Warning: Overamount of fluffiness! Might caught one to implode!

It's amazing, so amazing, how when the sun sets and I'm lying on my back, hands resting behind my hand and my eyes set not on the muted gingery glow of the sky but on something brighter, prettier, I feel better than I've ever felt in my life.

The sight is one I'd call impossible if I'd never previously experienced it. If I weren't stuck on an island, perhaps if I made it to L.A. and was negotiating contracts, playing in Driveshaft, looking for a singer to replace Liam, I wouldn't ever know that such a sight existed.

How bloody lucky I am to be given the gift of such a sight, of being in the company of such a beauty that is simple yet extraordinary at the same time.

Her name is Claire. And she changed my life.

I don't know exactly when it happened, to be honest. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think it happened all in one moment, one instant in the span of the time I've been on this island. Progressively, maybe. A little here, a little there.

It's good, actually. A quirk to add to the story I'd tell over and over if there was a person willing to listen. A story of how I got my life back, how I got that odd feeling, that foreign feeling that other's call love, adoration, sweetly imprinted into my damaged heart.

She probably has no idea what an impact she is on me. How in bloody hell she can't know it, I don't know, but I guess it's all right. My own little secret. Something to make me grin about when around her, which will tickle her curiosity and push her to ask me what I'm smirking about. Quite devilish to know such a simple thing but to drag it out, yet it sounds fun enough so I just might try it out for a while.

"What're you thinking about?" I ask her, propping myself up on my elbows and letting my head fall back as I drown in the wave of heat and dimming sunlight.

"Nothing in particular," she responds, lying through her teeth.

"No need to lie to me," I say through a knowing grin. "That look on your face…undeniable. You're thinking about home."

Claire scoffs and rolls onto her side, her belly keeping her from lying on her stomach, which she always preferred. "And what makes you think that I'm thinking of home? By what my expression is?"

"Of course!" I proclaim, turning my head and looking at her long and hard. "Furrowed brow, bottom lip all pouty and such. You're either thinking of home or thinking of peanut butter. One of which I have an infinite supply of, in case you have forgotten."

"I'd never forget such an important thing as that," she laughs, her Australian accent coming through strong, causing my stomach to do flips. Even if I have one too, I have always had a thing for girls with accents. Maybe it's when she speaks the corners of her lips curl up into a smile; even if she has no idea they do such a thing. The only time they never do is when she talks of how concerned she is for her baby or about Thomas. Bloody-Fucking Thomas. "I guess you're right this time."

I rest my chin on my arm and adjust myself so I can keep looking at her, comfortably. "So what, specifically, was on your mind?"

"My mother, father…" Claire sighs, rubbing her belly unconsciously. "I just wish they could have known their grandson…granddaughter, whatever this might be."

"I thought you'd decided it was a boy," I can't help but speak up, quickly remembering her rants during the night of the boy names she had in mind. "Little Charlie."

She grins at that. I'd been persistent in her naming the boy with a strong name. "Little Aiden."

"Aiden or Charlie…that's a little bit of an easy decision, don't you think?"

With a playful slap to my arm, she ignores the bait to get into an argument. Only this time I catch her hand and keep it, tugging at her, daring her to try and snatch it back. She tugs and I tug back. Before too long she's in a fit of giggles and we're rolling in the sand like a bunch of two-year olds.

"You're such a boy!" she yelps into my ear as we continue rolling down, closer to the water. I try and be as gentle as I can with her stomach, making sure that when I'm atop her in the rolling process I don't squish too hard. It's a success and she never once stops laughing.

"Such a boy, eh?" I repeat as we slow down and it's me on top of her, my elbows digging into the sand so that my weight doesn't crush her. "Please tell me you aren't allergic to cooties."

Claire's laughing started to die down as she caught her breath. Maybe it's me just putting my thoughts into what I see in her expression, in her eyes, but I swear she's taking more than a minute to speak because she realizes just how close we are, that we're not rolling in the sand like children. We're two adults, wrapped in each other's arms and on top of each other, basking in the sunset and the sounds of the ocean filling our ears.

"And what if I am?" she asks me quietly, managing to keep her cool.

Unlike me, of course, because the minute I respond my voice chooses to catch in my throat and my tone jumps a few octaves. "We're going to have to something about it, then."

Her hands find their way to my chest, not pushing me away but instead just pressing up against my warm t-shirt, feeling the warm fabric and my heaving chest underneath. When her fingers pinch the fabric, playing with it, I swallow hard and try and suppress a nervous laugh.

"Claire…" my voice catches again and I shake my head, disappointed in myself for not being able to act like a man but instead act like a prepubescent little boy.

She smiles at me and my heart starts to pound against my chest, faster and faster and god, I think she notices because she glances at where her right hand is placed, over my heart. When her eyes return to look into mine, my tongue starts to loll about in my mouth because I see heaven. Deep blue skies and fluffy clouds, pure bliss and angels.

Putting my entire weight on one arm, I bring a hand up Claire's face. I'm hesitant of course because of the small fear that my coarse skin might frighten her or even damage her soft, fair skin. The back of my hand is the first to have the privilege of caressing her cheek. Along her jaw line, feather-light touches across her cheek and some momentary contact with her pink, luscious lips.

Before too long I can see in her eyes that she's just begging me to kiss her. Which is odd, because I'd have no problem being the one doing the begging. Because I am willing to admit she's the kind of person who should have other's prove themselves just to have the pleasure of being in her presence. But she doesn't. She accepts people for who they are. She did with me and she will with everyone.

"Charlie," she manages to whisper just before my lips make contact with hers. Lip brushing along lip, my hand cupping her chin and lifting her closer, and closer, softer and then faster, gently then hard.

She moves her hands from my chest to my back, hugging me closer as she lets out a small moan against my lips, one immediately returned by myself.

Breaking away for only a split second to catch out breaths, I look into her eyes for a moment that seems like forever, to burn the image into my mind because, even as it happens right at this moment, I still don't quite believe it's actually happening.

Drugs be damned. This was euphoria. And I am bloody well never going to let it go.