Always Fighting // Kyrie Irving

Ink'd

Sabrina-

Is he magical? It feels like it. I saw his face and I couldn't even think of one of my memorized sentences, I couldn't recall one of my planned conversations of denial. Then he kissed me, not gently like our other ones, but angrily, like this was his one chance to finally show he was sorry, and then I couldn't even remember my own name. I couldn't even remember the state I lived in.California? Ohio? Nevada? Was I even in America?

He backed me against the wall, his hand hand clutching my cheek to continue kissing me, but I stop him to catch my breath. Apparently you can't just stop kissing some one and resume as normal, so we find ourselves instead lay side by side on my queen bed, my head resting against his chest, slowly rising and falling with every breath he took. His arm was curled protectively over my side and every once and awhile he would bend his neck to kiss my forehead.

It was comforting, the feeling of his closeness, because it felt real. And after three weeks of not even a conversation, real was what I needed. Probably because I knew that the second we stepped away from this room, we would remember what happened and realize things aren't like they used to be.

We sat in silence, mostly, listening to the sound of our hearts thumping happily away. His left arm was stretched out on his leg, and I gazed at it intently, looking at the ink that crawled up his arm. The Friends logo, quotes, numbers, what looks to me like all meaningless squiggles. I know they're not though, because who goes to a tattoo parlor and just picks something random and meaningless. I think, though this is just mean, they should mean something to the person. My gaze travels to his wrists where he has large roman numerals printed on both. On his left he has VIII and on his right, XIII.

"Kyrie," I murmured lazily into his chest. "What do those mean?"

"Mhm?" In answer, I trailed a finger over the tattoo on his left wrist.

"My mum," He said, his voice hitching softly in his throat. "Died when I was four."

"I'm sorry," I say, not sure what else to say. Then, after a moments thought, I kiss his wrist lightly. "Tell me about your tattoos."

"I have a lot of them, you'll have to be more specific."

"I don't know, why did you decide to get the one's you have? Start there."

He hesitates, lifting up his arm to examine it. "Every tattoo I get has a meaning, whether to remind me of the dream I had as a child or the present I get to live or the future I hope to have. They mean everything from "Look how far you've come," to "You still have a long way to go."

I interrupt him with a laugh. "Those sound like very conflicting messages."

"Maybe, but I'm a very conflicted person."

"Really?" I say dubious, lifting my head up to look at him. A half smirk sits gently on his face, his eyes twinkling.

"Really. See, like right now, I want-" He shifts our bodies so I'm pinned tightly beneath him and gently kisses the tip of my nose. His eyes darken mischievously, but with a sigh he rolls off to the side, grabbing my hand and pressing gentle kisses to my knuckles instead. "You can see my dilemma."

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully, pretending to think through his problems. "Well, I don't know about you, but it seems like this conflict is highly favorable as opposed to other ones."

"In the wise words of Shakespeare, to kiss our not to kiss that is the question."

"Yeah...I don't think that's what he said."

Kyrie-

We lay on her bed for a while longer until she sits up slowly, staring at me with those thoughtful eyes.

"You know when we leave this room, things will go back to being strange. We'll have to find a way to work past it."

"Well that's a way to crash a man's parade."

"I just wanted to clarify, this is happening because I don't think I'm thinking straight."

"I do have a tendency to do that to people," I say, lower my voice in mock seductiveness. She covers her face with her hands, both laughing and sighing in to them.

"Why did you do it like that?" She asks finally, and I don't even have one second where I don't know what she's talking about.

"Honestly? Because you scare the crap out of me and asking you to be my girlfriend when we were, what's the right word... does casually dating work? Okay. Casually dating, it seemed like something scary. I didn't know if you were willing to put up with paparazzi and media and maybe one or two crazy exes from high school. It was a battle in my mind. I didn't want to subject you to that, but I didn't want to be without you. You see what I'm saying?"

"Yes, and that is so extremely sweet of you, but you didn't actually answer my question. Why did you get drunk? Why at Kevin's?"

"Because I was scared to ask you, that's why I got drunk. Though intoxicated is perhaps a better word, not really though, because I could still function. I could still think- well, clearly enough. I was so nervous to actually go there that I started drinking. And as for why it was at Kev's, well, I'm looser around the guys and I though at some point Kev could give me some clever advice on how to go about this."

"Okay," is all she says, still looking at me carefully. Then she bursts into nervous laughter. "That actually a way better answer then what I was expecting. Why do you always have to be so prepared for everything? I swear you can get yourself out of any situation humanly possible."

"Well," I say truthfully. "I barely got out of this one." I pull her down to my chest in a hug. "And I'm not even sure if I did."