Somewhere in the distance, the bells ring and you know it should hurt. Make your heart feel heavy, but you've grown to find so much comfort in them, you find the chimes more calming than anything else. The calm only lasts for the time it takes him to inch closer to you, and you're pulling your knees up to your chest, only looking at him through the corner of your eyes, a self conscious, close to awkward smile on your lips. But it doesn't seem to bother him, and he inches closer yet again as he speaks. It's almost hard to understand what exactly he could possibly be thinking. His eyes, his tone as he talks about entirely innocent topics, they make it clear what he's thinking, but you don't know why. Can't begin to fathom why someone as strong and confident as him is inching closer and closer to someone as socially awkward as you. But he is, he's right there, and you can't help but drop your knees from their clutched position against your chest so you can actually turn to face him, hands shaking and breath shuddering just slightly as he continues to speak, still such an innocent topic. But then he lifts his hands in some elaborate gesture, and you watch his wrist pivot, his fingers curl, and again, you just know he's thinking about something other than what he's saying, even if you don't entirely understand the metaphor.

There's the slightest of pauses between that look and ohh god! That kiss! There's still that moment when you're just sure he's going to laugh and ruffle your hair, call you a name that makes you feel like his little brother, which couldn't be further than the relationship you've fantasized with him. So very far, but then his hand slips over yours, and his chin tilts up, mouth open just enough that you can feel his breath on your cheek. And then that moment, when he tilts his head back down, but that look, it makes you wonder if he's actually pulling away, or just making you come to him. That's the kind of thing he would do after all. It's to painful to think he's pulling away, not after all this, so you play the game he's clearly dragging you into for the sake of the torture he knows it is for you. Your lips touch, mouths opening instinctively, like you should have started this years ago, and you could care less that it's his tongue guiding you through the kiss, that you have no control right now what so ever, because it's him. Him and everything and more than that when his hand slides across your stomach to your back, up your neck and pulling you in to deepen the kiss, and you're sure your lips are going to be bruised.

You're there, right with him, taking in every bit of the taste and feel of him until you simply have to break away to breathe, and he's still calm and composed as he ever was. He says this will all seem beautiful one day, and you think it's beautiful now, looking at him with your eyes a bit wider, hands still braced against his shoulders. You ask him what you're supposed to do until than, and he answers you with that smirk that you've seen a million times when you've talked to him. Like he's planning something, knows something you want to know, something neither of you should know, but that makes it all the better because that smirk gives you that feeling, where you just know it would be that much more beautiful to give in to him completely. He answers you with that smirk, his hand running back up your neck, this time leaning forward into the kiss gently, rather than pulling you into it. And it's that much more beautiful; to give in and listen to everything your body's been telling you you've wanted for so long, finding everything in the world you ever wanted there in his lips.