luck for the night - rl.

42. i'd rather see you in no clothes at all.

"That's where these went!" Remington exclaimed, holding up the pair of pink trousers I had stolen from him what seemed like ages ago.

After god knows how long, we had gotten up from the sofa to take a short smoke break, outside on my balcony, and ended up in the bedroom. I sat on the side of the bed, eyes on Remington, while he had shamelessly opened the doors of my closet, now going through all of my clothes. The tension that I had felt less than two hours ago, right in this same bedroom, had disappeared. It had changed into a light, airy comfort, excitement similar to what a kid felt on their birthday.

"Did you forget?" I raised a brow, "did you also forget what you traded it for?"

Remington was quiet for a second as he stepped to the mirrored doors of my closet, holding the trousers in front of himself. "Right... The corset top?" His lips turned into a pout almost immediately.

"I don't need it back. Yet. As long as I can keep those trousers, all is forgiven."

The smile returned to his face, and so he returned the trousers to their place in the closet.

Once again, he stepped aside, in front of the mirror. But he did not hold anything in front of himself, this time. His eyes went to me. And the tension, the warmth in my lower belly, came rushing back. There was something in his eyes, something in the way he looked at me.

Seeing him here, in my bedroom, he looked out of place somehow. Looking into the giant mirror, the girl with the short bleach blonde hair behind him did not look like she fit in either. The question slipped from my lips before I could think it through. "Have you ever felt out of place somewhere? Like you don't belong?"

He pressed his lips together as his eyes found mine in the mirror. "Only all the time."

"Same here," I said, our gazes still glued together through the reflection. He stayed silent, a tiny crease appearing between his brows. What did that mean?

"I love my job," I continued, filling the silence that felt heavy all of a sudden, "I love my flat... But there just feels like something is missing." I had never told this to anyone before, and even though I had been planning this for years, it still felt like a confession. As if it only became real now, when I said it out loud. "That's why I don't really have money to spend. I have been saving, to well, get out of Bristol. Get out of the UK." As I was talking, slowly, a realisation hit. "Maybe that's why it's been so easy for me to fuck up at work. If Phoebe were to kick me out permanently, then at least I wouldn't have to admit to her that I am unhappy here."

I sighed, a load of tension that I did not even know existed suddenly disappeared off my shoulders. But the man in front of me was silent, and I once again scanned his face through the mirror. What was going on inside his head?

"I understand," he suddenly turned around, his eyes burning straight into mine. Although we had had eye contact five seconds before, the absence of the mirror did something to make his gaze even more intense, slowly moving towards me, "to be honest," a slight smile appeared on his face, "the only moments I really feel like I belong are when I'm on stage," he stood in front of me now, finger tracing my nose, my jaw, my lips, "or when I'm with you."

"I do too. Only with you." It was barely a whisper, because mid-sentence, Remington suddenly pushed me back onto the bed, eyes hungry.

"Can I kiss you?" He leaned over me, lips close enough to brush past mine as he talked.

I made a face. "Do you really need to ask?" And when he did not, I added: "Just kiss me."

A corner of his mouth lifted. "No," there was a serious tone to his voice, "do you remember our first night together?"