Conversations From Afar

reacquaintance / 82

haCHA! update! i've had this written for a while because i was procrastinating about proofreading but here it is

lankyqueen's update this morning was LOVELY. DO READ IT

***

We spend the entirety of the morning curled together in his bed, touching and tasting and laughing and unconsciously reacquainting ourselves with each other.

It's the same, but different. His stomach is harder because he's been working out. His shoulders seem a little broader, larger, but not huge. His fingers on my skin are the same, but with new kitchen wounds and callouses.

The way we fit together is the same, his arms around me are the same; comforting and electric and the feeling of absolute rightness.

"What's this?" He murmurs, fingertips tracing the outline of the bruise on my ribs from an unfortunate incident last week with concrete steps and invisible ice.

"I fell. Down the steps of the library. Really hard."

"Aww," his fingers flutter across it again, lightly without the whisper of barely-there-pain that flares with the slightest touch. He dips down and presses a kiss there.

"What about this?" I take his hand, this time, tracing the red cut I noticed when he picked me up at the airport but prompt forgot about.

He turns it, examining the cut while letting it rest between my fingers. He pouts thoughtfully and I want to kiss it. "I think that's from making stir fry last week. Cutting peppers maybe."

I hold his hand to my chest because I want to to be better, and also because his hand close to my heart makes it feel like it will never feel hollow again.

He lies next to me propped on his left elbow, leaving his right hand in my hands and against my chest. He smiles, softly, and his eyes move over my face, not taking my measure but simply looking. Not memorizing as though he'll never see me again but enjoying the view of now.

I look back; taking in every unforgettable feature. The slope of his nose just barely dotted with freckles. The bluish skin beneath each eye, stretched thin and a perfect portrayal of his exhaustion at any time. His eyelashes casting shadows, his eyes dark and kind and so so alive.

"This might sound stupid now, but..." He sighs, his hand coming to rest on my face, his thumb skimming my cheekbone. "I missed you so much."

I cover his hand with mine and close my eyes, turning into his shoulder because he already knows my reply and this feels so close and perfect, I don't want to cry embarrassing happy-tears. His other hand rests on my back and moves in slow stroking circles.

"I wish it didn't always feel like I'm choosing between you and school, and that I'm always choosing wrong," he continues.

"You don't have to choose."

"Why can't I have both? I mean, why can't I be happy at Dal? I think I could've been, I mean, if I tried. If I hadn't gotten it into my head that McGill was better." He slips the hand off of my cheek and uses it to cover his eyes in a loose fist.

I sit up, because he seems distraught and that's what you do. "It's where your dad went, it's okay to want to go here. You love it, don't you?"

"I love you more."

"You don't have to choose. We're still together even though it's far away and we'll be fine."

"Do you see us staying together, like long term?" Like marriage.

"Yeah."

He takes the hand from over his eyes (I don't know why he did it, he's not crying) and his eyes meet mine. Somberly. "Me too."

"So, a couple years apart isn't that big in the grand scheme of things."

He pats my knee and sighs, smilingly. "Sorry for the bout of self doubt."

"You've dealt with a boatload of my doubt before, don't even."

"Want to go check out that awesome bagel place?"

"Ah, but that means I'd need to get dressed..."