"Do you know Plato's theories on love?"

My breath hitched when Nick's eyes settled on me, lids still heavy. They were mismatched, and it was something I hadn't noticed before (but I had never been this close before, either). This was like the small imperfection that renders someone perfect, and I blinked a few times before remembering the question asked.

"Like platonic love? I mean it's cool. I like platonic love, but it's not exactly what I'd ever want for us." I wrinkled my nose. "I-if ever there is a chance," I quickly added.

Nick laughed softly. "There's a difference between platonic love and Platonic love. Our modern definition is somewhat over-simplified."

"Tell me about it," I whispered. When Nick spoke like that, I found it hard to keep my mind or my breathing steady. It made me feel heady, like the words took me to someplace high where the oxygen was less.

"The Divine Eros can begin with a love for the physical form, but it transcends physical pleasure. Through gradual development, love becomes a recognition of True Beauty."

"I don't really know what it all means," I said, "a lot of philosophy goes over my head." I didn't feel embarrassed admitting it to Nick, because I knew that a part of Nick enjoyed explaining things to me.

"It takes a lot of understanding of Platonic concepts." Nick shrugged, and he moved a little closer to me now. "I'll tell you about them some other time."

Some other time. That addition made my heart skip a beat. The thought of sharing my mind with Nick, but more importantly getting to hear the intricacies of Nick's mind, was alluring beyond imagination.

"Plato got a lot wrong about love," Nick continued, "he didn't understand that the Vulgar and the Divine can co-exist. That the carnal can meet the pure."

I turned towards him. Our faces were millimetres apart.

"Plato's Eros is inherently selfish, and I'll never be selfish with the one I love. Sexuality isn't only about taking for yourself. He was so wrong about that."

"It's so sexy listening to you shut down Plato." I smiled. "I bet you could take him in a debate."

"I like to think so. Similarly, divine love doesn't need to be distinct from physical attraction. Don't you think?"

There was silence. Nick filled it by grazing his hand over my arm and then squeezing my shoulder. When he withdrew his hand, I cleared my throat. I felt brave with Nick all around me. Before I could say something, the bus came to a halt.

We both were jolted off the bubble we had built around us. "Come on, let's go." Nick stood, offering his hand.

I held it graciously, and we both walked up to the exit door.

We were dropped off in a quaint little town, the cobbled streets bustling with pedestrians.

I felt Nick scruple beside me, as if his mind was vacillating between thoughts.

"Are you okay?" I inquired.

"I'm just not used to being around a lot of people. I don't go out much."

"Is this my lucky day then? Getting to meet you?" I proffered.

Nick laughed. I liked making him laugh. "We don't know that yet."

I forced my face back into a straight shape. "Not even a book shop?"

Nick nodded. "I used to prowl the aisles," he said. "There was a lovely shop, not too far from my house, but unfortunately it has closed down now. They've replaced it with a big chain coffee shop. I used to sit and read there. These days, I prefer to order online. The books arrive before the end of the day, and I don't have to go out in order to receive them. As far as I'm concerned, the biggest success of our generation is the advent of internet shopping. It favours the introverted, like me."

"Don't you miss running your hand along the spines? Picking out every one that catches your eye and reading the blurb?"

"I have my own library at home," Nick shrugged. "But yes, sometimes I do miss discovering a story I wouldn't have expected to pick up. I don't miss the staring, though. People have always stared at me."

"Because they recognise you?"

"I doubt it. They've just always stared. I don't know why."

I was too shy to suggest that it was probably because Nick was one of the most handsome people that I had ever laid my eyes on. There was a risk that if I said such a thing, it would spiral into a long explanation about the way his piercing eyes turned keen and attentive while talking about all sorts of things, and the way that it made him look older and wiser and altogether painfully intimidating in the most alluring sort of way.

I took out my phone to search for places to visit in that town, swallowing down the nerves. I wondered whether I would ever have the confidence to voice the thoughts that ran through my brain upon looking at Nick. How were we to define our association? Strangers? A parasocial relationship? Or were we friends, where I could be less guarded of my thoughts?

As we stepped together onto the pavement, my stomach began to rumble. Heat rose up my neck and I became even more self-conscious. How could it be shameful when it was just my body's cry for food? I felt it nonetheless.

"Are you okay, Charlie?" asked Nick, sensing my discomfort.

"I'm good." I forced a smile. "Just really hungry," I admitted. 

"How about I treat you to an early lunch?" Nick grinned.

I hesitated for a second before he spoke again.

"Besides, I have all this money that I never spend anymore."

I wanted to ask what he used to spend his money on, but I thought that might be intrusive. Instead I gave him a small smile and accepted his generous proposal.

There was a free house at the corner of the street, the telltale red awning covered in freshly fallen snow mixed with city dust and grime. Posters for punk shows and Penthouse magazine cutouts were blocking some of the windows. Unsurprisingly, there was a line out the door, physically massive and powerful built men, standing around 6'3'', who could give Arnold Schawrzenegger a run for his money, waiting to be let inside.

The bar inside had a black marble facade flaunting all kinds of drinks and crystals in which they were served, shining bright under the yellowish light coming from the ceiling. The sun streamed through the windows, and layered the restaurant in a soft orange glow.

We slid into a booth by the window and shrug off our coats. "Order anything you want," Nick murmured, resting his head against his palm and closing his eyes. The menu was a laminated sheet of paper, riddled with ads. We ordered a few appetisers and drinks to go along. Nick sat across from me, looking at my whole front with appraisal, as if committing the sight to his memory. Nick was so gorgeous in the low light, the orange hue reflecting on his face and throwing shadows over his eyes from his high cheekbones.

We kept interjecting and talking over each other and going off on long side tangents.

The wine had made me soft around the edges, gently floating in and out of the space and the sensations around me. Although I hated crowded places, Nick's presence comforted me, which was until I heard my phone ring. The caller ID made me glower before I rejected it.

"You should answer if it's urgent," Nick said.

"I-it's not important."

"Is it your parents? They must be worried," Nick stated, his voice laced with concern.

"No, it's not like that," I hesitated.

"Like what?" He asked, curiosity seeping through his eyes.

"We don't really have that kind of a relationship," I said with a frown pulling at the corners of my lips, unable to meet Nick's eye.

All of a sudden, I was glad there was wine, because my mouth was so dry I wasn't sure I'd be able to get the words out. "It's complicated," I said. I was uncertain, truthfully, as to whether I wanted him to know about it.

Nick put his glass down and surveyed me. "It's okay, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I was simply curious."

My heart was thudding against my chest. I wanted us to open up, to talk to Nick about everything, but at the same time I remained reticent. However much I knew him by his words, he was still a stranger. But I knew, with one look at those piercing eyes, that I would not be able to keep secrets between us.

"My father– he didn't approve of my career choices. So I left home when I turned fifteen."

"Why?" He asked simply, his expression soft and tender– no evidence of disappointment in his features.

"Why?" I echoed back, muddled.

Nick nodded. "You must have thought about it a lot, right? I can see it on your face."

"I wanted to live for myself," I said. "I didn't want to be living off of the money my father made. I didn't want to give him the power to hold it over my head."

"And how has that worked for you so far?" Nick asked, but there was no bite in his tone, just pure wonder.

"I still have doubts about the decisions I have made. But I was able to understand one thing, making a decision was only the beginning of things. When someone makes a decision, they are really diving into a strong current that will carry them to places they had never dreamed of when they first made the decision," I asserted.

I didn't need to tell Nick about being crammed in a one-bedroom apartment with my roommate, living off cup noodles, celebrating acting offers in small scale commercials with the low-alcohol beer because the stronger drinks were too expensive. I didn't need to tell him about the past, nor the present, and the nights when I drank myself to sleep. With Nick, I existed in liminal space. 

"When you decided to take a trip to Europe you'd have never imagined that you'd wind up in Vienna with a stranger. And joining me may have been your decision but where it goes is going to be a mystery to the both of us." I added. Although I wouldn't say that I was making a good fortune, I never regretted choosing this path for myself. 

Nick gave me a warm smile, then. It wasn't one of the half-smiles, one of the almost-smiles. It was bright. It divulged, just for a second, a secret that lived behind his eyes. For the first time I could believe that we were indeed contemporaries, because Nick looked youthful with energy. Only for a moment though. Then, his gaze became guarded again and the smile faded away. "How long have you been acting?"

"Since I was a kid," I said. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't on stage. I just loved telling stories. I mean back then I used to participate in school plays, not... you know... acting gigs I do now."

Nick's eyes crinkled. "The first story I ever wrote was about a boy who ran away from his home."

I knew all of the things that Nick wrote about now.

He was not just a novelist, but had also published tens of essays on everything from history to politics. He was an incisive thinker, unafraid to offend those in powerful places. The novels that he did publish won awards, worldwide. His first novel, I knew, had won the world's most illustrious prize for debut works. His writing explored the depths of the human conscience.

A far cry from boys who run away from homes.

"I would love to see you act some day." Nick smiled the words out gently. It made his cheeks round, eyes crinkle. The scrunch of his nose made my chest a little too light, but I tried to ignore it.

"I put a lot of myself in my work," I said quietly. "I get nervous when people see me act, because it's like if they don't like it, they may not like me."

Nick's half-smile flickered. He tilted his head slightly to the side as he looked at me. "I understand. One of the reasons I hide my face is the flipside: I worry that if people do not like me, they may not like my work."

There was a moment of silence, in which I wondered what reasons people would have not to like Nick. I knew that the writer made no public appearances, and that he had even declared once that if people made attempts to delve into his personal life, he would stop writing altogether.

"Tell me something," I said instead, shifting around before I brought the glass to my lips. "About you."

Nick's eyebrows raised at that. He crossed his arms over his chest, toes tapping against mine. "Like what?" He asked, his tone guarded.

I shrugged. "Anything."

It was a broad question with an endless amount of responses. I wished Nick would just be a little more conversational. I've never been one for small talk.

"I can speak three languages," He decided.

"Four." Nick's lips quirked up at my reply, every lit bulb on the chandelier above us shining in his eyes. "What else?" I asked.

It went on like that, an endless push for more claptrap that didn't matter. Clubs he was a part of in school. His favourite documentary, animal, sport. His favourite piece he had written so far. If he liked the food we were sharing, the music. If he had a sibling. What he liked to do when he was not working.

"I can't remember the last time I've gone a day without writing," Nick stated.

"Writing is not the only thing that should matter, Nick." I emphasised what I was saying by giving Nick a long, weighted stare.

"No, no I suppose it shouldn't. But this is what I'm destined for and I can't help but think that if I'm not working, I'm letting the universe down."

I frowned. I had read so much of Nick's work, almost all of it I was sure, and I had read his arguments on philosophy, theology, every theory of the cosmos, but I could still not figure out so much of his mind. "Nick, what is it that you believe governs all this? The way you talk about fate and balance and the reason things happen... what's it all about?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think I need to know. It's more fun writing about questions than it is knowing all the answers, don't you think?"
"I do think," I nodded as I searched for his hand. For once, I could understand the scope of Nick's thoughts. "Writers aren't scientists," I said, "if you already had all the answers then what the hell would be the point in writing?"
"Exactly." Nick found my hand and grasped it firmly, a flash of assurance running across his face. "We are on the same page."

After we were done with our meal we headed out for a stroll. We moved as a unit, the warmth between our bodies acting a barrier against the cold air.

"Do you like snow?" asked Nick. "It's somewhat romantic."

I hesitated. I focused my attention to the crunch of snow under my boots, the precise sound of it, and the biting cold that followed. "Kind of," I said, as I swallowed. I tried to think, instead, of winters at university with my friends. We had gone ice skating once; I had been very bad at it but my friend Elle was naturally skilled. "Yeah. it's cool," I said aloud.

Nick tilted his head to one side, "Are winters difficult for you?"

"Not as difficult as they used to be. I just don't like it when it sticks to your skin and rattles through your bones," I said evasively.

"I hope I can make them good for you, even for a day," promised Nick.

Warmth filled me, the feeling coming to life in my chest and twisting through my limbs until the tips of my fingers. I love remembering how sunshine feels.

"What about you? Do you like snow?"

Nick mused for a moment. "It inspires me. I find that I write more in the winter. The sun is appealing but the rain and the wind and the snow is better food for the brain; I like to open my curtains during the winter,"

I couldn't help but think that Nick must be the only person in the world who closed his windows to the sun and opened them for the rain.

"The reality of snow baffles me. I think that it looks more fascinating than it is. Stepping outside, even into my garden, I do not enjoy. I don't like the way that cold and wet seeps into your clothes or the way that the snow turns grey the more that you walk upon it. But I do like to watch it fall, and when snowfall ceases, life looks beautiful, almost manageable. I have heard that it makes for romantic moments. I don't mind sharing them with you." Nick offered me a small smile. It didn't reach his eyes, which were always introspective and studious like he was constantly making note of everything I did.

"Oh yeah," I grinned, "there are a lot of romantic movies set in the snow. You can watch them at Christmas." I imagined how it would be like to snuggle up with Nick as my boyfriend watching something on the TV during the holidays. "Was Christmas a big deal to you, growing up?"

"Not so much. My parents didn't celebrate the festival in its traditional form, but they still invited my grandparents round to the house and we ate a meal. I still see them at Christmas. I like the colours and the feelings and the story, though, too."

"My parents didn't celebrate it much either," I said, "but my friend Elle was super into it at college. Somehow she squeezed some festive spirit out of me. I do think it's better if you have a lover, anyway."

"I'm looking forward to it," Nick mumbled under his breath, "I'll be anticipating my first holiday season with a lover. It must certainly add a spark to every occasion."

To that, I nodded. "It's great, isn't it, memorising all the firsts?" I wanted to be his first.

"I write them all down," said Nick, and my mind flashed to a diary I briefly caught hold of in Nick's possession before he deposited his bag at the train station. All the stories in those diaries could, I was sure, fill a hundred novels. I imagined Nick finishing his latest journal with an entry dedicated to me. In my mind's eye, that particular diary had a golden glow around it.

A chance encounter.

"I cannot risk forgetting anything," said Nick. "I can't take a chance of letting one of our moments slip into the ether. I will keep them in my grasp like a life-line that I'll never let go."

I gasped, and almost tripped over the snow piled before my feet. My heart did a strange thing, thrumming in my chest until it felt like the only organ in my hollow, hollow body.

Combining the Nick of my fantasies with the Nick I was getting to know was a clash in my mind. He was a blend of measure and chaos. I had a feeling that Nick wanted to flirt with me, be more open and playful but something was holding him back, keeping his guard up. It was definitely hypocritical of me to be annoyed at Nick for being closed off but seeing Nick get nervous only made myself more nervous and unsure.

And what did I truly know about Nick? That he was a writer? That he folded secrets into origami shape and hid them away? Nick only allowed me to peer at him through a crack in the door like a sliver of light, and yet I wanted more. Some selfish part of myself wanted to see all of him with no filters.

"So, Nick, tell me more about your trip around Europe. What places did you visit?" I asked as we started treading down the pebbled street. Nick adjusted the scarf around his neck as a strong air current blew in our face.

"The culture, the heritage, and the art that this continent takes pride in, cannot be expressed in words, Charlie. I found peace in the sunset from Pizza Michelangelo; it's the best place to view the sunset in Florence." Nick started as we were walking with our hands secured in our pockets. "The grandiose architecture and myriad of colours as I went on leisurely walks around Plaza de Espana in Spain left me dazed. Oh, and how could I forget about the magical beauty of the Canals of Amsterdam! Everything was just so picturesque and mesmerising."

Nick surprised me by speaking with such exuberance. It was a delight, listening to him talk. Getting to know someone is an amazing thing. It's not just that person, but they bring several universes with them.

"I remember you said on the train that you didn't really achieve what you were aiming for," I objected, although it was more rhetoric than a query.

"I don't understand it. It's like a light switch. One second it's there, and the next it's gone," Nick muttered. An air of discontent had surrounded him like an aura. I felt bad for bringing up the topic.

Inspiration. He was looking for inspiration.

"I recently completed an essay, a philosophical work and sent it off for publication. I was to begin my next novel but I've been stalling. Inspiration has been harder to come by than usual. It's like I need a new muse."

I could hardly imagine that Nick would ever struggle for inspiration. I tried to imagine what a muse would look like to Nick. A very beautiful person, like for so many great artists throughout history? Or something more abstract, like a place, a scenery far away from New York City?

"Why don't you take this time off to do something else?"

"My fingers itch if I don't write, Charlie."

I bit my lip. I was more of a procrastination type  myself, finding literally anything else to do other than working most of the time, even though my mind was always full of ideas.

"Come," I held my hand out to Nick, "I want to take you somewhere." Nick looked over with a raised brow before taking my hand in his.

Nick had placed his trust in me, gratitude was all over my skin like tingles. 

When we reached the nice bookshop that I had found online, I saw Nick's body language change. And in a way, I couldn't blame him. Nick had been right, when he'd talked about his qualms with going out before:

People did stare.

They stared at him openly. Not, I thought, because they somehow recognized him from the words on the page, but because they were trying to figure out if he was a celebrity. Nick was not like the handsome guy that you might pass on the street. His beauty was ethereal, a little too other-wordly, and the eyes that touched his face with their gaze took a moment trying to figure it out each time.

Nick's face was so symmetrical. It was unusual, confusing, and I found it transfixing in the best kind of way. I understood the passers-by, because I had tried to work out what it all meant too. They wouldn't understand what it is like to have Nick's attention only on them, but I did. I knew. It made me woozy and stupid, and I didn't mind. I could spend an eternity in lucid moments like this, cheesy and amused and helplessly enamoured.

"This place is so nice," I said, trying to distract him. "I looked at all the pictures online. There's a coffee shop inside and it's all independent. There are some couches where you could sit around and read and they limit the number of people that they allow inside to make sure that it doesn't get too busy all at once."

Nick laughed at that, his voice airy. "When did you get the time to do all this research?"

"What can I say, I'm full of surprises," I teased as we reached the bookshop. Nick stood back and looked up to examine the three storeys from the exterior. It was crammed between two clothing stores, but the frontage made it clear that it didn't fit in on the street, just like Nick. The bookshop was not as sharp as Nick, but rather somewhat worn down. The sign over the door was faded and dark red had turned into light pink, and the windows were translucent with dust from the street. However, through the glass we could see displays that were put together with love and attention.

"It does look nice," said Nick. Then, to my surprise, he reached out a hand to rest at my lower back and propelled me inside first. Those simple touches made me feel like I was still a teenager– giddy.

Inside the shop it felt like we had entered a revered library. The sound from the outside world was muffled in an instant, bringing a blanket of almost unnatural silence down upon us. I peered around with a look of awe, jerked to reality when a shopper bustled past me on their way out of the store, but even then the illusion remained shimmering in part.

From the first step inside, there were bookshelves, squeezed side by side along a narrow passage before opening out into a round room. A clerk was printing labels behind a long counter, and one other customer in a long overcoat and brown uggs was browsing one of the nearby shelves. The scent of books was all around us.

"I like this place," said Nick.

Relief and a certain degree of self-satisfaction made my heart swell. "Let's go upstairs," I said, nodding to the stairwell at the far end of the room. There were posters pinned to the walls there, and at a right-angle when the staircase broke into two there was a small, knee-height bookshelf with more titles packed side by side.

The four walls wore books like the finest of clothes. None of them were crammed in on top of one another, but instead stood cheek by jowl in perfect order. So perfect, in fact, that I felt loath to disturb any of them. There were old books, which filled the air around them with a scent and texture of dust, and then there were new books, spines unbroken.

Nick treated the place with reverence. His fingers brushed along the spines of every book, shelf after shelf with his lips parted and head tilted to the side to examine each title. 

"No lifetime could ever be long enough to read every novel worthy of reading." Nick sighed, like this was something that plagued his mind every single day. As I watched, he slipped a book off the shelf. It was hardback, but modern, with a geometric pattern on the cover. I noticed, too, as he turned it over in his hands, that Nick's fingers were very long. His hands were large, in fact, perhaps architectured to thumb through pages. 

I drifted towards the section where I could find Nick's books. Sure enough, there was a shelf dedicated to his name. One of his first novels, Serendipendity alone, was available in three different versions, as well as a number of editions with introductions from different writers. I picked out a hardback copy and stroked the ridged title before turning the book around to hold up for Nick. "Will you buy me this one?"

Nick's lips twitched. "No. You'll learn nothing from him."

"I think I'll learn lots."

"You will," a voice interrupted, and we both turned to see the stranger who had glanced their way from one of the nearby shelves. It was easy to forget that we were not alone. "That work is one of the greatest literature of our time. Mark my words."

I smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."

The man was tall and had a bundle of books under one arm. "Nick Nelson is a genius. One of the real ones, not a poser. You should read all his works."

"I will,' I said. It was not a lie. When the man drifted away, I glanced back to meet Nick's eye. "See, people love you."

Nick, though, was picking the skin on his calloused hands. "Mhm."

"You know you deserve that, right?" I pressed. "People telling you how amazing you are? If he'd known who you were then he probably never would've stopped talking. That's the sort of attention you deserve."

I closed the distance between us and rested a hand over Nick's upper arm. "Accepting compliments is like accepting love, Nick. It's hard, especially when you feel like you don't deserve it, but once you start to let it in, you realise it's what you need to survive. Otherwise you're starving yourself and it'll only make you weaker and weaker. This is how you feed your soul."

"Have I told you how charming you are, Charlie?"

Nick had a voice that is timeless, carrying centuries' worth of yearning and love within. I loved the way it flowed, like water dripping from a faucet.

I went red from my neck to my ears. "You can tell me now."

"Utterly enchanting," said Nick. He reached up in the small gap between us to brush the hair from my face. "Come with me, I just want to write something down."

Through an arch to the next room, there were some couches laid out and low gold-painted tables. This was where Nick took me.

"Write something?" I stared at him as he searched around the room for a paper and a pen. For the first time in his life Nick had gone almost twelve hours without writing anything, as he had told me. I had enjoyed his absolute focus, that for even half a day I had got to be the centre of his world.

There was something both intoxicating and comforting about being Nick's most important thing, or his second most important thing.

Words, I thought, would always rank first.

Nick looked back at me, pen poised, and then he scribbled something on the paper, still standing. He bit his lip on one side as he wrote so quickly that I thought he'd break through the paper. When he was done, he folded up the sheet and slid it under a book he had carried along. "I'm sorry. I had to get it down on the paper before the words took flight and disappeared into the sky."

The conversation, to my relief, shifted to lighter topics from then. I told him about the books I had read which had managed to find a place in my mind, but my eyes kept flitting to the book Nick brought and the paper folded underneath. Was it something for his next novel? I wanted to read it. The sweetest of fruits are always the forbidden ones.

" I'll get us some coffee," said Nick as he headed downstairs.

"Sure." I smiled, trying to keep my posture casual before I launched at the paper as soon as Nick left the room. I unfolded the paper with a shaky hand and found only four lines, small syllable blocks in a rough handwriting.

'If I'd written you

For my world

By my own design

I'd have written you no differently.'

I stared at the words, lips parted, and realised that I needed to memorise them now. I scanned them over and over, and then when I could wait no longer I folded the paper back up and threw myself onto the couch again. My heart pounded and my breath came quickly as I made sense of it.

"For you." Nick handed me an iced americano as he wandered back to his side of the couch in.

"Thanks."

His eyes flickered to the paper. "Did you read it?"

"What? No," I said quickly.

"You don't have to lie, you know," said Nick with a half smile. "If I'd wanted to keep it a secret, I would've taken it with me."

Embarrassed to have been caught on, I rubbed my eyes and kneaded my forehead. "Maybe I had a look. A look. Maybe."

Nick lowered himself back on the couch and leaned towards me. "There are some things I find difficult to say aloud. So I write them down."

"I get it," I whispered.

"I see you get embarrassed," said Nick. "I watch the way this pink rises all the way up from here to here." As he said it, he reached out and brushed his fingertips from my throat up to my jaw and to my cheek. "It's very cute, but I don't want you to be embarrassed. I don't want you to feel that way. I think you're perfect the way that you are."

I sighed and would have thrown my head back but I couldn't not draw away from Nick's touch. "You're just like... next level smart and I'm not," I groaned, "and your friends must be the same. I feel embarrassed when I say stupid things in front of you."

Nick threaded his fingers into my hair and stroked the long strands over my ear. "You don't say anything stupid. Charming, but never stupid."

"You make me flustered," I mumbled.

"I do like doing that," Nick hummed, and this close to him I could feel his chest vibrating. "I like the way you look when you get shy."

He looked at me like I was someone truly special. It floored me until I could do little more than stare back dumbly, amazed. No one's ever looked at me like this before. It was the kind of look that settled into myself like an encouragement, a confidence I had not been privy to because it had never been like this. No one ever cared enough about me to look at me like this. I never cared enough for it to matter.

Then he reached over to thumb at my lips.

The sudden contact striked me and I was immediately lost in it. It felt like I had taken a leap and plunged into an ocean, but the ocean was Nick.

As the moments dripped past, it was like I became more and more hyper-aware of Nick and less aware of anything and everything else. We stayed there, frozen in position. For all the intimacy, though, we may as well have been making love. I watched his throat for a while, concentrating on the line of his Adam's apple and the way it moved when he swallowed, and then I looked up and met Nick's eyes again. They looked different from usual, so hot that warmth became fire. I prised one hand free from the coffee I was holding and rested it on Nick's chest, the gap between us offering room for nothing else.
Had we been talking about books only minutes earlier? It seemed ridiculous now.
All the thoughts were pushed out of my mind and replaced by the sheer dominance of Nick's presence in the air.

The racing of my heart sent my body into confusion and I found myself dizzy.

Dizzying, that was the word for it.

I felt my heart expand three times its size and then shrink back into my chest at every bat of Nick's eyelashes. Whatever we were threading was becoming dangerous and unstable; I would fall any second now.

I didn't move an inch, waiting to see where this may take us, but my belly flipped with excitement. We were still locked in a heated staredown when Nick broke the silence. "We should go."

I nodded, lost on the tiny mole sitting under his lip. I felt kind of stumped.

It was quiet for a long minute, and we both were busy looking anywhere but at each other. I tried to quiet the pounding of my heartbeat through sheer will. Wished I could create an ocean between myself and Nick because wow. Wow. I really didn't know how to handle Nick.

It gave me a whack the way Nick just switched up on me like that all the time. For one moment he was laughing and teasing me, and the next moment he was a monsoon.

I was of course so unsure of this all. What the two of us had was fragile and I knew it very well. I knew what was building between us was a house of cards, ready to collapse at the slightest of tremors.

At this point, Nick had become something more than a passing face and it is a terrifying thought; someone meaning more to you than they should.

I have always been someone who was used to loneliness. I was used to coming back to a silent house and eating dinner alone, the sound of the metal fork scraping against a plate echoing loudly. It's all I'd ever known, really.

Throughout my childhood my parents were absent. I remember how even at ten years old I felt forgotten. My parents were always away on work trips, and even when they were home, only my mother showed any type of interest in me. But her smile was always tight and uncontrolled. My father never looked at me anymore.

I've never been good at keeping relationships. I let them go like birthday balloons and paper aeroplanes. I never knew how to be anything concrete, so used to floating in the air like dust. But as the time passed I found myself wishing that the day would never end. That there was a snow storm and Nick stayed for longer. I recognized that I was feeling something I had never felt before: the desire to live in one place for few. With the blue-eyed boy, my days would've never been the same again.

And I thought maybe I could have this. As delusional as it all seemed, maybe, just maybe I could have this one thing to myself.

Nick was a star, falling into my orbit, and all I wanted to do was accept him into my gravity with open arms.