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mitsies · 8 months

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❊ miss americana & the heartbreak prince - itoshi sae . . from one formal to the next, everything works out one way or another

your first junior high dance is in the company of your best friend, itoshi sae.

you had to try hard to convince him to go. really, really try to convince him. and you had to get his mom in on it, too, that's how hard you had to try. he was content to stay at home in those stupid little red basketball shorts that he either 1), never washed or 2), had 7 pairs of, binging sports highlights and discussing things you don't care all that much about on the couch.

but this night was special, you'd insisted. it was the very first dance of the very first year as official junior high students. you were both 11, practically ancient, and how boring would it be to stay home when there were adventures to be had? and besides, you had a plan. tonight, you were going to tell your best friend since diapers that you had a super-uber-mega crush on him, and maybe give him a hug after (if you were feeling bold.)

you have it all planned out. after finally managing to convince him to come to the dance with you, you'll steal him away from your friend group and take him to the hallway next to your maths class, where no one ever goes. and then, you'd tell him about how mieko told you that mai told her that akane told her that keiko told her that she thinks he likes you back, and then you'd ask if it was true. and then he'd say, 'oh my gosh, yes, i love you,' and then high-five you, and then you'd be boyfriend and girlfriend. because that's how it works, right?

well, you made it halfway-ish. and to say that is just to say you managed to force him to the dance and sneak him off into the side hallway. oh, he looks cute. he's shorter than you but that's fine because he'll get taller before you guys get married. and his hair is gel-slicked and looks kind of silly, and you know it's his mom's doing. his suit is frumpy and ill-fitting and he's wearing cleats instead of dress shoes because that's just how junior high boys are.

he's been grumpy all day, as per usual. but you keep catching him staring at you. and he keeps doing that little tiny smile-ish thing that he does, where he smiles a little but not a lot so he just looks constipated instead. and oh, you're in bad luck, because as soon as you're in that maths hallway and the music from the dance goes muffled and it's just him, and it's just you, you seem to forget everything you've planned to say.

"what did you want to tell me?" uh-oh. uh-oh, this is bad. oh, it's so bad. your best friend since diapers, your future husband, the one person you could never get sick of, was going to think you were an absolute idiot. how embarrassing! how embarrassing, oh no.

"uh," you can't meet his eyes, and choose to fiddle with your fingers instead, pulling at your sloppily painted nails (green to match his eyes, like asami had insisted), "well— um, i actually— i just— to.. um."

wow, this was lame. you're 11 now, where is your class? where is your wisdom? oh, how humiliating. "i just—"

"you like me."

you pause. you stare. he stares back, and his expression goes from that same old neutral to that silly little stupid kinda-smile. and then, panic sets in.

"oh, haha! i do? who told you that? who? no seriously, who? or, or, what made you think that? why do you think that? i— i don't like— or, well, i don't not— no, stop, stop, actually. who told you? was it akane? oh, i knew akane was a snitch! ignore her. ignore this. i mean, unless you— but. hey, it's—"

"so you do, or don't?"

this was sae. this was itoshi sae, and this was how he's always been. no-nonsense, straight-froward, abrasive, blunt. all hard around the edges but so, so soft at the center like those really good cookies they sell at the cafeteria. only for you, usually, and his baby brother, and that was pretty much is.

sometimes you forget just how much you like him. it's a lot, you like him a lot. so, so much. he's the same boy who meets you on the side of the curb when you call him crying from the home phone, because your parents are angry again. he's the boy who will spend forever with you working on your maths homework when you're having a hard time understanding. he's the boy who will split a cafe cookie with you after he sees you in the stands of one of his games. oh, he's that boy. he's the boy you super-mega-ultra liked, and maybe-kinda-sorta loved a little teensy tiny bit. you exhale.

"i do."

your voice is small. your hands twist together anxiously and you can't do anything but stare at the floor. and in your peripheral vision, you see little red cleats take a hesitant step closer, and closer, and then— a hand lands on top of yours.

oh, it's sae's. oh, he's holding your hand.

well, not really. but it's close enough, and you look up and his cheeks are rosy and he looks like an angel, oh lord, he's so cute you might be sick. all he says is, "good. me too, or something."

the very first middle school dance of the year is where itoshi sae stops being just your best friend, and becomes your boyfriend. and that word changes meaning over time— years go by. somewhere in that mess, there's a tentative kiss, and a whole lot of 'i love you's' and a dozen more firsts, all with each other, all with a world of love. awkward pre-teens go to teenagers. how lucky you are, that mieko told you that mai told her that akane told her that keiko told her that she thinks he likes you back. because she was right after all.

it's your boyfriend who asks you to prom. and you’re mad at him, but you say yes anyways.

it’s the first time you’ve seen him in weeks. prom night is the same night he flies back in from spain for the holidays, and coincidentally, the first time he’s talked to you for more than 20 minutes. you pick him up from the airport in your dress, and he’s in his suit. you’ve already missed your dinner reservations— you’re trying not to care. but this was your senior year. and you were so, so excited. the restaurant was his favourite kind of food, and it was in an aquarium, and reservations were hard to get, and he had caused you to miss them because his flight was delayed.

you know it's selfish. you know, because how could you not know? how was it his fault that the weather in spain was so poor that he was forced to wait at the airport longer than expected? how was it his fault that it just so happened to rain? but the evil, burning, and bitter side of your heart replies: it's his fault he was gone in the first place. it's his fault he was in spain and not by your side, to begin with.

normal 18-year-old couples don't have to take a 16-hour flight just to see each other, your anger says. and you know it's right.

when itoshi sae, at 13, told you he was going to be a star, you hardly believed him. actually, you recall your own incredulous laugh, and that cute way the space at the corner of his eyes wrinkle when he's annoyed. you didn't believe him, but then less than a year later he was gone to spain hellbent on becoming the best.

he used to call you every night for hours. as often as he could, he'd call or text. and he'd talk to you in the way that he only talked to you. with a softness. with a tender kind of love. the infinite kind. and whenever he got the chance to fly back, he would, to spend time with you and rin and his parents, but mostly you (as he'd tell you after he made you swear not to snitch). he used to love you, and act like it.

but as years blurred past, and he got taller (not by much) and you both grew older (not by a lot), things shifted. changed. spun in a circle and landed facing the opposite direction. he called you less. sometimes, when you called him, he'd not pick up even though you knew he was free. and he visited less, and he stopped talking to rin but wouldn't say why. sometimes when you'd visit his mother, you'd see rin stealing glances at you from the curves and corners of the house. he stopped saying hi to you a while ago, too.

you drive to your senior prom in near silence. there's some music playing on the radio— nothing either of you had put on, just the default top hits of 2017— and no one says anything and you think that might be better. because you're thinking about the way he used to buy him and his little brother ice cream on really hot days with his very own pocket money, and you think if you hear his voice you might start ugly crying and ruin your makeup. and then you think about how it's your senior prom, and you're about to cry, and your boyfriend can't even look at you, and oh, you're holding back tears all over again.

the first thing he says to you that night is, "i was about to do that," when you open the car door by yourself. you are so, so angry. but you just smile like you're not, because it's not his fault you resent his leaving. it's not his fault you miss his mom and brother but can't visit anymore without it being awkward. it's not his fault he's gone, and it's not his fault he acts like he hates you. it's not his fault but you despise him so, so much.

he puts a hand on your waist as he walks you towards the venue— some stupid country club kind of thing, you didn't care enough to read anything but the address. his touch feels wrong— it didn't always. but these hands are rough, and you don't recognise them. you stop walking.

all around you, everyone keeps moving. there are girls in frills and pretty, glittery, long dresses. suits and ties, and the smell of cologne, and the floral perfume. it's dark out, now. and the people aren't walking into the building— they're leaving. you catch someone's watch out of the corner of your eye. you've missed your senior prom.

"what's wrong?" sae's voice hardly registers. you feel the tears fall.

"we missed it."

"hm?"

you turn to him. he looks like he couldn't care less. and you abhor him.

"we missed the dance."

sae blinks. his eyes are blank— maybe they've always been. maybe when you were 11, you were too dumb to see. maybe he's always hated you, you think, because he replies, "oh. back to the car?"

and you're really crying now, because he doesn't even care.

you can't manage words, not until he speaks for you. "don't cry. it was just some stupid school dance."

you wonder what this looks like to people. a boy, looking like he couldn't care less. and you, makeup streaked with tears, like your world just collapsed.

"did you really care that much?"

"did i care?" your voice comes out mangled, "did i care?"

he looks startled at your reaction, the most emotion he's shown tonight. you continue:

"of course i cared that much. of course i did. because how long ago was our last date? the last time we did anything together? the last time you could look me in the eyes? of course i care. not about this stupid dance," you're out of breath, but you continue, "i care about you. you, i care about you."

he looks the same amount of placid, and the same amount of blank. and you'd cry harder if it didn't hurt so bad. he says nothing so all there's left to ask is, "but do you even care about me? do you care anymore?"

his face betrays nothing. and you're taken back to juvenile days, and ice cream and sun, and soccer practice after school, and annoying little brothers and love notes in lockers. and you think that this is not the same boy you loved. and you don't know where that boy went, but he's not here, he's not the one standing in front of you staring instead of holding you while you cry.

and he doesn't look the least bit sorry.

you knew the answer to his question before it even came out of your mouth. maybe you've known for years. maybe you just had blind faith in him, and your aquarium-restaurant reservations, and a stupid, cheesy, lame high school dance that you couldn't care less about to prove that there was still a tiny bit of hope. but it'd just shown you that there was nothing left.

you feel like a set of bones beneath a dress. you feel like a ghost in a crowd of people. you feel like a spectacle, you feel insane. you must look it, too. maybe you are. there is a coldness to sae's voice when he finally speaks. a coldness that is new. that you haven't heard before. you're scared.

"are you done yet?"

you're not crying anymore. you're just feeling strange.

you hate how you care about how sae's going to get home when you leave him standing there and walk back to your car. your shoes— bought just for today— tap on the pavement. the shoes and your heartbeat. your car's engine. the doors slamming shut. people laughing outside. the radio's top hits of 2017. that's all you hear, that's all. and when you get home and turn your car off, you sit in the driver's seat and cry.

you can hear all your thoughts. you can hear the ugly desperate cries clawing your throat raw like an animal. mascara-stained teardrops land on your dress and trickle down your chin, and burn your eyes. you don't know when you lost him. was it when he'd first went to spain? was it when he'd first cancelled a visit back, or hung up the phone? or was it before then? has he ever liked you, or did he only hold your hand back at that middle school dance because he felt like he had to? and your tears taste like melted ice cream and memories, or maybe you're just crazy.

you loved him. did he ever love you?

angry tears. sad ones, too. your hands need to destroy something so they pull and clench and squeeze your legs through the fabric of your dress as you dry-heave. the ache is not empty. it hurts, it burns. your lungs burn. your heart is heavy and hot and disgusting. how you feel is wrong. everything feels wrong.

everything feels wrong, and now you're single on prom night.

what's even left for you, now?

being 21 is weird.

you're all grown up, now. you've got friends, and you have just recently landed a job at a big journalism company while you wrap up university. and today's your first day going out to a company event instead of sitting at a desk all day, and you're so excited.

the event is some kind of gala. you've been told it's to celebrate the opening of a new sports thing that your employers have invested in that you don't really know too much about. and it's not quite your specialty but you'd never miss out on an opportunity to dress up and get a free fancy dinner as a representative for your company, who were big investors. you wonder who'll be there. who are some sports people? actually, what kind of a stadium was this? a baseball field? is that even a stadium?

why were you even invited? you don't have the slightest clue about this investment. but that doesn't matter, because you're there now, stepping out of your company car in a pretty dress that you'd chosen for yourself. you wonder when the last time you've been this dressed up was. maybe your cousin's wedding, when you were 17? or, you think with a twinge of something bitter in your chest, was it your senior prom at 18?

whatever. it doesn't matter. you don't care about that anymore— it was only the night your boyfriend of 7 years essentially told you he didn't love you anymore. no big deal. you were 21 now, and you could do cool things and work, and stuff. how cool is that? how cool are you? too cool to be still caring about your ex-boyfriend. your very handsome, attractive, professional football player ex-boyfriend, who was on the cover of every sports magazine, and the headline of every news channel. you wonder, as you walk in, how many of the people under the roof of the venue know his name. how many who'd probably kill for a signature. you wonder what they'd think if they knew you used to be the one to love him.

pause. why were you thinking about this? you don't care, you definitely don't. you're done caring when he's probably already forgotten your name. god, you're supposed to be 21. you're 21, and you still feel like you're 18. you're 21, and you still feel like you're 11. at what point are you meant to grow up and get over it all?

you shake your head and your older colleague ms. sato gives you an amused look. "something wrong, dear?"

"nothing," you smile at her awkwardly, "just a little nervous. i've never been out on a company event before. who else is going to be here?"

ms. sato tsks and thrums her fingers against the wrinkled skin of her other hand. she's wearing a conservative green velvet dress. you think she looks pretty. "i think more sponsors will be there. and i'm sure they've got some sports folk, too."

you purse your lips. the venue is big, and ornate, you see as you open the door for ms. sato and walk in behind her. red and gold walls, chandeliers, a regal display of wealth that you most definitely could not live up to if you were here on your own dime. and the dining hall is no different. tables with nameplates written in some fancy scrawl that you can barely read spell out your name and ms. sato's name across from each other towards the front of the hall. out of curiosity, your eyes flicker to the seat to your right.

and your heart stops in its chest.

in that same hardly legible font, reads a name that is all too familiar. it's nearly the same as the name you'd scrawled on love letters in junior high, and nearly the same name as the contact you used to text every single day and every night. it's nearly the same name you'd call out at airports, looking, always looking, forever longing to be around him. the name on the nameplate reads 'itoshi rin.'

"are you sure nothing's wrong? you look pale." ms. sato's voice cuts through your thoughts, you clear your throat. "of course. it's nothing, ms. sato."

you pull her chair out for her before taking a seat in your own, as the room starts filling in and someone says something about a prepared meal being served at 8 on the dot, and announcements starting soon after that. you feel frozen in your seat as you fidget with your hands in your lap. you're paralysed with fear, too scared to check if the name next to rin's is sae's. it couldn't be, right? because they fell out. just like you and sae fell out. they wouldn't attend the same event. plus, sae's always thought that events were boring. fancy dances, fancy dinners, they were all the same— all wastes of time. he wouldn't be here.

it hits 8. you think you could maybe handle rin— but he doesn't show. dinner is served, and the two seats to your right remain empty. and you are so, so relieved internally because who are you kidding, you couldn't deal with rin, let alone sae.

you see his face everywhere, and that's enough. magazines, underwear ads, video edits, all of it. his fans are everywhere. like he's some kind of hero, and you guess he is when it comes to football. you wonder who he's kissed since you. unless what was a weird thing to think about your exes. in that case, you don't wonder that at all. and you never have, not for a second.

it's 8:05. still, no one has shown. at 8:10, the owners of the stadium give some speech about investments, and blah blah blah, are you meant to know or care about any of this? because you don't know, and you don't really care. you're much too focused on the food, and the stress, and all that. 8:20, speech is over. 8:30, people start socialising. 8:35, drinks are brought out with a second course. 8:40, with a little champagne in your system, you're feeling pretty good, actually. less nervous, for sure. if rin hasn't shown yet, he isn't going to. and sae? that was basically fully off the table now.

8:45. you feel better than fine, now. 4 champagne flutes down (because ms. sato doesn't drink, but felt bad saying no when they were offered, and she thinks you'd be a funny drunk) and you wonder why you've ever felt nervous in your life, ever. stress was a thing of the past. ms. sato laughs at you when you make a face at something someone annoying and snotty says, and she slaps your back and tells you she's going to the restroom and to make sure you don't die while she's gone.

8:50. the door to the banquet hall must've opened at some point, but you didn't notice until the chair to your right slides out. your heart sinks before you even see him. because itoshi rin, in the flesh, takes the chair next to you.

you haven't seen him in years. not since your 18th birthday, you think— because his mother had made you a cake and forced him to tag along to drop it off for you. he'd told you happy birthday, and you'd teased him about how you remember he used to have big cheesy smiles and bigger cheesier dimples when he was just a little baby, and he'd scowled and told you that he's 15, not some kid. how old was he now? if sae was 21, then rin would be 18. you've seen him places too, on advertisements for some football program, on sellouts for cologne and such. he's made a name for himself. for himself, not his brother and himself. you'd find it in yourself to be proud if you weren't a little drunk and a lot sad.

maybe he catches you staring from the corner of your eye after he sits, because he glances over and does a double take before looking straight ahead like he's in the army and his commanding sergeant's just told him to look alive. you worry at your lip with your teeth. you'll regret this in the morning. "rin? 's that you?"

he stiffens. you try not to giggle, and you think you fail. "yeah."

"i hope this isn't weird. do you remember me?" it's more of a question to yourself than anything. but he answers, because it was said out loud so he probably thought you were talking to him and not to your own brain. hm. maybe you're drunker than you thought.

"yeah." his response is terse and awkward. but then he says your name. and you remember his little voice a hundred times higher, and you remember tears in his big toddler eyes webbing his lashes as he cried your name about a scraped knee. you soften. "i've missed seeing you. how've you been?"

he looks nervous. does he look nervous? or do you just think he looks nervous? he opens his mouth, then closes it, then replies, "good. i didn't know you'd be here."

you smile amicably. oh, you love this boy, love him like he's your sweet little brother even now. "i'm representing my company. they— or, we— are investors. i'm here as my mentor's rubbish bin for food and drinks she doesn't want, basically."

rin snorts. you want to pinch his cheeks. would he be mad if you did? probably. "well, i—"

the seat next to rin's slides out. another full champagne flute is placed in front of you and instead of thanking the waiter, you feel sick to your stomach. junior high dance sick. senior year prom sick. you're sick.

itoshi sae sits one seat away from you.

you're sick, to your stomach. you're silent and stiff and stupid, so stupid, because you thought you were over him. but this is the first time you've seen him in person since the year 2017, when he flew out to be your date to your school's prom, and then flew away that same night and never came back. you down the champagne and close your eyes. you're 21, not 18, not 11, you're 21.

you're 21 and itoshi sae's still got you acting like a fool.

the rest of the dinner is awkward and silent, at least for you. ms. sato shows up and strikes up a conversation with anyone who would listen, and rin listens, and you can't look at sae so you don't know what he's doing. but you can imagine him sitting there, bored. why was he there? rin and him don't talk anymore. or do they? it's been years, after all. you guess they've made up. your stomach churns. ms. sato notices but doesn't say anything, not until after the dinner ends and you practically race out to the company car without another word to rin, just a quick, tight, smile. over his shoulder, before you leave, you see a mess of reddish-brown hair. you think you might be sick. you hope there are barf bags in the car.

"now, dear, what is wrong with you?" a patent red leather handbag slaps your lower back as you wait outside for the driver to show. ms. sato gives you a look.

you blink a few times. "did you just hit me? that hurt, i think."

"answer the question, child."

you wince. "the boy next to me was like, my, like, brother-in-law but not actually."

ms. sato raises a brow. "itoshi rin? the professional football player?"

you nod fervently. "yes. him."

"so.. you used to date itoshi sae?"

you look at her blankly. "how did you know?"

"they're famous, dear."

"oh," you wrinkle your nose, "right."

ms. sato chuckles. "well, we've got time to talk. tell me the story."

and you tell her. you tell her everything, and a little more. about ice cream, and your 18th birthday cake, and his mom, and his hands, and the way he used to love you and the way he just stopped one day. normally, you wouldn't run your mouth like this, you'd like to think. you're more refined. but the drinks you've had are working hard, and your emotions are working harder, and oh, you're a mess. at least you don't look like one tonight.

ms. sato listens patiently. or maybe she's just doing this to laugh at you about it later. but she listens either way. she smiles at some parts and frowns at others. but when you're done vomiting up all your words and all your feelings, she just sighs. "7 years is a long time."

you blink. "yeah. i guess so, yeah."

"and so is 18."

"excuse me?"

ms. sato chuckles. "you said you've known him since you were babies. it ended when you were 18. you said you loved him until you were 18."

"oh. i did. yeah."

"and 21 years is even longer."

now, you're really confused. "21?"

"21. because you've loved him since you were babies, and it never really ended."

oh. oh, okay. you don't know how you feel, not in the slightest. you're confused and you're nervous, and you shouldn't have eaten all that food because now you might actually throw up instead of just feeling like you're going to throw up.

and then someone calls your name from behind you.

the voice is familiar, and you turn without thinking, of instinct. because you'd always go to him, no matter what. and that scares you, and you're even more scared because you haven't seen eyes that blue in forever.

"sae." you try to keep your voice curt and calm. he's in a suit. it's a good one. tailored. and he still looks young, and handsome, and like your lips would fit perfectly against his, and like your hand could feel right holding his, and all that. and you're so, so scared.

ms. sato excuses herself in the background somewhere, and all this is eerily familiar. people in dresses and suits, leaving. cards driving away. your heartbeat in your ears. it's all familiar.

he takes a step closer. you take one back. he stops, stares, and says, "how've you been?"

you know him well. you know this man far, far too well. you recognise the clench of his jaw and the set of his brows. something like determination paints his face. you'd be more confused if you weren't so nauseous.

"good," you test your voice, continuing when you hear it hold steady, "i'm good. and you?"

he opens his mouth to reply. but you open your mouth again. because you can't seem to do anything but run your mouth today, it seems. "actually, i was hoping you wouldn't be here. really, really hoping. because," you laugh, "i did not want to see you today. or ever again, really."

sae's expression would be unreadable to anyone but you. but you can see it. he's hurt. and you laugh again because god, what does he have to be hurt about? you continue, "i was fine with just seeing the magazines, and ads with you half-naked, and all that. and i was fine with hating you for hating me. but now you're here and it's all different and wrong, and i'm so mad at you right now, and i was fine an hour ago before i even knew you were going to be here. i was so fine."

he blinks. "are you drunk?"

snorting laughter, you turn your head. you can't look at him. you can't tell how you're feeling anymore. "sure i am. the drinks were free."

his eye creases in a tiny smile and you'd swoon if he wasn't the same person who'd broken your heart after he'd held it in the palm of his hand.

you wonder what he's going to say. would he tell you you're being dramatic and making a scene? that one was likely. would he sue you?maybe. maybe he'd kick you. maybe you'd throw up on him. maybe he'd cry. you smile a little— you'd like that, actually. would be funny. you'd enjoy it.

"i'm sorry."

you must be making a face. you must look confused, or disgusted, or disgruntled, because he explains, "for vanishing."

itoshi sae apologising was not on your list of possible responses. you are at a loss for words. but you find them after a beat of silence, "you're sorry?"

he shifts uncomfortably. "i am."

scoffing, you roll your eyes. "funny."

"i'm serious." sae steps forward again. you don't back away. you can't, and he continues:

"i left you. and that was," he pauses and breathes, "the worst thing i've ever done. every day since then, i've missed you."

sae really hasn't changed, because that's all he says. so blunt, so forward, so harsh. never any room for detail, or explanation. never any time. you're silent so you think he might take that as a cue to keep going.

"i fixed things with rin, too," he says, "and i wish i could say it was out of the kindness of my heart but it was because you always told me i should. you've always made me better. and i—"

"you couldn't stand that." you're so angry. at him, for coming back and apologising like it was all a small deal. you're angry at ms. sato for getting you drunk. you're mad at yourself, for loving him so much even though it's a weak excuse of an apology. "oh, you couldn't stand that i was making you kinder, or better. you never wanted to be good. you've been horrible, always, probably."

and then you stop. "no. no, no, i'm sorry. i don't— i don't think that—"

"it's okay. however you feel about me.. it's okay. you can hate me. it's okay."

and your resolve crumbles.

"i could never hate you," you whisper, "because i love you so much. always have, for so many years and however many days, and i've loved you when you were good or bad or both, or neither, and i'm so mad at you because i never stopped, even when you hurt me. even then."

sae is silent. you are too. people move all around you. they're not listening, they have places to be. because you're 21, and they're all older too. and they have things to do.

"you still love me?"

he sounds quiet, almost. meek, maybe, if that was a thing that he was capable of being. you are doing your best to hold in tears.

"yeah," you say, "yeah, i do."

sae looks at you. "i've never stopped. i never could. i tried. but i never stopped loving you. and i've never been good at showing it, but it's the truth. and i'll be sorry forever, if you'll let me."

this is so unlike him. but people change, and you suppose you've been too separated to know anything as of late. your heart aches. his eyes are still the same. his voice is a little deeper. his shoulders look more broad. you think you're in love again. you think you never stopped being in love. you know it.

"so show me."

and sae kisses you. you hadn't forgotten how good a kisser he is but you think he's gotten better, as his hands find your back and yours take his jaw. maybe he's kissed other people since you. now you're mad again so you kiss him harder, and deeper, and you would usually have more decorum but it's sae and he's famous so if he doesn't care, why should you?

there is so much left unsaid. a hundred things. a million, maybe, a billion. he will spend his life making this up to you. you know he will. but for now, there's no hurt. for now, there is just love that has been cut off for far too long. for the first time in years, you're alive at this moment. you're 11, and 18, and 21, and you're everything that he's loved, and you're everything he's touched, and you are everything to him and you feel it. you deserve this. your blood runs hot, his tongue is in your mouth, you need this. and you love him. you love him to death.

this kiss is the summary of years waiting, and years longing. it's the summative point of ice cream and bike rides, and late night car rides and study dates, and running mascara and lonely nights. this kiss— it's been a long time coming.

flowers chosen: pink camellia & lilac . . longing & joy of youth

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