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Head leaned back, you take another slow drag from the cigarette. It tastes like crap, but what the hell, you've already adopted nicotine as one of your vices, along with caffeine, so why should you stop now?
You lazily blow out the smoke, carcinogens invading your lungs. Another quick draw, a flick of the wrist and you're back to square one.
You signal the waiter. He comes over, happy smiles and all, a requirement for their job. You quickly order a refill of your coffee, French Roast blend 'cause you know it's going to be a long night and you need the strongest stuff you can tolerate.
He goes to the counter to yell out your order, his voice mixing with the other voices around you in the noisy cafè. What can you expect? It's Starbucks for crying out loud.
You put out the cigarette and resist the urge to pull out a new one. Instead, you pick up the book you abandoned a few minutes ago in lieu for a nicotine break. It's old, second-hand, and battered. Then again, all of your books are battered due to the fact that you drag 2 or 3 of them around in your over sized shoulder bag.
Opening to the page you last read, you replace the bookmark in it's usual position at the very last page of the book. As you begin to read, you don't notice that the door once again opens, and the person whom you've been waiting for steps in.
He's slightly damp from the rain and immediately shrugs off the wet jacket, at the same time, ruffling the drops of water out of his shaggy hair that rather reminded you of a dog's. Funny, you've always had a dislike for dogs. But now...
He goes up behind you, you don't notice since your too engrossed in your book, reading The Joy Luck Club, you actually like the book and Ms. Q is suddenly correct for once when she gives it for the book report. Suddenly the air around you feels warmer and you just know. You turn around and he swiftly captures your lips with his. Romantic yes, and it's enough to make you breathless.
You've missed him, although he looks like he hasn't changed all that much. His hair is lighter, skin tanner. Leaner but with muscles filling in at the right places. Hair is a bit longer, covering his eyes, lightly reaching the nape of his neck.
He sits across from you, tossing aside the old leather jacket that you love, it smells like him, spicy with the cologne you got him from Blue Soda. He orders what you've ordered, glancing at you with a smirk on his lips as he hears French Roast blend. You look away, putting away your book after securely replacing the bookmark.
Your hands feel numb, cold. You repeatedly close and open them, hoping to contract enough blood around for some heat. He notices and covers your hands with his own, warm and smooth. Yours are callused since you're too damn lazy to bother with lotion. This suddenly makes you feel insecure.
He notices you get uncomfortable, he's always been observant like that. When you begin to pull away, he tightens his grip, challenging you to try to pull away once more. You remain motionless, you stare into his eyes, looking for that sign that tells you that he is bored, that he's tired of you, that he isn't the one.
You sigh, with frustration or relief you don't know, because you don't find what you're looking for. He notices this too, but keeps quiet, and you just know he'll bring this up later. Your orders come together and you begin to ramble, talking about things purely meant for conversation to pass the time.
You sip your coffee after putting in 3 packs each of cream and brown sugar, despite the somewhat scalding temperature. You're addicted to coffee; you've gotten used to it. He listen to you while sipping his own coffee (no cream, no sugar; he likes it black and bitter while you like it light and sweet, completely opposite) and you notice he really listens, his eyes trained on yours, head titled in the way that you've always found so endearing.
Soon you're both done with your coffees. A comfortable silence settles over you two like a blanket. He calls for the bill and you reach for your wallet but he waves you off with a wink as he pays for you both. You blush furiously and protest, saying it's your turn, but he ignores you, save for another irritatingly cute wink.
He never lets you pay, despite your somewhat violent reactions and protests. That's just the type of guy he is, the type of guy he was raised to be. A perfect gentleman. Perfect.
You wonder if it's real.
You walk together around I.T. Park for a few minutes before you involuntarily shiver. He shrugs off the jacket and you're suddenly surrounded in the comfortable warmth that smells so like him. You stop walking, the area momentarily empty save for a few cars.
He takes your hands because he knows your cold and pulls you close, hands comfortably resting at the small of your back as the top of your head brushes against his chin. Moments, hours later, he tilts your chin up so that your eyes meet his. He kisses you softly, and they are so gently given that you want to cry. Hugs you tighter, before resuming the previous position. Arms around you, laced together at the base of your spine, your head brushing against his chin, and now, your arms around his neck.
He leans down and whispers so close to your ear that you can feel his breath, the occasional brush of his lips.
He tells you that 'we need to talk'.
You try to pull away but he holds on tighter. He tells you not to interrupt him; just listen. You nod and he resumes.
He tells you that you've been dating for a while now. 6 months and 3 weeks, you silently add.
He tells you that he really likes you and he's felt something for you. He's never felt this way with anyone else.
He tells you that he knows you're insecure about them, with all those rumors flying around from the libakeras and the libakeros. You stiffen at those words, he once again notices because he's so damn observant and begins to stroke your hair soothingly.
You try to tune him out, staring up at the glossy black sky with the billions of stars winking at you. You listen to the quiet chirps of the crickets, the blow of the wind. You breathe in the night air and you--
I want to be with you. I love you.
You freeze and he slowly pulls back. He's just asked you to be his girlfriend. Oh God.
Breathe, you command yourself. Moments pass before you can even look him in the eyes. You're crying. You tell him that he's right.
You are insecure of what people have been saying, you are scared.
Of getting hurt.
You shush him when he tries to cut in.
But you're willing to take a chance. To give your heart to him.
And that was more than a simple I love you, yes, I will be your girlfriend.
He hugs you, kisses the tears away. Suddenly, you know things will work out, things will be alright. There will still be those rumors, the doubters and there will still be your insecurities.
But for now, the future seems bright, and you could almost see him in it.
You lazily blow out the smoke, carcinogens invading your lungs. Another quick draw, a flick of the wrist and you're back to square one.
You signal the waiter. He comes over, happy smiles and all, a requirement for their job. You quickly order a refill of your coffee, French Roast blend 'cause you know it's going to be a long night and you need the strongest stuff you can tolerate.
He goes to the counter to yell out your order, his voice mixing with the other voices around you in the noisy cafè. What can you expect? It's Starbucks for crying out loud.
You put out the cigarette and resist the urge to pull out a new one. Instead, you pick up the book you abandoned a few minutes ago in lieu for a nicotine break. It's old, second-hand, and battered. Then again, all of your books are battered due to the fact that you drag 2 or 3 of them around in your over sized shoulder bag.
Opening to the page you last read, you replace the bookmark in it's usual position at the very last page of the book. As you begin to read, you don't notice that the door once again opens, and the person whom you've been waiting for steps in.
He's slightly damp from the rain and immediately shrugs off the wet jacket, at the same time, ruffling the drops of water out of his shaggy hair that rather reminded you of a dog's. Funny, you've always had a dislike for dogs. But now...
He goes up behind you, you don't notice since your too engrossed in your book, reading The Joy Luck Club, you actually like the book and Ms. Q is suddenly correct for once when she gives it for the book report. Suddenly the air around you feels warmer and you just know. You turn around and he swiftly captures your lips with his. Romantic yes, and it's enough to make you breathless.
You've missed him, although he looks like he hasn't changed all that much. His hair is lighter, skin tanner. Leaner but with muscles filling in at the right places. Hair is a bit longer, covering his eyes, lightly reaching the nape of his neck.
He sits across from you, tossing aside the old leather jacket that you love, it smells like him, spicy with the cologne you got him from Blue Soda. He orders what you've ordered, glancing at you with a smirk on his lips as he hears French Roast blend. You look away, putting away your book after securely replacing the bookmark.
Your hands feel numb, cold. You repeatedly close and open them, hoping to contract enough blood around for some heat. He notices and covers your hands with his own, warm and smooth. Yours are callused since you're too damn lazy to bother with lotion. This suddenly makes you feel insecure.
He notices you get uncomfortable, he's always been observant like that. When you begin to pull away, he tightens his grip, challenging you to try to pull away once more. You remain motionless, you stare into his eyes, looking for that sign that tells you that he is bored, that he's tired of you, that he isn't the one.
You sigh, with frustration or relief you don't know, because you don't find what you're looking for. He notices this too, but keeps quiet, and you just know he'll bring this up later. Your orders come together and you begin to ramble, talking about things purely meant for conversation to pass the time.
You sip your coffee after putting in 3 packs each of cream and brown sugar, despite the somewhat scalding temperature. You're addicted to coffee; you've gotten used to it. He listen to you while sipping his own coffee (no cream, no sugar; he likes it black and bitter while you like it light and sweet, completely opposite) and you notice he really listens, his eyes trained on yours, head titled in the way that you've always found so endearing.
Soon you're both done with your coffees. A comfortable silence settles over you two like a blanket. He calls for the bill and you reach for your wallet but he waves you off with a wink as he pays for you both. You blush furiously and protest, saying it's your turn, but he ignores you, save for another irritatingly cute wink.
He never lets you pay, despite your somewhat violent reactions and protests. That's just the type of guy he is, the type of guy he was raised to be. A perfect gentleman. Perfect.
You wonder if it's real.
You walk together around I.T. Park for a few minutes before you involuntarily shiver. He shrugs off the jacket and you're suddenly surrounded in the comfortable warmth that smells so like him. You stop walking, the area momentarily empty save for a few cars.
He takes your hands because he knows your cold and pulls you close, hands comfortably resting at the small of your back as the top of your head brushes against his chin. Moments, hours later, he tilts your chin up so that your eyes meet his. He kisses you softly, and they are so gently given that you want to cry. Hugs you tighter, before resuming the previous position. Arms around you, laced together at the base of your spine, your head brushing against his chin, and now, your arms around his neck.
He leans down and whispers so close to your ear that you can feel his breath, the occasional brush of his lips.
He tells you that 'we need to talk'.
You try to pull away but he holds on tighter. He tells you not to interrupt him; just listen. You nod and he resumes.
He tells you that you've been dating for a while now. 6 months and 3 weeks, you silently add.
He tells you that he really likes you and he's felt something for you. He's never felt this way with anyone else.
He tells you that he knows you're insecure about them, with all those rumors flying around from the libakeras and the libakeros. You stiffen at those words, he once again notices because he's so damn observant and begins to stroke your hair soothingly.
You try to tune him out, staring up at the glossy black sky with the billions of stars winking at you. You listen to the quiet chirps of the crickets, the blow of the wind. You breathe in the night air and you--
I want to be with you. I love you.
You freeze and he slowly pulls back. He's just asked you to be his girlfriend. Oh God.
Breathe, you command yourself. Moments pass before you can even look him in the eyes. You're crying. You tell him that he's right.
You are insecure of what people have been saying, you are scared.
Of getting hurt.
You shush him when he tries to cut in.
But you're willing to take a chance. To give your heart to him.
And that was more than a simple I love you, yes, I will be your girlfriend.
He hugs you, kisses the tears away. Suddenly, you know things will work out, things will be alright. There will still be those rumors, the doubters and there will still be your insecurities.
But for now, the future seems bright, and you could almost see him in it.
Where I Am: Sala [AKA Livingroom]
What I'm Feeling: 
Inspiration Strikes
Inspiration StrikesWhat I'm Listening to: "Never Say Goodbye" by JoJo
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