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Pots were rattling under my hands; my hands whip up something here and there and a knife chased over boards. I only saved the salad, I wanted to freshen it up right before dinner. My thoughts continued, moving from one topic to the next. I couldn’t have told about what exactly, if someone had asked me. However, the central point was not something, in fact someone who is anything but unimportant. In my head, conversations with you unfold again, as so often, and sometimes I wish I had said something different to be able to change the course. And occasionally - actually more often than I would ever admit to myself - this led to wishful conversations that I saw almost alive in front of me. Not infrequently, they ended up with us being much closer to each other than at the beginning.
However, at times when we are having these conversations "live", I am too proud to do so, would not even allow the thoughts I now had. How would you call something like that? Foolish? Or even cowardly? Was I like this? Did I just not trust myself to do these things? Or did I not wanted to drop my pride – always eager to urgently get my outer façade upright? I sighed quietly. What if some of our conversations, some actions had been different? Would I be standing here right now? What would you do? Would the situation be different? Would it be so hard each time to force me to look you in the eye during conversations? And then, if I had done it once, would it be just as difficult to free myself from that look? Would my knees be shaky when you looked at me? And would I have such a breathtaking “fluttery” feeling in my body every time we touch each other, even accidentally, unintentionally? Could I even add "unfortunately" to the small, innocent word "unintentionally" ...?
All these questions drove me mad... They filled me with a seething discontent, a nervousness, like a burn, a few inches below my heart. A flaming star, and my heart hoped that it would bring light into the darkness between us. This 'what if?' bothered me when usually I’d be so unerringly ... Or did I always just seemed to be so?
I had yet to admit that I longed for him; to sink into his eyes, and to give in my knees to weigh me in his safe arms, leaning against his chest, to inhale deeply his pleasant smell. I could almost feel his breath on my skin…
I was a little dizzy, I held onto the counter for a moment and tried to get rid of these annoying thoughts. Even if I had succeeded, a sad emptiness would have gaped in my thoughts.
"Are you all right?!" If I hadn't been clinging to the counter beforehand, I would have to do it now at the latest. I started up -- I don't think anyone has scared me for a long time -- stumbled two or three steps backwards till I came to a halt with my elbows on the table and dropped the knife on the cold kitchen tiles. Of course, I knew that voice. I would have recognized it among thousands. And yet ... I couldn’t believe it until I actually saw Shuichi sitting at the table next to me, speaking fluent sarcasm as always. This man didn't seem to know anything else either.
I was slowly recovering from the horror, my breathing was returning to normal, but my knees and hands were still trembling as I slowly and carefully bent down to pick up the knife. I was very careful to get up slowly, my circulation didn't seem to be working very well today.
My thoughts had already returned to him. I hoped he hadn't noticed that I was struggling with my physical as well as mental condition, hoping that he would not discover my weakness. Stop, I scolded myself. What does he care how I felt? He had just made that all too clear once again. And yet I saw him now slightly puzzled. This time I discovered something else in his eyes...
But that couldn’t be... Was there actually a trace of concern in his eyes?
He seemed to have noticed my curiosity, a smile playing around his lips. I couldn’t interpret it correctly. It seemed to be meant honestly, and yet... Somehow sure of victory...
I forced myself to go back to work. With my hands still shaking, I was just able to rinse off the head of lettuce, turned my back on him and tried to hold the knife as quietly as possible so that I wouldn't cut myself.
I sensed his presence more than I would have recorded it with eyes. Likewise, his eyes, his breath on my pale skin. And at that moment a small, hopelessly romantic part of me prayed fervently that this closeness was not only physical - and would remain. His right arm hugged me almost as if in an embrace -- or not, his hand lay on my trembling one, in which I held the knife, gently but firmly. I wasn't leaning against him, but it was only a hair's breadth between him and my back. In his confident way, oh how I hated it when I was so confused, he didn't seem to mind.
When I actually noticed a hint of indecision, there was no time to find satisfaction: The short hesitation - whether from considering if he should dare it or simply out of what was most meaningful – wasn’t enough. He put his arm only somewhat vague, but then in a more casual way on my waist, as if he didn’t do it for the first time. I felt his hand directly at the level of my last rib, his fingers could almost play with my pelvic bone. Three minutes ago, I would have liked just that ... now I was a little overwhelmed.
Again, my circulation threatened to refuse to serve me. Or was it just my head that actually softened my knees? I was about to give in to my desire to lean back. I was still standing for myself, supported, as if he were my support, but the desire to hand over a part of my weight to him grew bigger any second. I had a hard time keeping myself from it.
Part of the problem resolved shortly afterwards ... not by itself, but from him. His strong arm wrapped a little tighter around me, which made my stand even more unstable. But by now there was no way to fall over or move at all. Again, I felt his breath, he brushed my cheek, followed shortly by his one, his invisible stubble left a tingling sensation on my skin.
"Why so insecure?", there was this unmistakable sarcasm again – he almost sounded amused, but something in his tone, something deep and sensual, penetrated me and made me shudder comfortably.
Like a switch inside of me something turned and I decided to finally give him an answer - though perhaps somewhat unsatisfactory. His voice still echoed in my head. "Do you think that something like this can be explained by simple words?"
I could have sworn that later I would come up with much more appropriate things, but for the moment I didn't think that was bad at all. Even if he would be surprised – he didn’t show any reaction. As usual, he kept full control - over himself, about the situation, and increasingly about me. However, the less and less in me resisted and tried to escape it.
"Do you have to explain anything?"
Even the smallest hair on my neck stood up on his throaty tone, between the purring and hissing of a big cat it sounded like a seductive growl. Even when I was standing almost motionless, my nerves were tense to tear.
I thought about giving another answer, but something inside me decided against it, and I only made a sound that was neither approving nor negative. Meanwhile, my eyes were only half open, although they were watching the ongoing events closely.
He pulled me close to him, his upper body snuggled gently dominating on my back, I could feel the pounding of his heart now and then. It seemed to have a lot of energy.
Always careful that the knife, which was still being held by two hands, did not come too close to us with its cold blade, he gently pressed both his and my right arm against me. Anyone else would have felt pressured, restricted and constrained. All I felt through my racing heart and my throbbing pulse next to tension, was security. Only my left arm was free, I made it move, and almost carefully ran my fingers over his face, through his hair, until they took courage, found a hold and turned his head with gentle pressure to me. To finally bridge the last piece which he had left me. Despite his constant control, he probably neither wanted to assault me nor move to something I might regret later. What would he get from forced affection?
And yet... Maybe at that moment he thought "forced", but I didn't find the situation to be compulsive, not even as if I was doing him a favor, no ... I had to honestly admit that although I was surprised - in a positive way – I was overjoyed. I was almost pulled out of my thoughts, no longer had the possibility to worry about why I was happy, but simply accepting that I was - and could enjoy the moment.
In the meantime, he had decided that it was enough of silence, and deeds should follow. His lips found their way down my cheek, lingered for a moment, as if fascinated by the angles that formed the dimples that I knew he liked, until his mouth found mine. There was a slightly bitter taste on his lips and I liked it. The first tentatively touches became less and less timid. His beautiful eyes were closed, just like mine. I turned my face to him a little longer until we sank into a long, sweet kiss.