Be Rude but Love Me | ✔

CHAPTER 41

It feels different. I don't recall the mattress in Ellie's guest room being that soft, that comfortable, and God knows I love the bed in that guest room. I ignore the weird feeling and simply relish in the coziness. Under my closed lids, I can feel the sunlight bathing the room I am in and I tell myself that my bratty little sister must have opened the curtains.

I groan in annoyance and sink my head deeper into the pillows, trying to hold on to the last images of some dream I was having but within seconds, it vanishes. My mind is now perfectly blank and I'm all too aware that a new day has begun. I wish the sun would go back down again and that I could have a few more hours but I know it's only wishful thinking.

Slowly, as slowly as possible so that I can delay facing a new day, I open my eyes. My vision is blurry and it takes few seconds for the grogginess and the fog to dissipate. Once they do, my mind is alert and I can see clearly. I can see very clearly the two blue eyes that are staring right into my own.

"Yann?" I croak out, wondering if I'm still dreaming.

I feel his hand on my face as he pushes my hair away. "Good morning," he says, his lips forming a smile.

When I realize that his voice nor his hands are figments of my imagination, I duck my head under the pillow and groan. I hear him chuckle next to me and the bed rumbles from the shaking of his body.

"What?" He asks, laughter clear in his voice.

"I don't look good in the morning," I mumble.

The pillow starts slipping from my grip and I realize that he is tugging it away from me. I try to hold on as tightly as possible but eventually, Yann takes the pillow away from me. Now that my shield is gone, we are facing each other again. He's leaning on one elbow, chest bare, looking down at me, all of his hair dangling on one side.

"That's not true," he says and I smile, feeling a little better. Then he adds, "You look awful." His grin turns wider and I roll my eyes.

"Are you always that mean to everyone?" I mutter in annoyance.

"Yes," he says, "trust me, you're no special." But as he says the words, we both know he is lying.

We stare into each other's eyes and I can't help but think that two months ago, if someone had told me I would wake up in Yann's bed, I would have called an asylum and asked them to lock that person away. But here I am, waking up in his bed, next to him, his eyes the first thing I saw when I woke up. My heart swells in happiness and I am afraid that it will get too big for my chest to contain. I am afraid that I will just explode from the overwhelming feeling.

"How long have you been watching me?" I ask, a little shy. I've never had to wake up to someone looking down at me, but if it has to feel that way every time, then it's what I want for the rest of my life.

He shrugs and his finger comes to trace circles on my cheek, the touch soft and fleeting. "Not sure," he says, never taking his eyes off the invisible doodles he's making.

I smile in contentedness as last night comes back to me. We spent most of the night talking of literature and books, then of composers and pieces we loved. All the while, his hands were on me, tracing patterns on my skin, making my body come alive and at some point, I couldn't take it anymore. I kissed him again. I know we said we wouldn't do anything and we meant it at that time. But I wanted something. So he gave me something.

We didn't have sex because I wasn't ready for that. But it didn't mean I wasn't ready for other things. So we did other things that involved getting naked. And it was wonderful. I think of his mouth, of him whispering in my ears, of the way my hands fisted his hair, of the sounds I didn't think I was capable of making. Last night, Yann unraveled something that was buried underneath the surface in me, dying to come out. And I believe that last night was the right time, with the right person.