I can't decide what's worse; would it be the fact that I'm secretly smug about having someone I can always depend on or because I've possibly sentenced myself to a life of...whatever this relationship is. All I can do, at the moment, is knit my eyebrows and stare in a random direction and try to form a coherent, cohesive, logicial reason for my being with this guy. Okay, fine. I'm pretty much a stupid little girl in some miniscule part of my heart so there are the pros in this situation. He's taller, his voice his deep, his hands are deliciouly warm and he's smarter than anyone gives him credit for. He's a musician, an enigmatic bundle of joy and just someone that's too lovable to live without. But, oh my ever-loving God, he's so cheesey! His jokes are bad, his idea of relaxation concsists of devouring all of the oxygen out of my personal space and y time being all touchy feely and--. It's...the level of emotions is just...

There are days when I seriously wonder who's the actual woman in this relationship. Figuratively speaking, of course.

I sigh for the umpteenth time, mentally berating myself for this kind of self harming practice. Don't get me wrong, I sort of love him, I guess, and he's made no effort to hide that he's crazy for me; I still have no idea why he'd even do that to himself. The great thing about it, is that we're pretty much physically distant from each other. I can be all sweet and charming for as long as I want over Skype, texting, or anything text related. I'm not the best at positive expressions and I've been labeled troll. And it's true, I'm just downright despicable when I'm good and ready. It's just that I'm not used to being gay yet.

At least, not with him.

Women usually infuriated me, and the ones I even came to tolerate never went further than the borders of the friend zone. Provided that she actually made it to that zone. Not only that, my mother was also a bit of a pain. Don't get me wrong, I'll always be loyal to her, but I just won'y go above and beyond to socialize with her. It's like that comfortable-yet strained relationship that only I'm aware of and thus classified as a hermit because I never leave my room to "be amongst people," as she likes to put it. As it stands, I'm about nineteen and he's twenty five. It's an that really doesn't bother me, but the look I got when I told my barely-out-of-the-closet friend Yixing says that there are people who think more along the conventional lines and believe that Chanyeol's out to corrupt my "too-pure" mind, body and soul. I don't thnk he'd do that. 

Unless, of course, he's one of those sociopaths with the patience of a saint and the diligence of a neurosurgeon who would wait a good while to snag their victims. If he is, then the attempt to lull me into a false sense of security has been pretty successful. Even if I think the actual worst, his dedication to making me feel special just blows it all to bits.

He's just too good.

He'd make an excellent deceiver. 

I hear the door open and close, and I reign in the next sigh when I feel the bed dip around me. I move my forearm from over my eyes and automatically loop both around his neck. At first, being the romantically awkward penguin that I was (and still am), I didn't know what to do with my arms. I didn't want to do anything out of the way that would be considered 'too soon.' Now, thinking back to the many romance movies and novels and randomly observed couples, my mind kept suggesting that I do just that from the get-go: just loop my arms around his neck. It would have been considered normal.

I just laid there like a freaking plank, staring at his goofily eager face with my hands itching to do something with themselves.

You see, I love pockets. I never knew why I loved them so much, but their convenience in that moment, made more sense to me than why streaking was considered indecent exposure. I could put my hands in my pockets because it gave them something to do. It took a minute, but I guess he saw the awkward in my eyes and simply told me, with neither mock nor malice, to just put my arms around his neck. I still felt awkward after that, but he didn't pay any mind. The look of pure happiness that flashed across his eyes kind of snuggled up against my discomfort and made me feel all too lost.

That was the first time he even let me in his bed. 

No, we didn't do the nasty. He knew I wasn't ready for that and just relished in the fact that he could just have me all to himself in the dark of a stormy day. Much like today, actually, where outside was gray and the curtains were drawn to make the dark more palpable. He blames me for making him like the dark. It's kind of a kink, i guess, for me. I do better in the dark where I can barely be seen. I feel free to do what I want. The dark is liberating.

It makes me a ninja.

Jokes aside, it's my only comfort. I work where no one can see me or in an environment where everyone's too busy to notice my existence. The first time we made out, successfully and without me getting jittery, I was over excited after getting a new charger for my once-dead laptop. Sounds silly, I know, and paired with the actual dark of the living room (the only place we hung out at the time in his apartment) I felt a tad spontaneous. We'd curled in the armchair. It was in that one hour of my free time I felt right. 

We were back to square one the next day.

Chanyeol dipped his head down and caught my bottom lip with his. I found that he liked long drawn out kisses. I guess he likes to think they're soul-searching ones; I never asked and I never told him what I really thought about them lest I break his spirit. He also likes wet kisses, so he leaves virtually everything on the lower half of my face. I finally told him about it a couple weeks ago and he's gotten better at not leaving most of his DNA on my chin. Chanyeol, also, loves sessions. One or two kisses and I'm fine for the rest of our time together. A kiss hello, I can deal with, and I've already resigned to my fate sealed by the kiss goodbye. The occasional in between kiss is great too. I'm a simple man with simple tastes. One smooch and I'm good. Two in rapid succession at most and I may be gracious enough to push it to three. If he asks for a kiss, I automatically assume 'one.' This guy just--.

He makes me want to scrub my face and bang it against a wall. Alas, I endure it because he's been nothing but good to me. Why do I even deign to stay with him?

Chanyeol nosed my face to the side and planted a feather light kiss on the skin just below and behind my right ear. It feels good, like the taste of copper from the side of a penny. I know, weird, but the taste is so fascinating... Moving on, the feel is hard to put into exact words. It's like that part of my body is the only thing that matters at the initial contact; the sound of his breathing and the heat of his skin so close to mine just makes my sense of reality twitch. The entire world just narrows down to me, his lips, the area below my ear, and his body heat. I toy with the conflicted urge to curl my fingers in his hair and... The rest eludes me, however, it just feels like the right thing to do.

And like the first time, I simply lay there with my arms around his neck, just allowing him eenough room to manouver. No, I'd never tell him how it was because, as fate would have it, my body would do most of the reactions. I think him sadistic because he intentionally asks about it and it just makes me so uncomfortable to have to talk about it. It alreay felt good, don't ruin the moment! And the times he does respect the moment, he texts me about an hour later.

Was it good?

The thought of it flashes through my head briefly and my mouth closes minutely and my already half-lidded eyes narrow into slits, glaring at his blurred profile. I sigh mentally because of it but grudgingly accept it as he nibbles on my ear and trails small kisses from my jaw to each of my eyelids, the tip of my nose and lastly, holds my lips hostage.

Anyone would kill for this kind of attention, and I know it, but...

"What's on your mind?" his voice settles heavily on the silence of the bedroom. He braces himself on his elbows has his hands latch onto my sides before he rolles both of us over so that I'd lay on top of him. He knows I can't speak my thoughts the way they usually came out on paper. I'm a good writer but barely a passable speaker, especially when it comes to something personal--like my own thoughts. However, I make the effort to try, just because of him. He's simply too good to me to even attempt to put up too much of a fight.

I toy with my words in my head, trying to choose the right ones and it leaves a pregnant silence in the air between both of us. I really don't want to say anything because me and feelings aren't congruent on a good day. The inner conflict leaves me simply staring, timidly focused on his face, pretty much able to see into the depths of his nose and he looks right at me, expectant.

"Not going to answer?" he murmurs again, frowning slightly. He knows I hate talking about me in any personal way and tries to break me out of the habit. He says I'm a writer, I should be able to speak effortlessly. 

Sorry, Chanyeol, but no.

I frown, annoyed. "Let me get the right words."

The mood breaks and he opens his mouth around an exasperated sigh over a roll of his eyes. "Just talk."

My frown deepens and I purse my lips in an effort not to curse. I was actually settling for asking him something along the lines of why he'd even choose me or even the question of why I even stuck with him. I honestly don't think I deserved this man. And of course, he does something to make me swallow it and rethink my initial thoughts of him.

I attempt to roll to the side and off him when his gangly arms hold me firm. 

"Don't to this, Jongdae," he said. "Come on, talk to me. We've come too far for you to clam up again. It's just a simple question."

A personal one at that, I think morosely, but bat his arms off me and roll over anyway. "Never mind, it's not important."

I heard felt his arms hit the bed and his breath escape him in another heavy sigh. I'm also as frustrated as he is, but not at him anymore. However he did ruin one of the rare self-initiated mushy moments that would ever happen under my volition. It takes a few moments of heavy, strained silence befoe he taps me on my shoulder and proceeds to roll me over without my consent; it's not like I can fight him off. He's much stronger than I am, which is a downer, in my argumentative case.

Reluctantly, I let him do as he wishes, and he pulls me to lay my head on his chest. We stayed like that for the rest of the hour, him playing in my hair and me lapsing into a light doze.

He's just...too good for me.

I think I'm going to screw it up.

A/N: Glad you stopped by to read! It's a tad lengthier than I expected and then it didn't end the way I'd hoped. However, it's there and the next chapter should be out soon. Thank you all so much for reading, taking the time to comment and subscribing! I do apologize for any mistakes in this. I wrote it flat out in this thing...Again, thanks! Toodles ♥