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“I love you,” Matt whispers from somewhere behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist, his chest presses against your back seconds later, engulfing you in warmth, and he is placing a light kiss on your cheek.
A magnificent blush heats up your face at his words though this is not the first time he has said them to you. The good thing about this not being the first time is that you know how to handle the situation- you turn in his arms, your hands cupping his face before you lean in and press your lips to his.
Because, though you have loved him for a while now, you cannot say those words back to him. Some niggling doubt, something to do with the shyness that is an inextricable part of who you are holds you back with whispers that it isn’t a good idea to talk about your feelings. That you might incur a calamity if you let Matt know that you do reciprocate the love he professes for you.
So you put everything that you can’t say to him into your actions- your arms reaching around his shoulders so your fingers can tangle in his hair, your movements bringing you ever closer to him till there is barely a breath of space between you, your tongue flicking lightly against his lips and then the kiss deepens and his hands slip past the fabric of your shirt and find bare skin at your lower back and all thoughts of distracting him are forgotten as you lose yourself.
You begin to move backwards, tugging him with you, with the vague intention of reaching the couch.
And then, inexplicably, he pulls away.
“___, stop,” his tone is not harsh but you back away instantly as if you’ve been burned.
Immediately, he seems to realize that he has hurt you. His shoulders sink and you can see regret in his expression before his jaw hardens as if he is resigning himself to something he wishes he didn’t have to do.
“What exactly is this relationship to you? Is it-” he stops, and you can see his throat bob when he swallows, as if steeling himself, and goes on, “Is it just the physical stuff, just the sex?”
Your first reaction is anger, and then regret and just a little bit of pain that you have made him feel this way, and then you panic because you don’t know how to handle this.
“It’s not the sex,” you exclaim finally, your tone more than a little vehement, and almost immediately you realize that you’ve said the wrong thing.
Luckily, Matt is used to you putting your foot in your mouth and he seems more amused than anything else. You suppose that’s a good thing since you prefer being laughed at to the heavy atmosphere that had dug its claws into the both of you just moments beforehand.
“Matt, what I meant was… the sex is great, mind-blowing even, but it’s not the reason I’m in a relationship with you.” You give yourself a mental pat on the back as you finish your sentence- you’ve actually managed to convey exactly what you wanted to for once.
“Then what is?”
He waits, expectant, while you repeatedly remind yourself that you do love him, and after about eleven repetitions you achieve sufficient conviction- you don’t want to lose him because you’re too shy to tell him what exactly he is to you. So you take a deep breath, shut your eyes tight, open them again, and start speaking.
“I.. I’ve never been particularly good with expressing my emotions but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you because believe me, Matt, I do,” you pause, firmly push away the growing sense of embarrassment, and plow on, “You mean the world to me.”
It’s as much as you can manage, considering how pressurized you had felt at his question and the extreme lack of preparation. It’s enough, you think, while resisting the urge to cross your fingers for luck.
And then, the realization of what you have just done hits you and you let out a sigh of relief, not quite able to believe that you have finally said those words to him- if you had known that laying your heart bare would remove such a weight from your shoulders, you would have made the effort much earlier.
But Matt remains silent, motionless, and all of a sudden the few feet that separate the two of you feel like an unbreachable barricade. Your heart falls, the relief from earlier slipping away like it had never even been there.
“I just can’t say… that, those three words. Not yet,” you whisper, voice breaking on the last word. You turn away from him, eyes glued to the floor, and head for the door- you need to get away from here, clear your head, and prepare for the possibility that this relationship might just have ended.
Barely a step later, Matt’s hand is on your shoulder and he is urging you to turn back to him again. You comply, only to find that he is much closer to you than you had expected and your heartbeat takes on a ragged rhythm.
“Okay,” he whispers, the soft smile that first drew you to him forming on his face.
“Okay?” you ask, confused, because the conversation you have just finished has put you in such a flustered state that even that single word is shaky.
“I understand. I won’t push you ___. I just had to ask, had to know- that’s all.”
“Oh,” you manage to get out just that exclamation, actual words and sentences seeming impossible in that moment. Because it is all you can do to keep the tears pricking at your eyes from slipping out.
“Yeah,” he says, his smile growing slightly sheepish, and he takes your hands in his, “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. I guess I’ve just been a little worried.”
“That’s okay,” you say, words spilling out in a hurry as you try to reassure him that you haven’t taken offence, “I suppose I’d have doubted me if I had been in your place.”
He smiles at that, the same gentle smile, and it affects you almost instantly, the pressure that has been building behind your eyes and in your throat fading away. You know what he’s about to say, because he’s always been of the opinion that you are far too kind, much too forgiving.
“No, you wouldn’t have, you’re far too nice for that ____,” he tells you, before growing serious again. His hands tighten a little around yours and he draws a swift breath, and it occurs to you that he is nervous. You can think of no reason for that but before you get too far with that train of thought, he speaks again. “Can I kiss you now, or have I blown my chances for today?”
You laugh, unable to help yourself, because of all the things he could have been nervous about, you would never have thought that this was it.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He smiles and pulls you down onto the couch with him, and mere seconds later his lips meet yours with all the passion of the kiss he had broken earlier.