how we started (h.s)
The first time he looks at you, you’re smiling because he’s making you laugh, his disheveled hair and own manic laughter making its way into your ears, so boisterous and filled with joy that you can’t resist joining him. He sees you and gleams with pride; little do you know making you notice him had been his intention. As you walk away, he sees you look back at him one last time, a glint of light in his eyes and a twisted smirk on his lips.
His eyes are green, you think.
The first time you get drinks together, after a particularly intense concert, he smiles because he loves the way you put words together to form intricate stories, stories that put the cherry on top of everything that had happened that evening. With you, he thinks, recounting was almost better than experiencing. Not quite, though. Living it with you, he thinks, is better than reminiscing.
His desire to live in the present motivates him to make you a permanent fixture.
The first time he calls you beautiful, he smiles with relief because it was probably the first and only thing he had said with complete certainty for a long while. He smiles because you get bashful and look down at your shoes trying to hide your turning lips. He gently places his fingers underneath your chin and raises his face to level with yours, and repeats his words. The time, when you look into his eyes, you can see that they are green, green with a hint of yellow, like the sun resided in them. So full of color, so full of honesty, so full of life. Wet tears cloud your own as you open up to him, recount your trials and tribulations with everything you have. His eyes never leave your face.
They are so sincere, the tears can’t be tamed.
His hands raise to caress your face, thumbs stroking your soft skin as he pulls you closer, the warmth of his body catching onto yours. He leans forward and kisses the salty streaks that dot your cheeks, his plush raspberry lips leaving rose petals on your face. He smells like lavender and vanilla with a strong husky undertone. His lips travel down to yours, and he presses them together, an urgent yet loving introduction into what could only be described as the first love you could feel in your bones.
Afterwards, as you lay in between the porcelain sheets, you both are quiet, the only sound being your still labored breathing. Your fingers are still twitching a little, trying to come down from the high he caused with his touch. Your head is on his chest, your fingers stroking his pecs, trying to soothe his warm body. His arms are wound tightly around you, sleepy kisses still being planted in your hair. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. The warmth that surrounds you is too comforting for you to even entertain the thought. The outside lights shine through the window, illuminating one side of his face. He’s looking at you, and you move up to look him in the eye, arms still wound around each other.
The first time you say you love him, he weeps. God only knows what he’d be without you.