A/N: Mild twincest alert. Please don't flame if you don't like this subject matter just turn back now.

Thinking back on it all it makes me laugh that it all started with a simple tug. A simple tug of the foot that is. You must all be thinking that I'm insane but let me explain.

When Declan and I were 13 and living in Rome he started drinking. It wasn't a serious problem but at least four or five times out of month he would come staggering into my bedroom at ungodly hours completely shit faced. He always had lipstick smeared all over his face and shirt collars. Declan would flop down at the end of my bed while I sat against the headboard and go on about random things and how even though we were privileged we led such an empty life. He would tell me how lonely he was. He would tell me how he didn't love any of those girls, it was meaningless. He would tell me about this one girl who he was in love with and completely infatuated with. She haunted his every waking thought and dreams and I hid my jealousy, but how he could never tell her. He never described her but he would always tell me how she was the only one. I would tell him about a boy who I felt the same way about and interject the occasional joke and make him smile and laugh and when he was feeling sober enough to walk he would sit up, smile thankfully at me, and playfully tug at my bare foot. It was a sweet gesture.

When we moved to Paris when we were 16 the same thing would happen month after month. As time went on however, Declan became more bold. He would tug on my foot and gently stroke his hand up my calf. I let it go because he was always drunk.

We were leaving Paris in a week. My room was only half packed up. It was around 2:27 in the morning and I was lying in bed flipping through an old issue of Vogue. I heard my door open and close and didn't even look up as I felt Declan fall down onto my bed. It was silent for a few minutes before he spoke.

"Are you ready to move yet again?" He asked sounding bored and somewhat resentful.

I peeked over the top of my magazine and noticed, surprised, that for once he wasn't covered in lipstick stains. His shirt was unbuttoned and he looked tired and a billion miles away. It surprised me that his eyes weren't glassy either.

"Another fresh start huh?" I said sarcastically.

He smiled and turned his head to study me. I went back to flipping through the pages of my magazine. I felt his warm hand tickle up my foot and I squirmed a bit. His hand traveled up my calf and this was something I was used to so I didn't say anything. I felt my heart stop when I felt his soft lips place a kiss on my knee. I watched in slow motion as both his hands traveled up my thighs, his thumbs gently stroking the sides. He pulled the magazine out of my hands and tossed it off to the side. His strong hands were clamped down on my hips. He was leaning over me and we were now face to face face. His eyes weren't glassy and his breath did not smell of liquor. He was stone cold sober.

"A fresh start." He whispered. There was something dangerous but so seductive sparkling in his eyes.

His lips gently touched against mine and in seconds we were completely tangled in each other kissing until we couldn't breathe.

"That girl I love, Fiona. It's you."

I smiled and tugged at his hair. He smiled and began kissing me until both our lips were swollen.

He was the boy that I loved.

It started with a tug. The future started with a simple tug.

The End