Work Text:
Baz
The hypocrisy of the situation is this: I've never understood love. I've never understood why it was so devastatingly essential to organise a whole day to celebrate something so mundane and temporary.
I'd never fully grasped the concept of someone wanting to feel the touch of someone else's skin on their own. Never have I understood why humans could be so selfish in having so much of something that they're literally covered in, but still want more.
I'd never understood how people could crave another human so much, when every other human seems to be so cold and senseless, how everyone could mutually agree that the craving was special, but shun others for it.
I'd recited this over and over from the age of 15 to 18 until it had become a saying I had almost lived by. I'd watch others in my life fall in and out of love and constantly question them why they'd bother if it was such a short and painful reminder that humans are living pieces of shit.
But then I learned to fall.
I learned the ins and outs of one boy.
I learned the taste of the vanilla-flavoured lips and his sour cherry-flavoured tongue.
I learned how to touch him just enough so he enjoyed it, but not too much that he'd go off.
I learned how to whisper in his ear so softly I could feel the fine hairs on his toned back stand up if I held my hand there for long enough.
I learned how to round my mouth to the sound of his name and gasp it out as if it was something I'd constantly craved and longed for since the beginning of time. Perhaps it was.
I'd learned how to make a boy tense up at the touch of my fingers on his skin, how to kiss him rough and how to kiss him soft, how to make his face go red with just a few words and how to read him like a book.
I'd remembered the number of freckles on his face, the constellations on his back and the way each individual curl on his scalp twisted and turned, dancing in the wind like a bronze, sparkling miracle.
His chest rises and falls now, long eyelashes gracefully fluttering open, his denim blue eyes sparkle when they meet mine, a slow and meek smile curling over his full, pink lips. "Happy Valentine's Day, Love." I murmur into his hair after sliding myself into a warm embrace (he's always so warm).
His voice, albeit strong, breaks from a long night's sleep; "I love you."