When I was finally finished with my bath, I wrapped a towel around myself and pulled the stopper, watching as the bubbles swirled and dipped into the vortex that was above the drain.
I exited the bathroom, entering the living room quietly, as not to disturb him.
His voice is the closest thing to heaven I've got..
A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me was being strum out, which he knew was my favorite. Joining in with him, I sang, "I don't blame you, for being you. But you can't blame me, for hating it. She says 'What are you waiting for, kiss her, kiss her. I set my clocks early, 'Cuz I know I'm always late."
He smiled, watching as I slowly sat down next to him on the loveseat, placing his guitar to the side.
"You know you're beautiful, right?" He said, almost in a whisper, as if he was solemnly reciting a line he had tried to memorize.
The truth was, I didn't know. Personally, I couldn't see it in myself. Self-loathing could have been my profession, and existential anguish my hobby. I had spent the better part of two years trying to find the sides of myself that didn't make me want to run away and escape from the confines of my mind.
"So you tell me.." I replied, my eyes darting away from his gaze and to the ground.
"Okay, not beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous, I swear." He chirped, hands entwining with mine as he struggled to get my eyes to meet his. When they finally had, he leaned in, his hands tracing from my palms, to my thighs, his voice a whisper now as my cheeks turned red, the towel I was wearing was barely anything, I didn't just feel naked, I was naked.
"Can I kiss you?" He asked, his beautiful eyes locking with mine as he ran his thumb against the inner portion of my thigh, waiting patiently for consent.
