The Bad Thing

Want another one?

Normally I would drop my clothes on the floor and wrap around his body for eternity, but i'm still in the "don't give in" battle. Besides, he said it himself. We are just going to hang out, or whatever he called that.

He points with his thumb backwards and says "So, should we lay in the livingroom?". Of course, before I even open my mouth to answer he has vanished and lays on my couch. I sigh.

"Seriously though, why are you here?" I still manage to argue.

He giggles. "Does it matter?"

I raise my shoulders. "Doesn't it?"

He looks away. "You're so uptight." he mumbles. "He didn't fuck you, did he?" he lets out with no regrets.

"Oh come on, give me a fucking break." I growl and approach him. "Still got room for these bullshit? Why do you even care?"

He stays silent. I roll my eyes.
"You cocky bastard" I mumble, not really aware if he hears or not.

After a long pause of intense silence, he stands up. "Want a drink?"
Of course I do. I need a drink more than anything right now. I don't want him to think I'm uptight. Why do I even care what he thinks of me? Grr I make me so mad it's frustrating.

"Whatever" I say and I lay on the spot he was chilling seconds ago. He lets out a chuckle and then enters the kitchen.

"Ice?" he asks.
Okay, he is in my kitchen, knows where the drinks are, and has the conformity to ask me if I want ice.

"Two." which doesn't stop me from getting along with it.

He returns with two glasses of whiskey. He motions me to make space for him and I do while grabbing my drink and shoving it in my mouth as I mumble a grumpy : "Thanks."He smirks.

"How was work? The.. um... st...ore?" he asks. A memory of an elephant.

"I didn't go." I answer while looking away. We never talk about work. His life, my life - two whole different worlds, unwilling to combine. I doubt they ever will to be honest.

"So why the long face?" he adds.

I turn to look at him. "Well first of all you're here so..." but a smile escapes my control and I loose my coolness.

He chuckles. "You never say that when I touch you." and while saying that he brushes my neck with his warm hand. I didn't remember it being so warm. It's calming. My eyes are fixed on his. "But as I said... we are just going to hang out." he removes his hand and I felt like he took my soul with it.

"I didn't invite you to hang out!" I say while laughing. I don't know why I laugh. Tonight that's what he brings out of me, when usually... it's other things.

"You never invite me anyway! I just come." he says.
He is kind of...-I'll regret saying this-... really sweet right now and I don't know if I'm okay with that, since I'm trying really hard not to feel the feelings. I sigh. We both sip from our drink.

"It's strong." I say.

"The drink? You've got to be fucking with me." he says and I raise my look. "The night I met you, you were like, drinking more than every single person in the pub with no regrets." he giggles. "Ridiculously hardcore, I would correctly put it."

 I laugh. "-The fuck!"
which was supposed to be "what the fuck" but my laughter cut the sentence in half.

"Don't tell me it's not true. Except if you just wanted to impress me." he raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah right, you wish. I wouldn't do anything over my boundaries for your cocky ass." I say slightly pushing his arm.
I wouldn't swear to God for that saying but it's good to hope. He unexpectedly pulls me in his arms. I almost threw the drink on the ground.
His ... hug?... is not provocative. It's not sexual. It's like it has feelings. It's like he needs my warmth.
I slowly pull away. I know it must just be in my imagination. It always is.

Without even referring to what the fuck just happened he asks me: "Want another one?" and before I answer he nervously takes the glass from my hand and stands up to head into the kitchen.