That moment in which you’re reading a fic about one of your OTPs and it’s beautiful and another couple you didn’t even know existed sneaks up in the fic and for a while you keep the other couple in the background, but then something mushy/fluffy is done and then you realize:
[…] He scanned the shelf twice and then pulled out a large, bright-colored one entitled 100 Best Places to Visit in the World.
We sat down cross-legged on the floor, and he handed me the book. “No way, comrade,” I said. “I know books are a journey of the imagination, but I don’t think I’m up for that today." "Just take it,” he said. “Close your eyes, and flip randomly to a page.”
[…] “Mitchell, South Dakota?” I exclaimed. Remembering I ws in a library, I lowered my voice. “Out of all the places in the world, that makes the top hundred?”
He was smiling again, and I’d forgotten how much I’d missed that. “Read it.” “‘Located ninety minutes outside of Sioux Falls, Mitchell is home to the Corn Palace.’” I looked up at him in disbelief. “Corn Palace?”
He scooted over next to me, leaning close to look at the picture “I figured it’d be made of corn husks,” he noted. The pictures actually showed what looked like a Middle Eastern–or even Russian–style building, with turrets and onion domes. “Me too.” Reluctantly, I added, “I’d visit it. I bet they have great T-shirts.” “And,” he said, a sly look in his eyes, “I bet no guardians would look for us there.”
I made no attempts to conceal my laughter, imagining us living as fugitives in the Corn Palace for the rest of our lives. My amusement brought us a scolding from a librarian, and we quieted as Dimitri took his turn. San Paolo, Brazil. Then my turn: Honolulu, Hawaii. Back and forth we passed the book, and before long, we were both lying on the floor, side by side, sharing mixed reactions as we continued our “global tour of the imagination.” Our arms and legs just barely touched.
“If I could dream, I know I’d dream about you.I’d dream about the way you smell and how your dark hair feels like silk between my fingers. I’d dream about the smoothness of your skin and the fierceness of your lips when we kiss. Without dreams,I have to be content with my own imagination—which is almost as good. I can picture all those things perfectly.”__Dimitri Belikov