A Quiet Night

I walked into my room and took off my shoes, ready to just—crash onto my bed and fall asleep. Before I could turn around, warm hands slid around my stomach. I looked down and put my hands on top of his. I leaned my head back onto his shoulder and turned my head, my forehead resting against the side of his neck. After a moment I straightened and looked sideways at his face with tired, affectionate eyes. He pressed his lips softly against mine and smiled. "Why are you up so late?" I tried to say, but my words escaped as whispers. He whispered back, "Because I needed to know where you were." I rolled my eyes and restricted a blush. "Well, I'm back now, so go to sleep," he turned me around and narrowed his eyes at me playfully. I knew he was about to find some excuse to distract us from our reality. He took my hand in his and raised it. He put my other hand on his shoulder, then slid his securely around my waist. We began to slow-dance, staring into the light of each other's eyes in the area of the darkness of our room. I leaned my forehead against his, and we closed our eyes.     

I kicked one leg out of the blankets, my pajamas were warm enough, but I got too hot. I stopped myself from readjusting. I felt his heartbeat race against me, and with them came the recollections of my annoyance and admiration for his sweet soul. He should have fallen asleep in his own bed, not mine. Now I couldn't move around or punch the pillow. Ugh. I should've—kicked him off while I dreamt or smacked him. Either way, I couldn't, by any means feel upset. It was impossible. I could never even look at his stupid face without love in my eyes. Of course, he would tease me about it, but inevitably, we both knew how I felt. In the end, I was just playing. I knew how much he loved cuddles. I secured my arms around him, one encircling his head and the other holding his back, keeping him against me. I spared a moment to let myself drown in mesmerization. The world was in my arms. A soft, kind, witty, humorous, stringy little boy. He knew well enough that my heart belonged to him, as no one else existed in my perceptions of love. Breathlessness overcame me as he opened his big, bright hazel eyes. They locked onto me, filled with a gentle, warm energy. "What're you doing?" He said cutely. A smile painted itself over my face. "Looking at you," I whispered in a smooth tone.     

His eyes closed, but his face began to flush a warm pink, which I couldn't see for long, as he turned around, flustered. He was usually like that in the morning, stuck with a deep sense of feeling. My words came out as playful laughter, "Wait! Come on!" I kept laughing. I heard a mumble underneath the blankets, "I wasn't ready for that. It's too early." I could tell he was smiling. I knew he was smiling.     

"Just let me see your face!" I pleaded stubbornly, trying to turn him around. I placed my hand atop his chest and pulled him onto his back, where he looked up at me with his big puppy eyes.         

"Damn you—you're such a cutie." I squeezed his cheeks roughly, which made him laugh.         
"Anyway, I got to get up now," I sighed dramatically. I felt him latch onto me, and I held back a chuckle. The reply was complete silence. I tried to move—I kept it up until he pulled me underneath the blankets and secured me in his arms. "No," he said in a blunt tone, staring with determined eyes. He made that adorable little pouting face that screamed stubbornness and irresistibility.     

"Okay."