HAPPY | ✔

DANIEL: 04.0 HALF WAY THERE

We'd seen a lot of each other over the past two weeks- I'd made sure of it. Besides that whole "absence makes the heart grow funder" büllshit, I was of the view constant exposure was sure to incite addiction. I'd stuck to her like glue.

But tonight felt different. Maybe it was because she was here, in my apartment. She'd toed off her heels, stripped off her jacket and plopped down on my kitchen counter, laughing as she picked at a bowl of fruit Audrey, my housekeeper, had been kind enough to wash, cut and store.

Maybe it was 'cause this right here felt real, contrary to moments stolen between classes or meetings. As real as her laughter as she chatted on about nothing, as real as the flush of her skin everytime my fingers fluttered over her flesh.

There was no rush, no mad dash home or to work. This was quality time, and fücking hell didn't it feel good.

"Favourite band?"

"Don't have one."

I gasped, "Liar!"

"I swear!" She laughed.

"I don't believe you for a second."

"What? Am I not allowed to not have a favourite?"

I rolled my eyes, parting her thighs so I could settle between them. "Exactly!"

She kicked her head back with a grin, "Well it's obvious that you do, so tell me yours."

I didn't even pretend to think about it, "Easy, I have one for every genre: classic rock, Bon Jovi; modern rock, Twentyone Pilots-"

"Bon Jovi?" Her eyebrows mashed together, her nose scrunched like a puppy.

"What? You don't like Bon Jovi?" I asked, incredulous.

She put up a hand in submission, muttering sheepishly, "I'm sure I would, if I had any idea who they were."

My face must of contorted into something horrific because she shouted, "Daniel!" placing her bowl to the side to grasp me by the shoulders, "relax, I'm just not familiar with the name. If they're that popular, I'm sure I've heard a song or two. God, you should see your face!"

I tried to smoothen my expression to something less intense, but I failed dreadfully, still at a loss for words.

I backed away slowly, a hand on my hip and the other covering my lips, my eyes closed as if in pain.

"I-I can't even look at you."

Her laughter was rambunctious.

"Alexa! Play Bon Jovi, Livin' On a Prayer. I need to school this uncultured swine."

I spread my feet into a wide stance, rolling up my sleeves. I slicked back my hair with an open palm pouting my lips in a ridiculous flare for the dramatic.

"Oh God," she muffled her laughter in her palms when I lifted a stern finger, ordering her silence.

"Tommy used to work on the docks, union's been on strike. He's down on his luck, it's tough, so tough."

I threw my head back, fingers strumming on air. I probably looked ridiculous, head bobbing like a duck in a pond, but she was cackling on, clapping her hands together as she watched my performance.

"Gina works the diner all day, working for her man. She brings home her pay, for love, for love."

She watched me advance on her, spreading her legs to welcome me, as her stockinged feet kicked up a rhythm. I cozied on up to her, grasping her beneath the knees and pulling her closer until just the edge of her behind was left atop the granite.