HIM
"I wanted to kiss you."
To be fair, I thought I was dreaming.
The late hours of the night, when only the darkness was my witness, were the only times I ever entertained these thoughts. I spent every waking moment denying it, struggling against my own brain. But if I was honest, like I was in those quiet, secret times, I would admit that I had pictured it before.
Kissing her.
Yielding.
I'd pictured it so often, so vividly, that for a moment I think I dreamt it. That my delusions had become so strong they had caused full on hallucinations.
Hallucinations where she says that I'm not the only one who felt it.
Where there's a possibility of more.
"Okay."
I respond, distant, hoping that it was an acceptable answer to whatever she actually said.
But then she hesitates.
Her smile slips.
I'm losing my mind.
It was so vivid. This strange vision of her. Surely, surely, this isn't real.
That didn't stop months of emotions slamming into me. Months of denial.
Blood roars in my ears, and I follow the path of a stray raindrop onto her lips.
I don't remember what she says, even though I think I respond. I'm too busy fighting to gain my sanity back.
She isn't helping.
Looking at me like…God, like she really does want to kiss me. Time seems to stretch and distort.
Her eyes flicker down to my lips, and the world goes dark.
The next thing I know I'm bowed over her, pressing her into the wall, hands cupping her face softly.
Our foreheads press together, breaths mingling, and I thank God I've still got a shred of control left.
I'm one lucky bastard, I regained sanity before I actually kissed her. After all, she looks, well, not alarmed, but she isn't exactly reciprocating either.
She breathes my name, still staring at my mouth, and I'm speaking before I can think better of it. Before I can do the right thing and let her go, stop being a brute.
"I'm going to kiss you." Her breath catches, and my thumb gently caresses her cheek, body working against my will. "If…if you don't want this, just say so. Tell me now. I'll stop. I'll never—God I'll never even think about it again. I just…"
I trail off, my thoughts cutting off as my eyes fall on her lips, shining and parted.
I close my eyes tightly, trying to leash myself.
God she's going to kill me. She should kill me.
After a moment I start to pull back, understanding that silence, anything other than a yes, means no.
My stomach drops, pain lancing through me.
I knew it. I knew—
My lips are just forming an apology when she kisses me.
The world stops.
If I were more logical at the moment, I'd perhaps start to worry about how many beats my heart has been skipping. How many times in such a short period that my brain quits working.
As it is, I freeze when her lips brush softly against mine.
Hesitant.
My eyes fly open, probably wide as saucers, and meet hers. I rock back as if she dealt me a physical blow. She looks shy, almost concerned. Concerned that she did something wrong?
I can't have that.
And apparently neither can my body.
I rock forward again, carried by my momentum, and kiss her properly. I kiss her like I've wanted to since the moment she looked at me like she wanted to kill me.
And she kisses me back.
She clings to me, sinking her fingers into my hair.. Her other hand grips my collar, giving her leverage to press closer to me.
I push her back against the wall, protecting her head, and scrape my hand against the cold stone in the process. I can barely feel the sting.
She pushes back.
It is everything.
I finally sink my hands into her curls, finally memorize the dip of her waist.
Cold drops of water slide down the column of my spine, wet shirt clinging to me.
She is perfect.
I love it.
I love—
"Oi!"
The sound is distant at first, like it's traveling across great distances. I blink. The dark tunnel dissolves into gentle sunlight. Someone's standing over me.
"Having a good dream, were you?"
I groan and roll away, my back protesting against the hard edge of a narrow cot.
The voice laughs again. "Still not a morning person, I see."
I blink blearily at him and pause.
"Elliot?"
He smirks, tossing a shirt at me. "Who else?" .
He starts to ramble on about what we have to get done today, but I tune out his voice and just look at him.
Elliot's voice has roughened. Deeper somehow. For a moment I stare, trying to place what's different.
The beard. Maybe the shoulders.
"You going to get up, or should I fetch the water bucket?"
I know from experience his threats aren't hollow, so I sit up, still caught between waking and sleep.
I lazily put on my uniform pieces as he tosses them to me. It's summer now. Hot, long days stretch into sickly sweet nights, plagued by memories.
When we amble into the servants hall Elliot is greeted with a light kiss from Amber, sending Mr. Stephens scowling. I bypass the table and slump into the chair by the window, leaning all the way back.
This surprises no one. These days I am a man of few words. Adah comes over and sits with me, saying nothing. She just got back from Kingsward, the social season. Three whole months of the richest nobles flocking to have parties and set up marriages.
The air between us is too heavy. I can remember the teasing and the laughter we shared, but only barely.
She's not the only one who just got back.
"Good morning, Aleksi."
The voice is light and unoffensive, and yet it sets my teeth on edge.
Lady Anna's maid.
I nod in her direction, ignoring Adah's heavy gaze.
"Mornin' Sara."
The woman brushes past me, eyes lowered. Her red hair is pulled into a low bun, and for a moment it is not her I see.
Not her neck that gently curves.
Not red hair, but chestnut brown, stray curls being gilded by the summer light.
I look away before the memories can get a hold of me.
I'm greeted by the sight of Amber looking down at me disapprovingly.
"Are you going to nap here or actually do your job?"
Amber waddles, waddles, of all things, and lowers herself into a chair with a sigh. For a second, I don't understand what I'm seeing.
One hand rests protectively on her swollen belly as she laughs at my confusion. When did her laugh start sounding like Adah's?
"Pregnancy has made you mean," I observe flatly.
She levels an exasperated look at me.
"Time made me mean, pregnancy just made me fat."
I chortle at her light laughter.
I can't help but stare. Time does strange things to people.
Makes children into parents. Turns promises into memories.
I look down at my hands. They look like my father's hands. At least, what I remember of them.
My livery is frayed now, seams stretched thin, but I keep wearing it anyway.
Three years changes everything, except the things you wish it would.