Even on a Friday night, it was possible for him to be miserable. One could blame several different items for his current mood. The couch, on which he currently sat, was old and very uncomfortable. Or it could be have been his annoyance at the over-played rap song blasting through the speaker to his left. One could list many more reasons why this particular individual would be melancholy. However, one would not be correct.
Though he was unhappy, everyone around him was completely the opposite. The couple in the adjacent room, for example, dancing to the fast-tempo, bodies twined, seemed happy and satisfied with each other. Or the couple lip-locked only a love seat a way seemed to be contently in their own world.
But there was one couple that was not in the euphoric state. This was the couple his mocha eyes had been set on for little over a quarter-of-an-hour now. This particular couple was the reason for his current unhappiness. Hidden from the view of the general population, Warren Peace had watched their conversation turn sour. Until a moment ago, things seemed at least mildly under control. Now he watched with unmoving eyes, trying not to blink even, not wanting to miss a single moment. If things got out of hand, he would take control. He merely needed to make sure it was not himself who caused the disturbance first. She would not be pleased.
But that didn't matter when he saw her expression. She had turned away, moving her eyes from her date to the wood floor. A flash of red light from the turning strobe had shown him the one thing he could not tolerate—under any circumstances. A streak of moisture on her left cheek meant only one thing. Said cause only had two effects. The first was very physical. He felt his eyes narrow into slits, his lips turn downward at the edges, and lastly, he felt his hands growing extremely hot. He took a deep breath in attempt to calm himself—a wasted effort.
The second effect was much more emotional. He had been trying for weeks, months even, to convince himself what he was feeling wasn't there. They were just friends, if you could even call them that. But if they were just friends, why did he feel the sudden stab of pain in his stomach? Why did he feel the need to go steal her away, sweep her off her feet—literally—and take her home? Why did he suddenly become aware of the extreme dryness of his lips?
The answer came to him so suddenly; it knocked him backward into the old couch. The springs under him sighed and groaned under the sudden change in weight and pressure, but he didn't notice. His expression went completely blank. He couldn't put it together, those three little words that meant more than anything he'd ever thought—ever felt—in his entire life. I love her. He shook his head, as though to clear out the thought. That couldn't be true. He hadn't loved anyone, ever, at least, not like this. This was something new entirely. It seemed like putting the words together was the key. Pairing them up had been the key, thinking them had turned the lock and opened the door. Now he felt it all wash over his body. He felt warm all over. Not hot, not like he was burning, but warm. It was the strangest feeling. He ran his rough hand over his exposed forearm. He did feel a noticeable difference.
How could this be? Nothing could be this powerful…could it?
He saw her flash before him, and snapped his head back up. She had turned back to Stonghold now. He looked at her boyfriend for the first time since the argument had begun. His expression read something close to disgusted. His eyes were barely visible they were so narrow, his mouth hung open by just a fraction. He shook his head defiantly, and said something Warren tried unsuccessfully to make out. Stronghold turned around and walked away, leaving her standing alone. Warren's gaze returned to her body. Her knees, clad nicely in a pair of black tights, began to buckle.
It was an involuntary reaction, what he did next, mere instinct. He was there in a second, and caught her just before she hit the ground. He let her skirt-covered bottom rest on his knee, almost child-like. He supported her with his hands, the right on her back. The left held onto her right shoulder and angled her toward his front.
She turned to look up slowly, she felt very lightheaded. And though she knew who her rescuer was the moment she felt his warm body, she couldn't know until she looked into his eyes. Her gaze traced up his tight black t-shirt, around his russet-colored neck and features, and into his chocolate eyes. It was in that instant, when chocolate and topaz melted together—resulting in a very big lump in her throat—that she knew. True, she had been trying to deny it for a while, but that didn't seem important now. She saw in his mocha eyes worry and concern, something she'd never seen in them before. He, in turn, saw surprise, comfort, and…love. But, that was impossible. How could someone so gentle and kind love someone rough and cold? He smiled while remembering something his mother had told him once as a child, "Love is irrational. The more you love someone, the less sense anything makes."
She saw in his smile, the strangest expression. She had only seen it once, in another person, the reason for the giant hole in her heart right now. And if the smile held true to where her mind was wandering, maybe that hole would be repaired in time…but she couldn't get her hopes up. Knowing her luck. She was probably way off track of his true feelings. But, she couldn't help but wonder. There was this warmth she'd never seen—or felt—from him before. This was the happiest she'd ever seen him. She reached up to touch his skin, as though to make sure he was really there. The back of her smooth hand felt amazingly cold against his always-too-warm skin. He closed his eyes at the touch of comfort.
It was in these quick moments that the rest of the world didn't exist to this new couple. It was as though they were the only two in the universe, the only two that mattered anyway.
Her hand continued its journey around his features. She moved it up his jaw line, to his perfectly sculpted lips, tracing them with her finger. She started to pull away; afraid she had done too much. He reacted to the lack of her by pulling her closer, and in one quick fluid motion, she was up against his muscular chest entirely.
"Is this real?" Her soft voice whispered quietly into his ink-black hair.
"Only if you want it to be," he replied in a sad voice. He only wanted what was best for her, if she didn't want the same thing he did, he would not take it. She stayed silent for a moment.
"I do."
"Thank you."
Their eyes returned to each other. They each tried desperately to read each other's expressions, their eyes. He seemed to be asking for something, begging, pleading. She knew what it was he was asking for, and nodded. The left corner of his mouth turned upward slightly. She closed her eyes and he leaned in.
This kiss was unlike any she had ever had—or imagined—with Will. He was soft, careful. His full lips were so gentle, as though they were handling porcelain. She kissed him back, to his surprise—and enjoyment—and he felt happy. They finally broke apart, gasping for air. Forehead against forehead, eyes staring into eyes, they both smiled. She sighed in happiness and closed her eyes. "Take me away."
"Anywhere?"
"Anywhere. The stars maybe," she added, and laughed quietly. She opened her eyes to search his again. They were full of hope. He quickly wrapped an arm under her knees and the other up her back to her head. She reached up to hold his neck. Not once breaking eye contact, he lifted her up, and carried her out of the door. They got a stare or two, but it didn't matter. She scooted up around him, pulling him closer. Her lips were at his ear when she spoke, "Thank you." She paused. "I love you…"
He didn't stiffen, just turned his head to mirror hers, "You have no idea corny that sounds." She let out a small laugh. "But, I love you too. And I can never thank you enough for letting me."
She moved her lips down to his neck, kissing it softly. She didn't notice they were at his car until he was struggling to open the passenger door. He got it quickly and set her down in the seat. He buckled her seat belt for her, and let his lips quickly brush hers as he moved out of the car. He stared at her through the windows as he walked around, smug. She looked stunned. He climbed into the driver's seat and pulled on his seat belt. The engine quickly roared to life. He let his left hand do the steering as his right searched for the touch he desperately craved. She noticed his attempt and made it easy for him, putting her had in his. He interlaced their fingers and turned to kiss the back of her hand. His eyes found her as he spoke. "I'll never hurt you." Her eyes glistened as she heard his words. "I know. And I can never thank you enough for that."
In that moment, everything was right. Everything was how it should be. Though neither knew what was ahead, they knew they would face it together. And that was enough, for now at least. She rested her head against his broad shoulder and sighed happily at the thought. She let her eyes fall; she didn't care to see where they were going. It didn't matter as long as she was with him.
If you think this should be more than a One Shot, tell me in a review. I might give it a shot if I get enough reviews. And please note if it was a story it would be purely Romance. No "Lets-Go-Save-The-World" for the most part. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.
--SecretlySpellman P.S. No copyright infringement was intended. All emblems/characters/etc belong to copyrighted owners.