorance—fell from my mind. His eyes stayed focused on me, still glinting with that strange emotion, as he leaned forward, closer to me.
Gently—and quite unexpectedly—his lips pressed against mine, soft and moist, but also brief, a butterfly's kiss, there and gone. Then, his cheek was against mine, his lips by my ear, and his breath tickled my earlobe as he whispered two quiet words, barely audible, "Happy birthday."
His voice sent pleasant shivers racing down my spine.
And then he was gone, backing away from me slowly, a grin stretching across his face. I could only stand there stupidly, not in any ounce of control of my paralyzed body, only able to watch him as he was swept into the crowd.
My hand fluttered to my heart, which was beating as rapidly as if I had just completed my mile race.
My first kiss (a fact with which I am sure he was completely aware), I thought. Slowly, I raised my fingers to my lips, where the taste of his own still lingered. I could feel them pull into a small smile as I realized, he had remembered my birthday. After all those years, after all those times when I thought he had forgotten…he remembered. My eyebrows creased in confusion, what did all this mean? Why now?
It was then that I felt the weight of the paper, cleverly pressed into my palm. For a moment, I could only stare at it, incomprehensive as to what it might be. But then my fingers began to move on their own, deftly unfolding the innocent white sheet and raising it to where I might be able to read it.
Rogue, it read, clearly his own handwriting and clearly from him, as he was the only one who had ever called me by this name.
I miss you, darling (another of his clever pet names from an age long past, long forgotten) I'll call you tonight, we have to catch up. Happy sweet seventeen.
I could feel my spirits soar, a sense of ecstasy and raw excitement, hovering there for but a brief moment before they came crashing down again, into the bitter depths of doubt. Why now, after so long? Who, I wondered, had put him up to this cruel prank, this horrible form of torture. There was nothing left between us anymore, our friendship had become strained and faded, until it was only on my part that the feelings of puppy-love, if not real love, remained, despite the irrationality behind it.
He wouldn't call, and I knew that as I crumpled the paper into a tight ball in my fist. So why should I even begin to raise my hopes only to be faced with the crushing force of reality? Besides…I doubt he even had my number, although I certainly had his stored in my phone, for emergencies, of course.
No, there would be no call tonight.
Angrily, I swiped at a tear that had begun to slide slowly, caressingly, down my cheek. Then, with my eyes focused firmly on the ground, I slipped into the trickle that was left of the previously swirling mass of bodies.
Unbiddingly, as I walked, a corner of my mind whispered, "He remembered... what a perfect gift."
Later that night, long after I tore through the wrapping paper and exclaimed over the gifts that my parents got me and had my share of amazingly scrumptious cake, I sat up in my room, with my cell phone far out of reach on the other side of it. Although I had managed to push this afternoon's events from my mind, they began to creep back with no festivities to keep them at bay.
But I stubbornly managed to look away from my phone. I was quite resolutely determined not to be one of those girls who sat by the phone and cried when their supposed lover did not call.
After all, why bother setting myself up for the heartbreak, when I already knew he wouldn't call?
It was this frame of mind, then, that set me up to jump out of my skin when the shrill ringing of my cell phone cut through the silence that had settled like dust in my room.
But it wouldn't be him, I told myself firmly as I made myself walk—calmly, composed, unhurried—to pick up the phone. Probably just a friend or cousin calling to say happy birthday.
I literally dropped the phone when I saw the caller ID. Tristan, it read.
With shaking hands, I carefully picked it up again and flipped it open, pressing it against my ear, the very one into which he had whispered in, the echos of his voice still lingering there.
"I'm here." My voice was barely more than a whisper.
I could hear a puff of air on the other end of the phone, as though he had breathed out in a sigh of relief. "Have I told you lately how much I missed you?"
"I guess," I murmured, thinking back to the note.
I could practically hear the smile in his voice. "Well, I have…"
Two hours. That's how long Tristan and I had talked last night. It was a time stamp, a memory that was forged into a brain that was still having trouble processing this, coming to terms with the fact that last night was not—as I had quite firmly believed this morning until I looked at my call log—a dream.
And it wasn't as though it were a normal light, chit-chatty conversation either. No, we had managed to delve into the subjects I thought we would have skitted clear around, the thoughts that my mind had automatically shied away from for all these years. We had actually had a conversation, a deep, meaningful, real conversation, and I still couldn't believe it.
Two hours. Two hours and he had even managed to convince me that he was for real, that he was telling the truth (although I'm sure I remember me protesting this for at least a quarter of an hour before I finally gave in). I must admit though, I'm still a little wary, after all, who wouldn't be. The two of us hadn't talked in ages.
But he assured me that this wouldn't be the case. And God…I had missed his voice so much. The feelings that emerged after hearing it again had manifested into a physical ache, like being thirsty but not able to sate the thirst by drinking any amount of water. I'm perfectly sure we would have continued our conversation, had it not been for the time, which had sent me dozing, making few comments toward the end, only basking in the sound of his voice. He had had to order me to sleep, that's how bad I was. The thought brought a smile to my face.
So caught up in these musings was I that I had completely lost awareness of my surroundings, and I jumped when I felt a hand snake around my waist and pull me backwards. The world and the sun were blocked out as another hand clamped across my eyes. And then there was a weight against my head and a warm wind brushed past my ear as a soft voice whispered lowly, "Guess who?"
A giggle peeled from my lips, and I pretended to be completely oblivious. "Uhm…Orlando Bloom?" I asked, stating the name of the first attractive male actor that rose through the giddy fog of my mind.
He chuckled, and the world was back again, and his hand tugged at my waist, twirling me around so that I was facing him. I looked up at him and puckered out my lower lip as I feigned disappointment. "Oh, it's only you."
His blue eyes gleamed with the same emotion from yesterday, only much more intense now. "Yes, only me," he said, brushing a stray piece of hair away from my face, his fingers lightly grazing my skin. A grin stretched across his lips. "I guess you'll just have to settle."
My response was lost as he bent forward, closing the few inches of space between us. His hand cupped my face, tilting my chin up before he claimed my lips with his own. My heart exploded into a frenzy of excitement, and a shudder of delight coursed through my body before I went to my tiptoes, pressing myself further against him. Too soon, he pulled away (since I was new to this, he had promised me that he would go slow, teaching me patiently, something which I was entirely grateful for) and I sighed at the loss of the warmth of his lips against mine.
Again, he chuckled, and I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks, tingeing them a light pink. This only made his grin widen further. "You're so silly," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss on my temple. He glanced at his watch a moment before looking up at me again. "I'm going to make you late for class if we stay here," he commented before he draped his arm over my shoulder, giving a little tug to prompt me to walk.
Mildly unsure, I snaked my arm around his waist, and after I felt his smile, I turned my head to snuggle against his shoulder. His own head dipped down so that his cheek was resting against my hair, a comfortable weight. Sighing contently, I used my open hand to take the one that was draped dangling over my shoulder. As our fingers laced together in a woven pattern, he gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
We headed for the doors in silence, but not an awkward one by any stretch of the imagination, rather one that was silent on the mutual understanding that we only needed each others presence at the moment, not words.
A butterfly flitted across our path as we walked, dancing an intricate dance in the wind before my eyes, there and gone before I could even blink. There and gone, how, until that two hour conversation, until even now, I would have believed my relationship with Tristan would have been after that kiss, just like the butterfly.
But Tristan was here to stay, now.
Having him here, beside me, and the absurdity of it all—after all, two days ago if you had told me that this seemingly random change of events would occur and I would soon find myself wrapped up in Tristan's adoring arms, I would have laughed bitterly—made me wonder about that old superstition about blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Could wishes like that really come true?
Mine certainly did.
Cheesy ending, I know I know. Oh yes, and I am also aware of the fact that I made up about three words that dont exist, unbiddingly being one of them, and I cant think of the other two right now. And yes, he said sweet seventeen, not sweet sixteen, I did that on purpose.
Anyway, what did you think? It's definitely different from what I usually write, as there's no real humor in this one. I'm working on a few other one-shots, but I'm not sure how they're going to go.
Please let me know of any mistakes I made, and I will fix them and repost!! :) Also, if you can think of a better summary, I would love to hear your thoughts! (I dont like this one that much...)
Thanks for reading,