~~~~

Bian

~~~~

School wasn’t awkward.  It was like a test.  It was like a secret.

Our secret.

How flirtatious could we be without attracting attention to ourselves?  It was so fun to see his fleeting gazes flick my way and catch my eye with a darting passion that flooded my nervous system with electricity and chilling, tickling shudders that ran down the back of my neck and spine.

Getting papers back, I found cute little messages, a sweet, adorable side of Namjoon I didn’t know existed, showing itself in the riskiest of places.  He never touched, never stared for too long, but at times a few of his pen made all the difference when I found a little smiley face hidden within the pages of an essay.

A particular comment under a sticky-note at the top of my recent quiz made me almost burst into laughter in the middle of a silent class.

Congrats on your A

If you were hoping for something different, see me after class and I can give you a D

A month or two of our back and forth had really let loose some of the more inappropriate sides that the two of us had shared without knowing.  But again, he never touched, never gave anyone reason to suspect a thing.  He was good with all that self-control; ‘never’ meant ‘never’ and ‘never’ meant no exceptions.

He couldn’t risk it.  I would get off as a brainwashed teen if the two of us were caught, treated like a victim, but he’d lose his job, be thrown in a cell and carted off to court, and nothing I said would make much of a difference.  Fraternization was illegal.

We were illegal.

But it felt so good to break the law, what with his smile and his eyes and the giggling kisses we shared off the scene, that I didn’t mind bending boundaries and re-circuiting the restrictions.

Two month of our secret and he wanted to take it a step further.  Not ; it was unspoken that things like that would come when I was ready, not when he wanted me to be.  The ‘step further’ was meeting his friends, and I couldn’t conjure up a reasonable explanation as to why I was nervous.

He said they were chill.  He explained that they were working individuals like himself, but less professional and more childish (except for Min Yoongi, apparently).  He promised that it’d be more of a night out than a ‘meet the family.’

Still I scrambled to find proper clothes for the occasion, taking into consideration that we were going bowling.  With so many people around I shouldn’t have to worry about awkward silence that would’ve been met in someone’s apartment.  Also, that someone named Min Yoongi was bringing along his own girlfriend (one that Namjoon said supported our relationship), so it really couldn’t possibly be as bad as I was imagining it to be.

“You ready?” Joon called from my phone, the call on speaker so I could hear him while I threw on an outfit.

“Always,” I muttered, more to reassure myself than to answer him.

“I’m sure you’re looking great.  As always.”  I smiled, glad he couldn’t see, and tugged on my hair, noting the frizz.  “I bet your hair is fabulous too.”

I froze and looked down at the phone, wondering if I’d accidently face-timed him instead of just calling.  But seeing the screen de-rigged my accusations and I picked the cell up to talk properly.  “How did you know I was fixing my hair?”

“I didn’t.  But you fuss over it all the time, and thought it’d be nice to reassure you.”

“Well, it was nice, but now you’re kinda creeping me out.”

“Oh no,” he sighed, but I could hear the smile, “I thought you’d never guess.”

“What?”

“I’m a mind-reader,” he whispered, and I began the trip downstairs to the front hall, deciding enough was enough and that my outfit was just fine.

“If you can guess what I’m wearing, I’ll believe you,” I challenged, feeding into his childishness because he was cutest that way.

“Oh, you’re probably wearing that navy-blue tee -because you’re beautiful in it-, those black shorts with the tiny cross on the -because you feel secure in dark colors-, along with a high pony-tail, because you like that style.”

I rested a hand on my hip and took a look around for any nearby windows.  “Show yourself; I know you looked into my house and saw me.  Where are you?”

“On your porch,” he confessed, and I peered out the front door window pane to see my English teacher.  He smiled wide as soon as I opened the door and stepped out, taking the way I shoved him towards his truck with stride, grinning the whole way.  “I didn’t know you liked it so rough,” he chuckled as I practically propelled him into the front seat.

“If you were seen picking me up,” I hissed, looking around for neighbors walking their dogs or even worse, my local friends.

“We’d be in a load of trouble.”  He started the vehicle when I plopped down into the passenger-side seat.  “I hear you loud and clear.”

“Then stop doing it,” I mumbled, feeling my heart slow as we pulled out and set on course for a distant bowling alley.  Nothing we did in public could be done locally, and often we drove an hour for a date.  But I didn’t mind in the least, and he never complained.

In fact, he bought my favorite music on his iPod, more than willing to play songs that got me pumped for the night of karaoke, food, or general romance ahead.  And good God, could Kim Namjoon be romantic…

For our fifth official date (graffiti-ing didn’t count) he took me to a restaurant with the firm belief that just because we couldn’t come out with our relationship at the moment, didn’t mean that he couldn’t treat me like the lady I was.

We ate fancy food and made fun of the uptight waiters, talked about nothing and discussed philosophies.  We had a game we played, called ‘Biases Unravelled,’ in which we would together argue both sides of an controvercial argument, completely unbiased, following that with a debate where we reasoned for our own opinions on the subject.  It helped us reflect, learn, and bond over something that stimulated our minds.

Unfortunately, sometimes I zoned out while he talked, finding that my thoughts had the ability to completely focus in on his lips, his dimple, his lashes.  Or maybe that was just his ability.

Once during a conversation (ironically about women being portrayed as brainless, -driven creatures), I blantantly leant in and kissed him hard on the mouth, too taken by his handsome updo and outfit to come up with an answer.  He responded by kissing back, obviously, and the night ended with a make-out session godly enough for me to question whether he was human or not.  The way his tongue moved, the way he held me…  I never wanted to be let go.

“Babe, we’re here,” he suddenly cut in, and my thoughts halted in their tracks as I saw we had indeed arrived at Buster’s Bowling Alley.  I swallowed the nervousness before it could be born, glad to see so many cars in the parking lot.  The more people, the more I could relax into the background.

“Okay,” I breathed, scanning the area for people around Namjoon’s age, praying that they weren’t as handsome as he was.  Or even close.  The last thing I needed to make my night near impossible was for his friends to be eye-catching.  God, that would be tragic.

“Seokjin!” my boyfriend suddenly shouted, catching the attention of a tall figure walking toward the double-doors.  From the back, I noted the wide-fricking shoulders and his height, but when he turned around, all smiles and happy to see Namjoon, my resolve crumbled a little bit.

Rounded face, big lips, princely in every aspect of the word.  Seokjin was quite handsome; luckily not as much as Namjoon, but he was certainly up there.

“Hey,” he called back, and waited for us to catch up, my feet moving slower than usual.  Namjoon instictfully wound his right arm around my waist, holding me closer and pulling me with him faster.  I let him, let him hug me to his side and lead me to his friend.  I thought it was for my own comfort (which I’m sure it partly was), but as soon as we neared Seokjin I noticed his grip distictfully tighten, Namjoon’s knuckles white as he kept me with him.

Apparently I wasn’t the only nervous one.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, and I rested a single hand on his back quietly, trying to mediate the worry between us two, trying to lessen the both of ours.

“Work’s the same for me, but Jungkook just got fired so I’ve been on him to get another one for the past week or so.”

“Sounds rough,” Namjoon said, loosening his hold on me as he relaxed himself.  I managed a small grin as Seokjin looked to me, feeling young and childish under his gaze.  If I remembered correctly, he was the oldest of their little friend group.  He was six years older than me.

He was just one of six new oppas I’d be meeting, and I swallowed the lump in my throat as he held out his hand to shake mine.

“Nice meeting you.”

“You too,” I said, gripping his long fingers tentatively.

“Namjoon’s told me so much about you,” he said, and I nearly blushed at the idea.  “It’s nice to meet you in person, though.”

“You too.”  I felt like a broken record.

“Why don’t we go in?” Namjoon interrupted, prodding us in the general direction of the building.  Seokjin fell in step beside him, the two sharing a few words as I tried to settle my unsettled mind.  Keep it together.  Keep it together.  Keep it together.

“Namjoon!  Seokjin!” some people called from the benches, and I looked over to see a group of five mind-blowing men, all perfect.  All gorgeous.  All mind-blowingly, perfectly gorgeous.

And all coming over to say hello.

“Hey,” I heard from multiple mouths; “nice to see you,” from others.  I felt my head twirl as they surrounded us, digging my fingers into the back of Namjoon’s shirt, trying to stabilize myself while reminding my hormones who they belonged to.

They certainly didn’t belong to mysteriously y Yoongi, whose girlfriend was currently in the restroom.

Not to ripped Jimin, who could’ve been the spokesperson for any gym of his choice.

Not to beaming Hoseok, who made me want to smile back wide enough to split my cheeks.

Not to gorgeous Taehyung, who embodied what I imagined perfection to be.

Not to devilish Jungkook, who was nearly my age and reeked of appeal strong enough to turn any girl straight and any guy gay.

And it certainly did not belong to Seokjin, who still grinned like an angel and made my knees weak.

They belonged to Kim Namjoon, who not only looked insecure but nervous about my blushing cheeks and stumbling tongue.  When Jungkook took my hand and shook it, commenting about how close we were to being the same age, my boyfriend finally made a defensive move and prodded me to the front counter, pulling out his wallet to pay for shoes.

“You’re a senior this year, right?” Jimin asked, coming to stand on my right.

“Yes,” I replied, inching a little closer to Namjoon in the process.

“You already knew that,” he sighed, turning to his friend.  “Why ask?”

“I just wanna hear her voice.”

Namjoon stared him down for a second or two before the shorter of the two said anything else.

“A person’s voice tells a lot about them,” he explained himself, leaning an elbow on the counter as two pairs of shoes were dropped in front of us.  “She talks quiet, which means she’s nervous, but she also talks like Hee-Young, so she’s independent.”  Hee-Young was Yoongi’s girlfriend, or so I heard.

“Ok~ay,” Namjoon said absent-mindedly, immediately taking me away by the waist to claim an alley indicated by the attendant.  The boys followed and we all set to putting on the slippery-bottomed bowling shoes we’d been given.

“You look tense,” I whispered to Joon, noticing his anxiety.  He shook his head and gave me a side grin, patting my knee softly when he finished tying up the laces.

“I’m fine.  You were the tense one earlier, Bian,” he started, gripping my elbow, “are you okay?”

“Of course; I’m just a little worried about you.”

“Like I said, nothing to worry about.”  His shoulders relaxed and he stood with his friends, beckoning me to do the same.  “Their personalities don’t quite meet the expectation their faces put them at, so I’m not worried about you dropping me for one of them.”  Namjoon’s eyes flashed with an obvious shade of affection.  “My personality far outweighs theirs.  This-” He gestured between the two of us. “-is in no danger, trust me.”

And he grabbed my (making me jump) before following Seokjin, the last of the others to go find a ball.

Turns out he was right, and while the others were funny, down-right attractive, and pleasant, I never felt like I could talk with any of them for hours on end, discussing the finer and lesser points of life.

Within five minutes of our game, Yoongi’s girlfriend showed up, shocking me into momentary silence.

Tall.  American descent.  Older.

At least ten years older.

She sat down next to Yoongi, his arm finding itself around her waist immediately, his head turning to speak to her, lips near her ear as he said something.  She was pretty, but not someone I ever would’ve imagined any of the boys dating.  She said hello to me and I replied, bowing slightly to my unnie.

“I told you none of the guys would have a problem with us,” my boyfriend suddenly said, startling me by whispering into my ear, hot breath on my cheek.  “Hee-Young is twelve years older than Yoongi.”  Her light chuckles brought a smile to Namjoon’s older friend’s face.  “Four years doesn’t look that bad anymore, does it.”

It wasn’t really a question.

We were sitting down, waiting for our turn, enjoying the quiet chatter and amiable environment; Joon’s arm was around my neck, his other hand on my thigh, fingers carving unintelligible, soft patterns into my skin.  I leaned up, tenderly planting a kiss on his lips.

“It never looked bad.”

He gave my thigh a squeeze and pressed a kiss of his own into my temple, the moment ending as soon as Hoseok tossed an empty solo cup into my lap.

“It’s your turn, little miss senior!”

I got up and grabbed my ball, smirking in Namjoon’s direction as I attempted to bowl correctly.  I wasn’t exactly fantastic.  In fact, the word ‘terrible’ probably could’ve been used just as readily as ‘please never try bowling again.’

But I knabbed an easy seven-pin hit, knocking down one more with the second shot.  I heard clapping behind me, and even though I knew they knew I really at the game, I liked how encouraging they were.

Jungkook commented about me doing really well, earning a complaint from his older brother about how flirting with a friend’s girl was wrong, to which the younger just switched seats to sit next to me, scooching closer to match my boyfriend’s proximity.

“I’m not flirty.  I just like being nice to women.”

“Then go be nice to Hoseok,” Namjoon ordered, shoving his younger friend an arm’s length distance from my side.

“Yah!” Hoseok began, but there wasn’t a single face there that wasn’t smiling.  There wasn’t a single second I spent with them that I didn’t enjoy.  Not even when Yoongi and I talked about the difficulties of dating someone older/younger.  Not when Jimin offered to show me his abs and Namjoon promptly declined for me.

And certainly not when Taehyung told me all about working at a nursery.  God, that boy man was a piece of work.

A piece of ing art masterpiece.

But my favorite part was sitting with Joon, whose palms found a way to crinkle the edges of my clothing, just to smooth them out again.  His hair tickled my forehead, and I made sure to run my fingernails over the ridges of his ribs every so often to keep him on his toes.

“Who knew little miss senior could fit in with a bunch of boring twenty-year-olds,” Seokjin said, eyeing the entire situation up and down.  There were several interjections about not being boring, but my thoughts were flying away to another subject.

In that moment I didn’t care how old I was.  I was old enough to make decisions and I was old enough to judge which people were right and wrong for me, and no one I talked to that night, no one I smiled at or laughed with or kissed in between tries at a strike, no one was wrong.

Kim Namjoon was so right, the perfection of it all stared me in the face, gazed into my eyes, told me silly, sweet things just to see my smile; it joined our mouths even while people looked on, because it loved kissing me more than it loved its pride.

Namjoon couldn’t be wrong if he said the grass had turned purple, because love changed the basic principles upon which every rule and natural law was built on, integrating new ones whenever and wherever it saw fit.

And besides, what color couldn’t grass be turned to with just a little spray paint?

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

I hopped out of the truck and practically skipped to the short cement railing that separated the beach from the sidewalk.  There was something about the situation that shook me to the core, making me chuckle, grin, and bit my lip in order to hide it.

I’d always wanted to go night swimming, and the fact that this particular beach banned swimmers after ten, only sparked my interest farther.  I’d been waiting to check this off my list for an eternity, eagerly looking forward to the moment when I could climb that stone wall and feel cold sand under my toes, my sandals already flipped off and stuffed in a small beach bag we brought.

We.

The only thing that could’ve made this night better would’ve been Namjoon, who so gratefully accepted my invitation, his curious attitude always attracted to knowing what the next event would be.

He was cute like that.

“Night swimming?” he asked, and I turned to look at him as I stepped backwards over the barrier and landing in pliably sweeping sand.

“You bet’cha.”

“This date is supposed to top our bowling game with the boys?”

“Yep; let’s go,” I ordered, waving him in the direction of the water, already jogging across the beach lightly, a quick wind snapping around me and turning the waves just choppy enough to splash irritably.

~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~

There was something so secretive about where we were, so taboo, that I felt my heart race with just that thought of it.  Not really breaking the law, but disregarding authority and doing something we shouldn’t be.

It felt so oddly fulfilling.

Yet made me feel insecure, even weak.

On top of that, being there with her gave me goosebumps, thoughts of how alone we were and how beautiful she must appear under the moon plaguing me.  My risky move of kissing her during the last expedition had paid off and we were dating, but how far did I really want that to go?

At what point would it become wrong?

Did such a point exist?

“Joon~” she called as I crested the cement and found myself on the beach, feet slipping and sliding and sinking amongst the sand.  When I looked up to respond, my world stopped and I found that her already being by the water and her let-down, stunning hair didn’t matter as much as did the fact that Lee Bian was standing in a bikini, glistening waves behind framing her body and hips and waist and hips and arms and hips.

Good lord, she didn’t have much chest, but she had hips.

Just the mere fact that I could see all of them but a thin strip covered by fabric was enough to , and I almost managed to shake the unholy thoughts from my head.

Almost.

“Namjoon, set your bag down over here,” she continued, oblivious to the mental wreckage she had created.

“Yah,” I got out weakly, too quiet for her to hear, but just loud enough for her to know that I’d said something.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said a little louder, and she smiled, her lips stretching so far I wanted to catch them and kiss them and never have to breathe again.

“Then get over here.”  She turned around, taking in her surroundings and grinning again as I made it to where she stood.  Her eyes swept over everything, it all in as if she were only allowed a moment to look before she went blind.

I was going blind.

So blind that I almost tipped over as I found myself staring so intently I lost my footing.

I stumbled and fell knees-first in the sand, head low in dazed embarrassment and Bian’s laughter ringing in my ears clear as day.

“Get up, you punk; we’re going swimming.”

“I-I-I know,” I whispered, taking a second to breathe in and out and in and out and-

“Then get up and swim.”

“Give me a minute; I have to get ready.”  I slowly inched my shirt up, all the while trying to mask my beating heart and throbbing pulse.  Not only that, but the thought of being shirtless in front of Bian sent uncomfortable shivers streaming over my head, reminding me that I wasn’t muscular and I only just passed as skinny.

I looked a whole lot less impressive when out of my business shirts and fancy pants.

And she was gorgeous.

Do the math.

“I’m already waist-deep,” she called, and I could tell by her wavering voice that she’d waded in, the water probably making her skin sparkle like- “Mr. Kim, your assignment tonight is to hurry up and get your out here with me.”

“I’m trying to-t-t-t-o-to-to-to-t-t-t…”  I sputtered out like a motorboat as I spun around to see none other than her bikini lying on the sand, useless, and her form out amongst the cresting white-tops.

.

Everything below the waist was submerged in water, and she was facing away so that I could only see her , the sight enough to bend a little bit more of me over the edge.  The desirous bit inside my heart that definitely bordered on lust.

Bian laughed, the motion tipping her head back and the tips of her hair into the water, her nose a tiny, miniscule bump against the choppy waves.  “Join me,” she giggled, still not facing me head-on, the responsible side of her leaving for a childishly inappropriate side that I liked just as much, for different reasons.

“I really shouldn’t,” I called back, my voice catching and my throat unbelievably dry.  “I don’t think you should be out there like that.”

“No lifeguard, no rules,” she sang back, twirling with arms around her chest, leaving ripples flowing around her in all directions.  In a mind-numbing moment, I forgot what self-control was and stripped down to my trunks, also forgetting what self-consciousness was.

But then the wind stung me and I couldn’t continue, and seeing her sink into the ocean farther, up to her neck so she could look at me, scared me into keeping my suit on.

“I won’t watch,” she promised light-heartedly, as if I was trying to sing in public for the first time.

“I-I don’t think-”

“Don’t think, Joon,” she urged, fanning her hair out around her childishly and with ease as she turned her back to me.  “Act without thinking for tonight.”  She paused and let the water tug her this way and that, and I felt a little more of my resolve crumble.  “Come on,” Bian begged, using her most innocently y tone to catch me unawares, “I’m cold.”  The ocean seemed to have gotten caught up in her voice, because when she spoke I felt a part of me get swept away.  “Warm me up.”

That did it, and I let my trunks fall into the sand, almost flinching as I realized how exposed I was.  I quickly waded in, submerging myself until just my torso was visible, walking out farther to approach her.

Despite the situation, and our attire (or lack thereof), all I could think about as I came closer was how elegantly the dim moon glinted off her shoulders and her skin, and how stunning the stars looked when braided into her hair.

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

Before Namjoon could catch up with me, I pushed my way through the oppressing waves and kept at least five feet of empty expanse between us.  When I caught sight of his face, he looked not only subtly betrayed, but confusedly mislead.

“Did I come out here just to chase you?” he asked, and I saw how the cold sent gooseflesh up and down his arms.

“No,” I replied, still moving farther out until I no longer had to crouch to keep my chest covered.  Flat-footed and up to my collarbone in the sea, I backpedaled farther so that I could watch him as he continued out too.  “You came to be with me.”

“How can I do that from here?” he asked, and though he sounded annoyed, I could see the amusement in his face and eyes and twitching smile, coupled by the apprehension in his brow.

“You just can,” I said, and he chuckled despite his obvious discomfort.  “Come closer.”

“You’re not letting me.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Bian, wait; Bian-” he suddenly started, but I couldn’t hear the rest as the ground beneath my feet fell away and my head was swept below the surface.

I gurgled out a strangled cry as my heart dropped to my toes and stopped all at the same time, unable to see even an inch in front of me.

Then arms were under my armpits and I could breathe again and I saw the flickering light of the moon shining above Namjoon’s head, casting shadows on his perfect features.

“Bian!” he exclaimed, pulling me to where the bottom could be touched and never tugging me a centimeter closer than what he needed to.  His eyes never left mine and even as we stood in waist-high water, he never looked down.  Not once.

I sputtered and coughed to the side, one of his hands on my upper back and trying to rub away the horror that stung me sharply.

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes wide and scared and mouth hanging open as I regained the ability to breathe.  “I saw the drop-off buoy just as you came to it, and I tried to tell you…”  He trailed off and every emotion within me turned to adoration and affection and warmth, all for him.  As I pushed away the thought of whatever had just happened, he searched my face for something.  For an answer.

And as he tried to ask again, tried to explain himself again, I gave him something.

I gave him more than an answer.

I kissed him, hard and passionate and full of something other than saltwater.  He balked and pulled away, flustered and tripping over words he couldn’t get out as I kissed him again.

Namjoon wouldn’t touch me, couldn’t bring himself to kiss back until I pressed close, pulling our chests together and poking my tongue past his lips.  It was only when I showed him how earnestly I wanted him that he let his arms circle my waist and hips, fingers gripping slick skin and somehow finding purchase in the turbulent waves.

His lips crushed mine, one of my arms hugging his shoulders tight and the other hand gripping fistfuls of hair roughly, needing him nearer than was possible.

And we pushed so close together than the ground gave out from beneath us again, and we fell on the sand, intertwined and tangled and tangling further and faster and without any sign of stopping.

And perhaps I had loved him for longer, much longer than I’d acknowledge, but that was the moment I realized it.

That was the pivotal moment in my life when I realized I was so deep in love with Kim Namjoon, that I was past the point of return, and there was no turning back; but I was perfectly okay with that.

Because in between his kisses and his lips and his hands and his arms, amongst the words barely managed by his collapsing lungs, deep inside the hums of pleasure that ricocheted throughout my very bones, I could feel that he felt the same way.

And that was all I’d ever wanted from him.

---

~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~

"Sweetie!" she called from the bathroom, and I looked up from the book I was reading on the bed to see her head peeking out the door.  "I forgot a towel."

"Well, that's alright," I said, clearly smiling and enjoying the situation.  But even as she scowled and I told her to walk out and get it herself, I was already getting up to fetch one.  "Here," I huffed, handing her what she wanted, tempted to pull her from the bathroom and wrap the towel around her myself, stopping only because I wanted to continue reading.

"Thanks."

"Of course."

Two years had passed since the last time we did anything legally irresponsible, both of us finding contentment in what we'd done and never really wanting to risk anymore of ourselves for an illegal thrill.  We thrilled ourselves just fine from the comfort of my house, recently her house as well.  Moving in had been big, but our relationship was clearly stable enough to warrant forward momentum.

I'd occasionally thought of marraige, never daring to bring up the topic, primarily because I constantly tried to keep in mind that she was only twenty.  I was twenty-four, and nearing the part of my life that she hadn't yet begun to think about.  A family could come a little later, though, and whenever she kissed me, hugged me, or even said my name in a conversation, I was reminded that I didn't really need anything other than her to feel fulfilled.

Her and my job, which was going strong and mainly unaffected about our now very public relationship, which both parents and friends were aware of at this point.  No one had taken the liberty to contact the school district, and I remained a rising star amongst the foregin language department.

Truly nothing could compare to the looks of my kids when I told them how old I was, or how many questions they had when they realized I spoke the language inside and out.  Teaching was such a passion of mine, and I'd always been exceptional in school, the educational system only seemed fitting for my career choice.

Bian loved the fact that I taught as well, always asking questions and trying to converse in English.  She was so adorable I had to, at times, burst out in chuckling laughs that she couldn't deflate by even kissing me full on the mouth.

There wasn't much I regretted.  Not even being unable to spend my childhood more appropriately.

Because every time Lee Bi An back-hugged me, and every time she butterfly-kissed her way up my neck, and every time she giggled so girly I watched her cheeks redden, it made me realize that with her I was young again.  I was youthful.  I was better than I could ever be without her.

And that made every moment worth it.

Every dissaproving stare disappear.

Every kiss become the best.

Every time I saw a bar, or cinema, or graffiti, or ocean become a million times more enjoyable than they would've been without.

And all because I was willing to drive forty-five minutes for my first drink at a bar that was supposed to be fabulous.

Well, what I found there had been beyond fabulous.

It was flawless.

 

 

---

It's over and done with, and if you've lasted this long, I commend you.  Good job.  Thanks!  You all make my life that much better!  :D