Mild infatuation... maybe
This is... nothing really. Merely a drabble, an exercise. A try to somehow balance sweetness and awkwardness.
It exists only because I was dared to write some more romance; and because there is one line in this that caused me to write the entire scene in the first place, a line that reminded me a lot of an inside joke.
(In other words: You wanted it, darling. Here you go... )
And why the strange headline? Well, because the first-person-narrator would totally (and unsucessfully) deny that this is about anything else... ;)
~°oOo°oOo°oOo°~
At first, it was awkward. As much as it pains me to admit that - because I have my pride, after all - everything else would just be putting it lightly, or sound like a bad try at sugar- coating. So, well, it was awkward. In the truest sense of the word.
Our date - I decided to call it thus, for the lack of a better word - started decently enough. We spent most of the car ride engrossed in a light-hearted conversation, successfully avoiding any topic that was too personal, too close to the question what we were actually doing, or trying to do. After a while, the pauses between sentences got longer though, as if we had somehow run out of words. Therefore, it almost seemed like a saving grace when my phone rang.
Recognizing the number, I answered it with an apologizing glance in your direction. In return, I got an amused, knowing smile that clearly spelled out ‘You are just never off duty, are you?’
I kept the conversation very brief, before turning to you once more. “I’m afraid I’ll have to try and find some data right after we arrived, because someone is playing dumb and insisting they can’t find the original document. I’m honestly sorry. It won’t take long, I promise.”
“Oh, it’s alright. I knew what I was signing up for.”
I think I positively adore that smile of yours.
Originally, I never wanted to take you to a hotel room like this. It felt cheap, inappropriate, too much focused on the possible option for more than just talking and maybe holding hands again. But with nowhere else to go really, you can’t afford to be picky.
While trying to focus on the work-related task - to get it over and done with as fast as possible - I sat down on the bed. It was only after starting up my laptop that I realized you were still standing there, looking a bit nervous, almost lost.
I immediately started to search my mind for the perfect line to say, something witty and light-hearted, but all I could think of carried at least a trace of innuendo, and that seemed… wrong, for the lack of a better word. So I settled for the far right corner of the bed instead, and made an inviting gesture towards the left part.
You hesitated, but just for a moment, and then accepted the offer as if it was the most normal thing to do. I don’t know how you managed, given that it’s not the most spacious bed I’ve ever seen, but after we both found a somewhat comfortable position, there was still some space left between us. Were you just polite, or somehow uncomfortable? I made a mental note to ask for the exact measures of the bed next time… even if that might earn me a few insinuating and knowing looks. Well, as long as people only think they know… But of course I had booked a second room under your name. Not only for the sake of what people might think.
While I tried to find the file I needed - secretly wondering if I was trying to hide behind my work, at least for a moment - you turned on the TV and flicked through the channels until you found something that piqued your interest. I can’t remember what it was, or how much time passed since then. It seems simultaneously minutes and hours ago, and by now, it could very well be the second or third movie already. After all, it’s not like I was paying attention…
And I don’t recall who crossed this imaginary line of demarcation first. Chances are it was me, but saying that is merely settling for the most likely option. At first our fingers met, then our hands. Then I reached out to pull you closer, and bit by bit the distance between us was washed away like a wall of sand once the flood comes in.
Almost intuitively, we moved closer towards each other as if drawn by an invisible magnetic force, and somehow your leg ended up halfway across mine, your head on my shoulder and your arm over my chest. And now, I can still feel your heartbeat, not as fast as before, but still a tad faster than my own.
How can it possibly feel so new and exciting, yet so familiar at the same time? It’s like entering a place where you have never been before, a place you’d never even thought you want to be in, and instantly feel like coming home…
At first I was still trying to work, but I gave up on that pretty fast. Talk about distracting. And I don’t mean the pictures on the TV screen. I had put away my laptop a while ago - They can wait, and if they can’t, their problem. Why do they bother me on my free weekend? - and instead opted for pretending to watch TV as well. In fact, however, my eyes were focused on a screen of a different kind, just slightly above the other one.
A mirror right opposite the bed is convenient and interesting for a number of reasons, as I discovered quite a while ago. This reason, however, is somehow new to me. I try to study your face in every detail the dim light allows me to see. The changing pictures create sparkles in your eyes, and your lips curve into a soft, amused smile every now and then. Your calm concentration has something almost touching.
You seem so completely oblivious about everything else, but then again, so am I. My whole world has become reduced to this bed, and to having you right next to me, to feeling your hair touching my cheek and the weight of your body against mine. In a daring movement, my hand traces over your hip, slowly and carefully. And absentmindedly, your fingers close around my other hand in a gentle caress, a silent response.
I always thought the ‘holding hands part’ is foreplay at best. Looks like I was mistaken. Add another detail to the list.
By now, I wonder if there exists something like a remote control to my life, something you have taken hold of. If so, could you kindly press ‘pause’? Just for the next… three or four days, or so?
As if you had read my thoughts - silly and surprisingly out of line as they were - you chuckle softly, and I can feel the tiny movements of your body like waves of electricity running through mine.
“Damn, this movie is bad. Bad in capital letters. And spelled with seven a’s. At least.”
I should suggest turning it off. I really should. But I remain silent, because I know that the absence of the softly glowing pictures and the muted sound would give the moment too much weight, too much meaning. And somehow I’m not ready for this yet… but I’m sure I will be. Soon.
~°oOo°oOo°oOo°~
It exists only because I was dared to write some more romance; and because there is one line in this that caused me to write the entire scene in the first place, a line that reminded me a lot of an inside joke.
(In other words: You wanted it, darling. Here you go... )
And why the strange headline? Well, because the first-person-narrator would totally (and unsucessfully) deny that this is about anything else... ;)
~°oOo°oOo°oOo°~
At first, it was awkward. As much as it pains me to admit that - because I have my pride, after all - everything else would just be putting it lightly, or sound like a bad try at sugar- coating. So, well, it was awkward. In the truest sense of the word.
Our date - I decided to call it thus, for the lack of a better word - started decently enough. We spent most of the car ride engrossed in a light-hearted conversation, successfully avoiding any topic that was too personal, too close to the question what we were actually doing, or trying to do. After a while, the pauses between sentences got longer though, as if we had somehow run out of words. Therefore, it almost seemed like a saving grace when my phone rang.
Recognizing the number, I answered it with an apologizing glance in your direction. In return, I got an amused, knowing smile that clearly spelled out ‘You are just never off duty, are you?’
I kept the conversation very brief, before turning to you once more. “I’m afraid I’ll have to try and find some data right after we arrived, because someone is playing dumb and insisting they can’t find the original document. I’m honestly sorry. It won’t take long, I promise.”
“Oh, it’s alright. I knew what I was signing up for.”
I think I positively adore that smile of yours.
Originally, I never wanted to take you to a hotel room like this. It felt cheap, inappropriate, too much focused on the possible option for more than just talking and maybe holding hands again. But with nowhere else to go really, you can’t afford to be picky.
While trying to focus on the work-related task - to get it over and done with as fast as possible - I sat down on the bed. It was only after starting up my laptop that I realized you were still standing there, looking a bit nervous, almost lost.
I immediately started to search my mind for the perfect line to say, something witty and light-hearted, but all I could think of carried at least a trace of innuendo, and that seemed… wrong, for the lack of a better word. So I settled for the far right corner of the bed instead, and made an inviting gesture towards the left part.
You hesitated, but just for a moment, and then accepted the offer as if it was the most normal thing to do. I don’t know how you managed, given that it’s not the most spacious bed I’ve ever seen, but after we both found a somewhat comfortable position, there was still some space left between us. Were you just polite, or somehow uncomfortable? I made a mental note to ask for the exact measures of the bed next time… even if that might earn me a few insinuating and knowing looks. Well, as long as people only think they know… But of course I had booked a second room under your name. Not only for the sake of what people might think.
While I tried to find the file I needed - secretly wondering if I was trying to hide behind my work, at least for a moment - you turned on the TV and flicked through the channels until you found something that piqued your interest. I can’t remember what it was, or how much time passed since then. It seems simultaneously minutes and hours ago, and by now, it could very well be the second or third movie already. After all, it’s not like I was paying attention…
And I don’t recall who crossed this imaginary line of demarcation first. Chances are it was me, but saying that is merely settling for the most likely option. At first our fingers met, then our hands. Then I reached out to pull you closer, and bit by bit the distance between us was washed away like a wall of sand once the flood comes in.
Almost intuitively, we moved closer towards each other as if drawn by an invisible magnetic force, and somehow your leg ended up halfway across mine, your head on my shoulder and your arm over my chest. And now, I can still feel your heartbeat, not as fast as before, but still a tad faster than my own.
How can it possibly feel so new and exciting, yet so familiar at the same time? It’s like entering a place where you have never been before, a place you’d never even thought you want to be in, and instantly feel like coming home…
At first I was still trying to work, but I gave up on that pretty fast. Talk about distracting. And I don’t mean the pictures on the TV screen. I had put away my laptop a while ago - They can wait, and if they can’t, their problem. Why do they bother me on my free weekend? - and instead opted for pretending to watch TV as well. In fact, however, my eyes were focused on a screen of a different kind, just slightly above the other one.
A mirror right opposite the bed is convenient and interesting for a number of reasons, as I discovered quite a while ago. This reason, however, is somehow new to me. I try to study your face in every detail the dim light allows me to see. The changing pictures create sparkles in your eyes, and your lips curve into a soft, amused smile every now and then. Your calm concentration has something almost touching.
You seem so completely oblivious about everything else, but then again, so am I. My whole world has become reduced to this bed, and to having you right next to me, to feeling your hair touching my cheek and the weight of your body against mine. In a daring movement, my hand traces over your hip, slowly and carefully. And absentmindedly, your fingers close around my other hand in a gentle caress, a silent response.
I always thought the ‘holding hands part’ is foreplay at best. Looks like I was mistaken. Add another detail to the list.
By now, I wonder if there exists something like a remote control to my life, something you have taken hold of. If so, could you kindly press ‘pause’? Just for the next… three or four days, or so?
As if you had read my thoughts - silly and surprisingly out of line as they were - you chuckle softly, and I can feel the tiny movements of your body like waves of electricity running through mine.
“Damn, this movie is bad. Bad in capital letters. And spelled with seven a’s. At least.”
I should suggest turning it off. I really should. But I remain silent, because I know that the absence of the softly glowing pictures and the muted sound would give the moment too much weight, too much meaning. And somehow I’m not ready for this yet… but I’m sure I will be. Soon.
~°oOo°oOo°oOo°~