February 14

She saw him, and he was looking at her with his blue eyes. He looked as nervous as she felt. He stood with his ankles deep in the snow, staring at her through the window, a word written in the white powder. She couldn't read it, wouldn't dare, tears already starting to bead in her eyes as she continued to stare at this boy who had done so much good in her life, and who had torn it all down without even realizing it.

He was wrapped in his green jacket, hat on his head, hands shoved in his pockets, looking as cold as the snow he was standing in. She was sure he was wearing his Vans, toes frozen in them. His face was red from the chill, and his mouth stretched into the goofiest, most nervous smile, his shoulders up in a permanent shrug as he tried to keep warm.

Just the sight of him sent the tears spilling down her face and she covered her mouth as a sort of sob came from her lips. Without even looking at the writing in the snow, she ran from the window, down the stairs, and threw open the door. She didn't realize she was barefoot until she was outside and running through the snow to jump at him.

Maybe she should have thought it through a little better. Maybe she should have been wearing more than a hoodie and pajama pants, and maybe tackling him was a stupid idea. He had been standing on the slope of her front yard, in shoes with barely any traction, but she didn't need to think. What was the point in thinking?

Even before she had her arms around him, her legs around his waist, his arms had opened and he had scooped her up. The momentum of all her weight colliding with his sent him sliding backward, but he had prepared himself. His legs had parted to take the impact and keep the two from falling into the snow.

She buried her face in his shoulder; she clutched herself to him, cold and scared and happy and confused and warm all over.

In the snow he hadn't written valentine? but instead girlfriend?

Holding onto him, she cried openly, her body shaking, his solid and holding tightly to her, cradling her, keeping her close. "I missed you," she whispered into his coat, her voice thick and quavering.

His arms tightened around her, his nose still in her hair, his mouth on her shoulder. "I missed you more," he murmured, but there was no quirk to his lips, no humor in his tone, only longing and torture and something very, very close to joy.

"Is it for real?" she asked him as her feet started to go numb and the trembling set in. She was freezing, but she didn't care.

He moved his face from her shoulder, and she looked up at him, her eyes and face red from tears, and her mouth a wobbly line.

His expression was so serious, his blue eyes icy with intensity, mouth forced down against the smile he was resisting. "Yeah, it's for real."

"How?"

"I talked to him."

She frowned. "A lot?"

This time he let the smile break through and he nodded. "A lot."

Another sob brought her face back to his chest and she closed her eyes as hot tears squeezed through her lids and chilled her face. "I hate you so much," she cried. "You suck."

His voice was heavy with sadness. "I know, and I'm sorry you had to wait so long...but I'm glad you told me that months ago," he whispered and pulled her up higher, rocking her side to side. "I'm glad you told me you couldn't do it anymore."

She started to cry harder, and her body was shuddering from sobs and the cold and she was so miserable and so happy.

"Are you cold?" he asked her gently, and she nodded.

He started walking her up to her house, where he opened the door and started up the stairs, not taking the time to take off his shoes. He only kicked them down to the landing after he had her on the couch with a blanket around her.

She was shaking, head on the cushion of the couch, and she was staring at him. "They're okay with it?"

"You don't even know how heartbroken my sister and mom were when I came home that night and told them what had happened...what we had decided," he said, not sitting down, standing with his red hands in his coat pockets.

She looked away, her hands gripping the blanket. "I didn't want to do that, you know I didn't. I love them...it's just...how could I keep doing it?" she asked, looking at the wall. "It was as though you were taunting me. I couldn't stand it."

She saw out of the corner of her eye his wistful smile. "I loved it; not making you feel that way, but the closeness. I had wanted it so badly, for so long," he murmured.

"Why did you choose to do it?" she asked, still not looking at him. She still had tears in her eyes.

"What?"

"To hold my hand and start it all?" This time, she did look at him. She met his eyes, but wasn't sure how long she could. "Wasn't that disobeying your dad, kind of?"

He frowned a little, and that was all the answer she needed. She sighed and looked down at her hands, squinting.

"I told him I thought I was in love with you," he said and it felt like he had stabbed her in the heart.

"W-what?"

He walked over to her and sat on the floor, looking up at her, looking so miserable and sad and lost and hopeful. "I told him I couldn't stand being away from you. I told him at some point you wouldn't come back."

The tears were welling again. "I don't think that could ever be the case," she whispered, unable to lift her voice any higher.

He reached up and took one of her hands; his fingers were warmer than hers. "I felt like I had already lost you, though, and it sucked. The idea of not being able to talk to you like that, of not being able to hold you or...or anything...it was killing me."

She had to glare at him. "It was unfair, though. You were leading me on, showing me what we could be, but never...pursuing. How many times did you talk with your dad about us before I said we should stop?"

"I don't know."

"Exactly. Do you even know what it felt like to go to the movie and have you hold me like you did, and then a few days later have you act like nothing happened in front of your parents? It hurt so bad. It was like a jab at my heart."

He dropped her gaze. "I'd had no idea..."

"I know, because if you did, you wouldn't have kept doing it. We held hands in front of your parents, and then they asked about it, and nothing ever happened after that. It felt like you were lying to your parents by never showing affection to me in front of them, even a little bit."

"I...I'm so sorry." He was looking into her eyes again, looking lost and sad. "I've never done this before...and I didn't know how to talk to my dad about it...but I wanted to be with you before it, I promise. I wanted to so badly."

She smiled and let her forehead drop to touch his. "I know," she murmured.

"So," he whispered as she closed her eyes. "Is this a yes?"

"To what?"

There was a comfortable pause, and in that time he pushed his fingers through hers and held her hand tightly, and his other hand took her hair into his fingers and played with it. "To being my girlfriend."

Her smile brightened and her heart leapt into her throat. "Yeah, it is."

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I don't know what this is...just a cute and cheesy thing that played in my mind during a really difficult time a few months ago.