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It was a sunny, early afternoon. Trees bristled in a gentle wind that swept the pleasantly empty streets of Pirathon. It was almost too good of a perfect day, nearly too good to be true, but Clive wasn’t one to let this chance pass him by. Not when you existed.
Less people meant less eyes, and he wanted only you to witness what he was going to do—mostly to soothe his burning nerves as he nervously waded through anxious waters to deliver you something that you’d mentioned off-handedly approximately three weeks, one day, and eleven hours ago that you enjoyed.
In those three weeks, Clive continuously reread the simple text message that said you liked vanilla cupcakes the most. Cakes, you found, were too expensive in this economy and you couldn’t eat an entire one yourself, anywho. Cupcakes were simplistic and easy.
Clive stopped in front of a bakery he came to know and love during his several year stay in Pirathon, the phone in his hand shaking as he stared at the glass door. Simplistic and easy, he had to laugh at himself for his inaction. He really never could talk to people normally, always sweating and wanting to cry at every little mistake he noticed.
You never laughed at him, though.
Simplistic and easy . The door made a ding as he passed through and walked up to the display case full of baked goods and treats. Cakes, cupcakes, several kinds of breads and pies, whatever a pain au chocolat is. He picked at his phone case, still alight with that singular cropped screenshot of what you said you liked, just so he didn’t forget.
Oh, Clive’s anxiety was getting the better of him. He almost bolted out of the door if the worker hadn’t spoken to him with a smile that he deemed to be customer service-y. He could never really tell.
Silently, with a shaking finger, he pointed at the cupcakes. “That one,” he muttered, tacking on an almost forced “Please.” at the end.
They nodded, going to grab the tongs but then they stopped. They stopped, looked at him, and asked: “There’s a lot of flavors, which one?”
Clive’s brain short circuited. He didn’t plan on talking this much! He only wanted to get two cupcakes and leave! Three word interaction! Oh, he feels faint.
“Um.” He stared at the cupcakes like they killed his brother. He knew what he wanted—the vanilla ones, since they’re your favorite and you like them—but he couldn’t find it in himself to speak again. “The. Uh. The. Vanilla. Two. Please.”
Without a word, notably making Clive’s anxiety spike further, the worker grabbed two vanilla cupcakes, put them gently into a bag, and weighed them. “Four dollars,” they said.
Clive dug into his pocket and took out a crumpled five dollar bill. He almost cried when he saw the stray lint on it as he pushed it near them. They took it, gave one dollar back, and he took the bag then ran out the door.
He almost wanted to return home to cry from the stress, but he can’t forsake you, of course. Nothing is worse than death.
Clive Finley☕✨ , 12:03 PM
wher r u?🪱 , 12:03 PM
at thepark🪱 , 12:03 PM
yk thr pne🪱 , 12:03 PM
sittin on a bench👍
Clive’s hands shook with the force of a thousand suns as his heart pressed against his sternum violently. He got the cupcakes, they’re in the bag he’s still holding, but he can’t find it in him to actually give one to you. He knew you would like it, you like anything he does, even if he ends up crying about it, yet he’s supposed to hand you something he sees as a proclamation of his love without exploding into a million pieces?
He managed to find a nearby bench to sit at, turning off his phone’s screen and putting both that and the bag of cupcakes next to him. He placed his hands onto his face and made a noise akin to a dying cat.
He loves you, he really does. There’s nothing more he wants to do than to confess to you. To have you for himself and not let you slip away like grains of sand in a desert. Clive’s unable to voice it, though, and he’s torn between finding the nearest bridge or telling you as you bite into the cupcake, frosting getting onto the corner of your mouth.
He imagined it now: you get frosting on your mouth, and he turns to look at you. “You got something here,” he would say, loosely pointing to you, and you would wipe at your cheek. Of course, you didn’t get it, and this would be the time Clive licks his thumb and wipes at the corner of your mouth.
Hello, his heart said. Hi. Are you trying to make me die? You’re gonna make me faint, do you want that? I think you want that. I’m gonna do that.
Clive’s face bloomed red geraniums as he made another squeaky noise, stomping his feet onto the pavement. “No, I can’t do that!” He screeched, scaring the birds away from the electrical lines. “That’s so stupid!”
He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his crying heart, and picked up his phone. Clive desperately hoped that you weren’t waiting eagerly for a response, he thinks his heart might stop if you did.
Clive Finley☕✨ , 12:35 PM
OK see u soon o.oClive Finley☕✨ , 12:35 PM
ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧🪱 , 12:37 PM
ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
Not fully satisfied with the response, but not allowing his mind to wander lest he fall into a pit of anxiety-fueled despair, he pocketed his phone and stood up, almost forgetting the bag as he briskly walked towards the nature trail that no one really visits anymore.
Pirathon’s nature trail was always something Clive loved running through. It’s so densely packed with trees and plants—he’d always stop near the same area to kneel down and pet the flowers that grew there, quietly offering some of his water to the plants before getting back up and running off.
Maybe, he thought, maybe you’d like it too. He didn’t know if you liked running or not, but maybe you’d like to stop and see the roses with him. Just once, if possible. He’d love to show you what he’s really interested in, if you’d let him.
Before he gets there, Clive’s mind wanders again. To walk in that nature trail, off the beaten path, towards that field of flowers he’d taken care of since he was little. He never liked showing a vulnerable part of himself to others, especially since his paranoia always got the better of him, believing that people were always out to get him.
But for you, he’d perform a vivisection so you could see his deepest innermost secrets.
Clive slowed to a gentler walk as he saw you in the distance, sitting on a bench and smiling cutely at your phone. He remembered a conversation you two once had at least three months ago—
“I really like bunnies,” you had said, sitting next to him with a bunny video loaded on your phone, “they’re so cute and fluffy… I kinda wanna be one, honestly. Is that weird?”
Clive had shaken his head almost frantically, patting you awkwardly on the shoulder like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “It’s not weird! I- I think it’s adorable!” He shouted in earnest.
—and wondered if he could turn into a bunny alongside you. You two in that nature trail, as cute bunnies with a vast open world in front of them. Clive’s cheeks warmed and a stupid, silly smile grew on his face, he liked that thought a lot.
At last, with hands shaking, he announced his presence with a gentle call of your name.
With the video still playing, you looked up and smiled at him, responding in kind. You scooted over and patted the now empty spot on the bench, a nonverbal request which Clive answered as he sat next to you.
“You never told me why you wanted to meet,” you said. “Didya just miss me?”
“No— uh! Yes!” Clive rigidly replied, avoiding your gaze. “I— I missed you! But! Um!” He fumbled over his words, his hands gripping the edges of the bag tighter. The words he wanted to say were right there , on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t say it. He didn’t want to upset you, yet he knew you wouldn’t be upset.
And instead of making fun of him, like he always thought you would one day, you’re gently silent, waiting for him to finish what he’s trying to say to you.
“I…! Got…!” Clive breathed in and spat out the last words of his sentence. “Gotyouacupcake!”
You blinked. “Huh?”
“Igotyouacupcake!”
You blinked again. “...Once more?”
Clive released the bag from his tightening grip and it fell onto his lap. He opened it and looked inside.
Oh.
The frosting of the cupcakes were stuck to the sides. They were ruined. He knew tears were stinging the corners of his eyes. He’d gone through all that—for what?
“What’s in there?” Clive heard you ask, your voice cutting through the emerging fog.
“Oh, it’s… nothing,” he looked at you to smile slightly. “Just, uh… it’s nothing, really.”
“If it’s nothing, why’d you bring it with?”
Clive looked back at the bag. His love, smushed. The universe can be so cruel sometimes. “Dunno,” he muttered. “Felt like it.”
“Well, can I see? It can’t be nothing if you’re this upset.”
Dejectedly, Clive handed you the bag without looking at your expression. He couldn’t bear to see you upset. The thought of it kills him a thousand times. Clive had several thoughts to bolt out of there, to run deep into the forest that he wanted to show with you one day, all because he thought you’ll be upset at him for less than perfect cupcakes.
He heard you giggle and his mood worsened.
“Is this what you’re upset about?” The tone of your voice isn’t what he imagined. It’s lighter, gentler, and not harsh; a total opposite. “Clive, I don’t care that the frosting is on the side of the bag. It’s still a cupcake, right?”
“I guess…” He murmured. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
Clive heard you rip the bag open, granting easier access to get the cupcakes out without getting frosting on your hands. “Are these vanilla?” You asked. “I like vanilla, how did you know?”
He fidgeted. “You told me.”
“Huh? I did? When?”
“Three… weeks ago.”
You laughed again, “And you remembered?”
Clive nodded quietly. “I wanted to get you cupcakes today…”
You placed the cupcakes to the side and pressed the paper bag together, putting it underneath your thigh as you picked up one of those cupcakes. “Well, that’s sweet of you, Clive. Thank you.”
Not as sweet as you.
Hello again, his heart pounded. Hi. Are you trying to make me exit your body in a spectacular fashion? I think you want that. I think I’ll do that now.
Clive nervously picked up the second cupcake and stared at it. There’s not much frosting missing and unless he looked at it closely, he can’t really tell if there’s anything wrong with it. He felt a bit silly now, thinking that his love was completely messed up, but it’s still okay in the end.
He peeled back the paper and looked at you in the corner of his eye. You’ve already eaten half of it and, just like he imagined, you’ve neglected the bit of frosting on the corner of your mouth.
He felt his heart racing as he said: “There’s… something right here.” and gestured vaguely to your mouth. You muttered a cute “Oh.” and wiped at your cheek.
“Did I get it?”
He paused briefly, his mind jittering.
“No, but I can get it.” He licked his thumb and wiped at your mouth, getting the debris with ease. “There.”
He froze and was about to utter a hasty apology before you stopped him with a gentle smile. You looked at him with the adoration of a thousand moons that his heart almost couldn’t take it. The precious, sweet kind of anxiety washed over him as he looked away. That expression you wore was so heartfelt, so genuine, even if all he did was wipe away a crumb.
“Thank you,” you said.
For the next long while, the tender-touched air blanketed you and Clive as you both chatted about anything and everything. The previous rush of anxiety Clive felt had gone down the drain and he felt more comfortable. More sure of what he was going to do was right.
As you were beginning to start up another rant about your interests, Clive stopped you. It was now or never, and he doesn’t want to let you go.
Clive quietly said your name and you stopped before you even began, looking up from your phone open to a piece of art depicting two characters from a media you liked, tilting your head slightly. “Um,” he fidgeted with his fingers, “can I ask you something?”
“Yeah?” You reached out to touch his hand, but he jolted away before you could do anything. Clive looked like a scared, cornered animal, and you’re worried. “Are you okay?”
“I’m— I’m okay. I just…” Clive heaved a sigh, his hands grabbing the fabric of his jeans. His entire body was shaking; he wanted to run. “I’m scared. I’m scared that— that I’ll lose you, too, and— and I don’t want that.”
“I’d never leave you,” you muttered. “Never… Clive, are you really okay? You’re worrying me.”
His heart hurt. His head hurt. Everything about him hurt—why was it so hard for him to say a simple “I love you, can I be your boyfriend?” Clive squirmed and fidgeted constantly, never uttering what he wanted to say, and never replying to any of your questions.
It went on for several minutes. Clive remained silent, breath teetering on a panic attack, you remain worried.
“Clive, please, talk to me?” You scooted closer, but refused to touch him. That jolt of his was still reeling inside of your head, so you were beyond cautious. You didn’t want to accidentally make it worse. “I’m worried about you.”
He curled in on himself, muttering the words he wanted you to hear. He doesn’t have the confidence, all of it was used at the bakery.
This is a mistake. I should leave. I don’t deserve you… Oh, please, leave me alone.
“What did you say?” You softly said, trying to catch his eyes as you leaned forward. “I didn’t hear you.”
Now or never.
Clive looked at you and quickly went to hold your hands. Your worried smile didn’t dissipate, but his surge of confidence didn’t waver. He asked you, point blank, “I love you.”
“Huh?” You blinked. “I love you too, Clive?”
“...No, I… love you.”
“Yeah, I love you too.”
“ No … I love you . Please—” Clive avoided your gaze. “Please go out with me.”
You squeaked, your palms getting sweaty. “Did… Did I hear you right?”
“Will you be my partner?” He asked again, playing with your thumbs. “You brighten my day… You’re the sun to my moon… You make all my problems go away when you send me a— a text message or call me or when we hang out… and you make existing bearable , please… I don’t wanna let you go. If… if you don’t want to, you don’t have to accept and— and I’d be fine if you just disappeared if you wanted to ‘cause I don’t think—”
You lifted his head. There’s tears streaming down his cheeks and he looked miserable. You wiped away the tears with your thumbs as you cradled his head in your hands. He nearly whimpered, but he stopped himself.
“I love you, too.”
“No, no,” Clive shook his head, closing his eyes, “you don’t get it. You think it’s platonic but I want to date you!”
“I know,” you responded. “I love you, too. I want to be your partner. It’d make me really happy.”
“It would?”
“Yeah. It would. I…” Now it’s your turn to feel the anxiety of being open and honest. A cold chill ran down your shoulders, and you swallowed the pit forming in your throat, but you continued. For Clive. “I... I want to share my tomorrows with you. I— I want to share my birthdays with you. I wanna… I want to explore the world with you by my side.”
You’re crying too, and you pressed your forehead against Clive’s. “I don’t want you to leave me either,” quietly, you said.
Clive weakly grabbed your shoulders and he detached his forehead from yours. He was silent, like he had something dire to say but couldn’t. He averted his gaze, preferring to look at the wooden bench instead.
Rather than feeling petrified and unworthy, he’s embarrassed. But like always, you bide your time. You wait for him and you’ll do nothing but wait for him, because you have nothing but adoration for him. You’re patient for this lonely boy in front of you, you who breathed life into an old doll.
“Can…” He spoke some minutes later, after getting his thoughts in order. Despite jumping over a rather large hurdle, he still had to face one more. With your gentle aura, and the undying fragility he was willing to show you, he said what he wanted to say for a long time. “Can I kiss you?”
Clive waited tirelessly for your answer. He refused to move without it, he refused to think without it, he refused to exist without it.
Even if you declined, he would still love you. Some things… just take time, he guessed.
But to his surprise, and much to his joy, you said, “Yeah—yes. You can. Please. Please do.”
His grip on your shoulders tightened slightly and he met your gaze again. Soft, precious, like the clouds above; gentle, caring, like a sweet flower. You made Clive feel alive again, and he wanted to be alive with you. By your side until the day he dies.
“I’ve… I’ve never…” A rosy tint faintly appeared on Clive’s cheeks like water washing up on a beachfront.
You giggled quietly, the anxiety making you feel like you’re higher than cloud nine. “I’ve never kissed anyone either, if that makes you feel any better.”
“It does, I think.”
He stared. You stared.
Well, if he wasn’t gonna do it—
Soft, chapped lips hit yours.
Clive’s eyes are screwed shut as his lips are hesitantly placed upon yours. You’d find it almost amusing if your heart wasn’t trembling at the thought of a pretty guy you’d been in love with for nearly two years.
You leaned into it, cherishing the phantom warmth swirled throughout your body. Your arms around his neck, the midsummer’s day seemed to shine a little brighter, like those clouds that heralded the sky evaporated, leaving the sun to bathe you two in a holy glow.
After a while, a long while, Clive was the first to pull back. His cheeks tinted red, he removed his hands from you and folded them in his lap like royalty. He’s still embarrassed, you can easily tell, but it felt like a good kind of embarrassment. The kind of embarrassment one feels after presenting on a project—that instant relief that leaves one feeling better about themselves.
“Thank you,” Clive quietly said. “I’ll… try my best. It’s what you deserve.”
Your name coming out of that mouth sounds heavenly. Ethereal. Utterly divine.
You smiled. It’s a carefree one, a weight lifted off of your shoulders. You grabbed his hands, holding them tightly as you raised them slightly. “Thank you. For trusting me.”
Clive returned that smile. It’s cute and tiny. If a puppy could smile, he’d have the same expression. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”