CRAZY FOR YOU BY ADELE

TEN:: when sometimes we fall together.

JULIAN

"Paul and I are back together."

Silence.

Dr. Thorpe's brows raised. I could feel the steady thump in my chest quicken to an excited beat. I could feel it in my fingertips. She smiled a little, not on purpose and it was so small you could've missed it.

It was I felt so calm.

I hadn't felt this calm before.

It wasn't him, yeah communication again... that felt, so, it felt indescribable.

It had been a few months since the semester ended and I was back in Brighton. I lived at home for a few weeks at first, at my dad's house, not in my room but I took the basement. My parents converted it to a guest room somewhere around 9th grade and really it felt like a separate apartment. That helped.

A year before I would've rolled over and stayed at my dad's for months, I would've rotted in the basement.

I would've laid in bed for days in the same clothes until someone came to pull me out. I knew that it could get that bad, sometimes I thought about the second summer with Pablo. I didn't obsess.

I didn't obsess, I gave myself 2 minutes when I fixated on things. I allowed a minute of regret, of shame, love, joy... and I felt everything. And then I held a breath, and stretched.

Sullivan mediated, I wish I could tell you if it were spiritual. I was self-involved that last month of classes, more involved with not flunking, but I wondered if the comedy and type-a surgical sides in him were fighting for dominance.

I didn't really get meditation, I took my meds, I smoked a lot of weed to manage the quiet. Physical stimulation made up for the emotional void. We meditated, often.

Wren joined us, other times and we sat.

Sullivan Clemmons was nice. He was nicer than most but he hid it behind a suave, somewhat snarky, albeit annoying, persona... that only showed once we'd been on a few dates. He was competitive, I was too, I liked that, didn't really love the ego. And it was casual.

It was mutual and casual and it sunk into that empty, covered it a little when it felt like I just didn't... have anything.

I was empty a lot of that month, I went with the motions, I finished the semester with mostly Ds, I texted my dad back in the mornings and Sullivan and I would fall in bed once or twice a week.

By the time I left, he'd put in an application for transfer to UCSB's med program. Realistically, it was the last time we'd ever speak.

My dad picked me up from the airport.

Brighton was shocking. It was familiar, like visiting an old family member. I wasn't ready, I knew that but coming home, still felt relieving.

This time I spent my days at Ben's apartment or Andy's dorm... I spent them in parks and on trails, in the skatepark trying to kick flip. I busied myself, trying to forget how much I missed soccer.

I think I'd always miss it.

The company was nice.

It felt like being the omniscient narrator in some Nicholas Sparks novel. Disassociating got a bad rep truly, cause life was so remarkably entertaining in 2D. Sometimes it was like reality tv, Johnny and Andy were madly in love but neither one of them really knew it.

... Ben needed a roommate near campus, he started in the Fall at UofM and it kind of all fit together.

"So, I'm going back to Michigan."

It was a short conversation, one had between classes. Ben had FaceTimed me to for some stats on Cristiano Ronaldo... apparently playing soccer made me the perfect consultant. Why he couldn't just look it up was beyond me but I did miss his voice.

And his infectious energy. I could already feel my mood rising and with good timing too.

I was on the way to the library, lugging a backpack full of extra credit and makeup assignments, Wren in tow. He didn't say much, just waved to Ben and put his AirPods back in.

Making friends with Wren had to have been the smartest thing I'd ever done. He was so cool when you offered some security, there was an extra level of calm that surfaced.

Our sex life had died out once I started divulging secrets... apparently snotty apologies weren't so good for the libido.

But he was a good friend, and a really good study-partner.

I zeroed back in on my phone conversation when Ben laughed. "Me too." He said it so nonchalantly I almost didn't see the issue.

"What?"

My confusion seemed valid, he sounded annoyed, it faint but still there. "Since I dislocated my knee in the 7th grade, I've been discharged from basic training."

"That's bullshit."

"Yeeeeah." He offered a shrug, it grainy. "It was fine at first but, I fell two-stories rappelling last week and this week, I could barely finish PT so when they sent me to med, the doctor determined that my knee injury is way worse. Oh and my back's fucked up."

"And I might have trouble walking sometime soon so..."

That had to be hard. "I'm sorry."

"It is what it is." He laughed. "Got a fat ass check though and they'll pay me a settlement since I'm crippled. Was wondering if your dad could take a look."

And my headphones had died, why I answered Ben's call when everyone could hear was beyond me but all of a sudden the speaker on my phone felt unbelievably loud.

At a stare, I turned down the volume but not before I heard him backtrack.

"That's-that's probably not okay... to say, huh?"

"I really don't..."

"Anyways," he cut me off. "I know I'm no Andy but... you really like my brother, J, and I got this nice ass townhouse in Naperville, Indiana... it's like a three hour drive from Brighton but the views are insane."

"I was gonna make the basement a little recording studio but I got an extra bedroom and I ain't got no shorty, so..."

"So, I'm the hoes?"

Ben giggled, like straight up... giggled and meant it. "Wassup witchu?"

"Ayo...."

In the midst of all of that, I couldn't keep a straight face. Wren's eyes widened and me cackling in the corridor. He offered some water when it got too funny to breathe and Ben was wiping tears from his eyes.

"You'd be into it, for real?" It was full of a smile, a few leftover laughs. And he sounded... nervous? "Not like you'd be paying a lot of rent, or anything... and it's right on the water."

"Ben." I deadpanned. "You're my best friend." Since when did he ever think otherwise? "Send me pics of the place and I'll send you his work email, yeah?"

"For sure."

The masochist in me routed from the address he sent to Paul's place.

45 minutes.

: : :

Books oddly reminded me of childhood. My dad was extremely Type-A so Sundays after church were spent in libraries. Nothing sated him more than sitting somewhere for five to eight hours, learning/ note-taking, a good book in hand.

We read a lot, I think something that made Jason Douglas such a good person was how obsessive he was about evolving.

My mother and him made less sense the older I got, so oddly, heartbreak helped me understand him. He majored in lit prior to law and always emphasized the importance of mind...

He was adamant on nurturing new ideas, of letting them blossom, he always said imagination was the playground for innovation.

I think it was always kind of hard for me to wrap my mind around my attraction to men because there was never a real click for me.

I could pretend it wasn't a factor because I'd only kissed three people in my life before Paul. But then I'd remember that two of those were boys, maybe that was why it was so much harder to accept that I might've liked girls as well.

But when I was twelve, I had a distinct memory of strawberry lipgloss and the tackiness of it on my lips. That was how I remembered Chloe- the older sister of a kid I met at church camp when I was twelve.

Then my second kiss, it was some random kid on one date at the ice rink... and then... Calum.

Dr. Thorpe had asked me to write the first time we'd met, at least a little since I had an affinity for it.

I tried to write about a specific year with Calum, tried to remember falling for him, I tried thirteen but everything got kinda hazy after 10. I remembered it in colors kind of, instead of actual memories. I remembered life in sequences, in very prevalent, very important moments but never anything else...

I remembered breaking my arm skating down a hill with Calum, I remembered getting caught shoplifting and us being returned to my dad around 9 that night in the back of a police cruiser.

And I remembered the fear on Calum's face, how it contorted every inch.

I didn't remember the good things, and maybe that was the depression. I know the colors thing was Paul but something about 15 felt fire-truck red and 16 was blue. Calum was so obsessively red, I equated him to that color in my journal consistently.

He encompassed my entire fifteenth year.

I didn't like writing about Calum. I didn't like how his story lacked resolution. I followed him on Instagram still, his secrecy did nothing to soothe an ache I think would always be there. I kinda pitied him in that, how he'd never felt extremely comfortable with himself... how he hurt me because he, himself was hurt.

I think most of me forgave him.

Every memory of Pablo was lilac but, also, sometimes orange. Did that make sense? Most times he was so soft, so purple but certain memories felt bright. I wasn't sure if I was doing the colors thing right the more I thought about it.

I tried to write about feelings like colors. He'd explained it to me one day. We'd been painting together, a frequent Sunday activity. Light beamed through large windows, reflecting off paintings in our tiny two-bedroom apartment, a kaleidoscope of colors and Pablo was sentiment.

"You're magenta."

What? It was soft, the words were gentle. "Hm?"

He shrugged, a kiss pressed into my shoulder, through the thin fabric, I could feel him smile. "I used to think you were green and maybe sometimes you are but I think you're magenta too."

He said it so assuredly, like it was common sense and that made me laugh.

"That doesn't even make sense?"

He smiled. I could hear it in his voice even if I couldn't see it. My back was pressed into his chest and we were looking at a blank canvas.

"You're charming." He answered. I wondered which color that was supposed to be associated with. "You're bright but also extremely deep, I think that's why I thought green, like foresty... also your eyes... You have a bubbly kinda thing going on though, you're so, so easy to talk to and you always see the best in people."

"So, that means I'm magenta?"

"That doesn't mean you're magenta." He laughed. "That's just a few reasons why I love you."

And fuck, if that didn't make my heart swim to my throat. He cleared his throat when I said nothing, I wondered if he was still just as nervous as I always was. It was a bashful clearing, the rest of his words were a little quieter and he was kissing my shoulder again. "I don't know... sometimes when I see you, all I see is pink."

"Femininity?"

"Love." He kissed my neck. "Kindness. You're a free spirit and you have such a big heart."

It was silent for a second, we sat still, his arms wrapped around my waist. I went to mixing paints, the way he taught... white, some cerulean, a bit more of that magenta he kept mentioning.

"Close your eyes." Soft. "What color do you think of when you think of me?"

I obliged. "I mean..."

He kissed my shoulder. "Just clear your head, let go of what I look like. When you think of me, when you think of our best moments. Think of the color that's prominent, how do I make you feel?"

When I opened my eyes, the paint was a soft purple... lilac.

In Michigan, post manic-depression... Washentaw let me do a semester online to try and boost my GPA so really, I did most of my homework on the lake, Paul painting beside me.

We'd been trying something new, trying to be friends even though we weren't really set up that way. Friends who kissed, that was something that felt almost natural, almost like the first time.

I hadn't told any of my friends yet. I didn't tell any of my friends because I didn't think I needed to. It was barely a month of steady communication, it wasn't something to write home about yet.

Then, why was I telling my therapist?

"You're back together?"

I mean, we hadn't talked about it.

We shouldn't have to, or at least that's what I told myself. We had been whatever we were for so long that we shouldn't have had to talk about it because it felt right. It felt natural and Paul didn't really want to talk about anything too much these days. "Well, I mean, yeah. Sorta."

Miranda Thorpe nodded, no judgement in her tone but a raised brow. "So, you're sleeping together." It hung in the air. It was heavy, and almost condescending even without her judgement.

We sat in silence for a second and I wondered if maybe I was enabling him, he said he had an issue with sex before, it was replaced with alcohol, it was intensified by it as well. I knew he was drinking and I knew he didn't want me to know.

I picked at my jeans, saying it out loud felt like a mistake. It felt like speaking about it would make it go away, like he would realize how big of a mistake I was and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

That's the depression talking.

"No."

We weren't sleeping together, we hadn't even gotten close. "We-we're seeing each other. We've been... hiking—" —and having dinner and-andwe've been talking. A lot. "I don't know... He says we're friends. Friends don't feel this heavy."

"How does that fit into your recovery?"

"It has nothing to do with my "recovery"."

And it didn't. Paul and I could exist together in the world without it being so heavy. My depression didn't rule me anymore. "I've recovered. I feel like me again."

"You said that last time, that mindset made you think that you were okay enough to go off your meds. You are still in recovery, Julian, you are back in Brighton because you needed a break."

"It's not a bad thing to admit that you're not fully healed." "It's a smart thing, it shows an actual, nuanced understanding of your illness, and that's how you recover."

"Not to be cruel, but I am not worried about him, respectfully."

It was bold, and it was aggressive and it was exactly why Miranda Thorpe had gotten through to me when no one else could.

She shrugged, and straightened out the sleeves on her magenta sweater, "It's nice that you are, admirable really... but we don't meet weekly because Paulo is depressed and needs to talk."

Paulo.

"I know that, Mandy." It was funny, just like she intended. She always did have a knack for comedic timing.

"So start from the beginning." She leant in, legs crossed and stuffed in her chair, she was so tiny she fit without a struggle. Dr. Thorpe placed her binder on the side table. Completely focused and without note-taking, she asked: "How did we get here?"

PAUL

Freckles dusted gently over a flushed face. His nose bridge was tanned a little bronzer from the sun, a glow that reminded me of the beach. He was biting his bottom lip and staring down at a screen, hyper-focused on some podcast.

A year prior, I thought it was a phase, how he would listen to podcasts in the shower, while cooking, studying...  he could listen to a podcast entirely focused on podcasts if people made those.

He was more awake, more aware... he seemed so different than just a few months ago. The podcast was a nice reminder that no matter how he changed, he was still... there.

I could wait for the temperature to drop, for leaves to fall and the cold to engulf us, wait to see that tiny, sharp nose blush a bright pink... or I could brush my fingers over the peak, gently. We could lock eyes for a moment, it full and promising and spilling over.

I could hold him with me in that moment.

But he was so oblivious to how... because I was sitting so close to him, the point of him coming here was moot. Paint brushes were scattered, and he'd just walked in like he owned the place, greeting me with a soft smile and lunch.

He hugged me so briefly, almost awkwardly and explained that Isaiah dm'd him, said that I needed to talk through my... work with someone.

I was only thankful that he'd go through the trouble of messaging my ex with only the intent of helping me... Isaiah kept out drama out of it.

Julian had been home for around a week already, the semester coming to an end for him and he rarely came back for breaks the last year. I didn't expect it.

I didn't expect him to just show up like this, without expectations or plans but he simply sat beside me, offering some granola, while I tried to get my heart rate down. He'd asked some questions about the piece, ones that I couldn't answer for fear of cardiac arrest.

Tucking his bag behind his head, he turned his phone landscape and sat there, watching six men crowd around a table and talk sports, like nothing new.

"What?" It was full, coughed out over a light chuckle when he tucked his left headphone behind his ear only slightly. I guess I'd been staring at him a little too long without context or thought. But fuck, was it hard to sit here and pretend like everything I wanted wasn't right in front of me.

"Nothing."

I must've answered too quickly because he was chuckling softly.

"You're staring at me."

"So what?" It was teasing, even if he would deny that it was. He bit his lip after, as if he wasn't trying to do what he had done but my stomach was doing flips. The minute I heard his voice, not gurgled by the phone, in person... my skin was still buzzing.

My palms were sweating and he was looking at me.

There was a little unwavering eye contact, only slightly. Julian stared at me for a second before offering another gentle smile, and then he looked back down at his show, unphased by something so small that still left me breathless.

God, was I pathetic.

He was smiling to himself when I looked back over at him.

And he didn't offer anything else, just a "Tell me about the piece."

No. "There's nothing to tell."

"Exactly." Mossy greens peered up, his brows raised. "So stop staring at me and work."

How on earth was I supposed to do that?

I was trying not to smile too much, trying not to stare... still tipsy off the sangria I'd settled for this morning, at a bar that only served brunch. I was trying to draft concepts... and it was making me bold.

"You look good." I tried not to tell him I loved him but that was all the wine on my tongue would allow. I said nothing more.

"I know." He brushed off. "Paint."

: : :

Jules and I sat in comfortable silence for a few hours. I'd gotten through two playlists by the time we spoke again and it was only Julian asking if I was hungry.

He went to grab takeout from some Japanese restaurant around the corner and left me to my pieces, headphones on and eyes unfocused.

I fell kinda into it, mind drifting along a chord progression I fell in love with and my hand moved with the sound.

I let my brush do what it wanted for a while, the makings of a third piece that I'd been procrastinating for weeks on starting.

Maybe the timing of my sudden artistic inspiration was a little sketch. I didn't want to think about it because I didn't know what to say to him.

I'd never really felt that before, that loss for words... but he'd single-handedly brought back my creative flow.

"How have you been?" That was all I had, all I really cared to know.

"Better."

I nodded, his tone seemed like he didn't wanna talk about it. Instead, he leant over, one hand occupied with chopsticks and some shrimp shumai. The other hand was gesturing over a gestural part of the piece, one that hadn't gotten far enough to be decipherable.

"What's happening here?" He asked, plopping the dumpling in his mouth and just that question lit a fire in my stomach.

"I think I-I wanna layer more. Maybe some unconventional materials." I shrugged, trying to keep the flush from my cheeks at how close he was now. "Not so sure if I wanna desecrate the American flag just yet but..."

And he was nodding, but it was weak, and so were his eyes. His energy had depleted significantly.

"You okay?" I asked, it was met with a forced smile. "Where are you?"

"Here." He answered, and his eyes lit up just a bit.

He was bashful then, it was in the way he stared down at his plate... he frowned a little. "Um... I was feeling super anxious this morning s-so I took another dose of Propranolol and... now I don't really feel anything."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He forced a laugh, I could see him attempting a reaction. "But, it's okay. I- uh- I'm keeping busy. Being here helps, I feel grounded."

"Wanna talk about that?"

"I have a session tomorrow." It was soft, kind, more like himself.

"Are you- how are you other than that, you know with taking them and..."

The shrug said nothing... he must've realized that after a few moments cause he tried to explain. "Feeling numb is better than feeling like my skin is on fire."

It was paired with a slight look of relief. I wondered the severity of his words but he was looking into my eyes now and I could see was so much calm. "I'm good, Paul."

"Okay."

"Okay." A small smile. "Now that you've been working for a few hours...Tell me about your piece."

"So,"

I told him the story of how Abuelo used to fix cars in Puebla and how that's where he met Abuelita. In her teens, she danced for a company that held concertos for high profiles, sometimes ambassadors. Her bus got a flat on the way to a performance and he was working out of the shop they brought it to.

"Fell in love the moment he saw her." And it was the sweetest story I'd ever known. I modeled my vision of love after it, surely.

"I was thinking of using car parts in the exhibit, something to represent travel, a-and love, I don't know. Part of being an artist is having to make up explanations  to justify choices in your piece or your pieces mean nothing."

Julian shook his head, a fond smile in his eyes. "It means something, your lineage is partially rooted in an old car shop, that's culture."

"I wish this exhibit felt as big as it did a year ago, you know?" And it was so freeing to talk to someone who understood me again. Isaiah would've called it ambitious, would've complimented the technical skill, that wasn't what I needed.

I knew I was technically gifted. I knew I had skill. This was a time where that wasn't the main concern.  It was big league things, at least that's what Jules would've called it. Sometimes the competition was more enticing to him than the actual game.

"Like, now it's just stressful. I hate creating for competition, it feels like that."

I knew he would say something coach-y like I was my biggest competition or whatever so I back-tracked. "I mean, I know it's not, I know the work I'm creating isn't being judged against Benny Marin's work, it's supposed to exist as a separate entity. I'm showing what I can do."

"I just can't help but think about how much I'm putting into it, materials, just steady investment and no guarantee that they'll sell for even half the cost."

He shook his head.

"You can't think about that now. You don't create to sell, you create cause you love it."

That was... ideal. You just couldn't pay bills with passion, the studio space and rental were feeling a lot more expensive these days. "I just-I don't wanna work for the rest of my life."

"Me neither."

I didn't know that would send him off on a tangent. "Fuck that whole living for work thing," it was a laugh, laced with so much conviction. Julian was pretty all or nothing in his approach to beliefs. "The system overvaluing the way we contribute to capitalism instead of our individual contributions to society? That fucking sucks."

"... What." It was more agreement than anything.

"...Will's like this crazy socialist and I think it's rubbing off on me."

That was...

... hot.

I was struggling to explain my lack of inspiration to a man that seemed so full of it.

"My Abuelita, she worked her ass off, since she was 14. She only stopped working cause of cancer, my mom and my dad they can't afford to retire." And that was what pushed me these days, the idea that I could be the first gen who helped my parents retire early. "I stopped making videos and I- I work at a fucking coffee shop, barely making rent, everything I have goes to this fucking showcase and I haven't sent anything home in..."

"You literally sent money to your parents every week when we were together, Pablo."

"You don't get it."

"I do."

He continued at the deadpan I offered. "M-my dad has given me more than I could ever thank him for, you know?" He shrugged. "At some point, our gratitude is redundant, they know."

"You can't measure your success like this, you know? You're extremely successful."

"You're- you're a fantastic artist, you are a good person, you-you value life, you give back. Everything that you earn, you give back tenfold."

"You can't spend your life... in constant debt and guilt and... stress." He was pointing chopsticks at me before picking a piece of nigiri off my plate. "At some point, your Abuelita would tell you to get a life, no?"

There was a light in his eyes again and really that was all I could think about. He was talking but it was so uninteresting... I just wanted to relax, to feel his calm for once.

I could feel my mouth drop open at the joke and he bit his tongue teasingly. I feigned offense.

I didn't think, maybe it was the way he was looking at me, a smarter man would say it was the wine.

He was smart though, that was always something that always enticed me about him. He knew what to say on the spot, he was witty and it always kept me on my toes.

I could feel his lips on mine before it registered.

His chopsticks had dropped into my lap, his hands in my hair in seconds.

I knew I smelled of Merlot and he was just too polite to mention before. I knew the painting was blurry for more than just emotion and I'm sure he knew as well.

Julian's lips were soft though. His hands were too, welcoming, and warm. He had one under my chin, a ringed thumb caressing my cheekbone. The cool metal an inviting pairing when he went to speak.

He pushed his thumb to my chin, biting his bottom lip, and there was a look in his eyes that left me breathless.

He was looking at my lips, still, his voice was raspy,  "B-Baby."

It lacked conviction, it sounded so half-hearted. Jules would've given me more objection if needed. His free hand was stroking my lower back, I offered a ghost of a kiss on his lips.

Julian moaned, he was always so sparing with those. "Fuck."

It was pleading, I knew it would be.

I couldn't focus on anything but the sheer effort it was taking to keep my hands to myself. I kissed him and I felt... light.

My head lolled with his, a little tongue dipped past plump lips for balance. I knew he could taste the wine stain on my tongue.

He pulled away too quickly.

"Please." It was much weaker than I'd intended.

"You've been drinking, babe." He was still smiling, hands on my wrists; Julian's blush was so prominent then. He bit his bottom lip, so much love in his eyes I almost drowned.

"I know what I'm doing."

But he was still looking at me like that. My hand found it's way to his inner thigh.

"I'm not, I'm not drunk if that's what you're-"

"I know. I know it's a buzz," he smiled. I could feel his hands massaging my scalp then, calming. He placed a kiss on my forehead, it lingered. "It's just, it's wine.. in a wine mom ass mug, it's kinda..."

It was meant to lighten the mood but I couldn't think when he touched me so sentimentally.

"You don't know how bad I want you right now."

The way he looked.

His hair was long, curling over his shoulders nearly, a honey blonde, almost more strawberry than ever. I wondered if it was all the sun that made him look more ginger.

"I know what I'm asking for, Angel." I offered. "I consent."

Big, blue-green eyes widened even further.

I watched as he bit his lips, red and plump and kiss-bitten. Electricity was in my spine, my skin tingled where he touched and I hadn't been held like this in so long.

Julian had spread me over the floor cushions. He was holding me so tightly, embracing my entire frame. Julian's chest was broader, his arms were warm and they were strong. My legs were haphazardly thrown around him, tugging him in for more, rutting our crotches together in some helpless display of need.

I was greedy.

He was giving me just enough to sate me, lent over me, body molding to mind— my hands in his hair.

And on his ass, and up his shirt. His skin was warm to the touch. The more I pulled him to me, the more I wanted.  I didn't realize when I was trying to unbutton his jeans, speeding things up a bit.

He was kissing me, he was licking into my mouth, tongue brushing against mine so sensually. Julian was stroking my jaw, cradling it with one hand, thumb brushing over my earlobe.

I couldn't breathe.

He braced his other hand on the counter, and held me by the waist, my body pulled up into his. I felt small.

I hadn't felt so safe in so long.

"I crave you."  I couldn't help it, it tumbled out my mouth before I could think.

"I haven't stopped thinking about this moment." I couldn't breathe.  "I dream of you."

He kept quiet, just nuzzled his nose into my neck, breathing in softly. He planted a small kiss there, that same spot he always did.

"Tu es mi vida, mi amor."

I was drunk off the way his fingertips brushed against my waist, and I must've said too much because he was backing up a bit. I reached for his hips to keep him close. In seconds, my fingers were fumbling with the top button on his shirt.

"You're so beautiful, love." I offered, the look in his eyes indiscernible. I hoped he could feel that shortness of breath as well, that he loved me this way. "So, so beautiful."

I was kissing him again, it gentler... grazing my teeth over his bottom lip, I tugged it into my mouth. Caressing his tongue with mine wasn't enough, I was ripping his shirt off, unbuttoning it so clumsily, and tucking it off his shoulders to kiss more skin.

"Eres dueno di mi corazon." Fuck, he was so sexy. I stared down a broad chest and tight abdomen. He had a semicolon tattooed on his side, on his ribcage. My heart caught in my throat and I was crying before I could stop.

I choked back tears, Julian's eyes wider and he was brushing them away in seconds. "I-I-I need you. I can't breathe, ever. I ca-I can't breathe without you."

That wasn't the right thing to say but suddenly, I'd been so emotional. I was thinking of Pete again.

Breaking his silence, Julian sat up. "Pablo, babe..." he looked so sad then.

"No, no I'm fine."

"Pablo."

"I'm okay, baby... I'm fine." It was full and aching, my heart beat in my chest so rapidly. I needed him, I wasn't sure how. "I just-I love the way that you say my name."

"This isn't good for us."

No. "Angel."

"I want you."

"I want you too." Clearly. "Look how you have me." And that wasn't what he needed to hear, it was obvious in the way he teared up.

"I want all of you. He shrugged. "When you're all here."

"Angel... that's not-"

"You've been drinking."

"I'm not drunk."

But only drunk me would've let that control go so quickly... I'd never been sloppy, I'd never been crying all over him and begging him to fuck me just... so I could feel something?

All I knew was when he was there, that ache subsided... I couldn't be sad when my heart was so full.

He was brushing sweaty curls away from my eyes though, and he was kissing my temple again. "You're not sober. You're not like, blackout drunk, yeah, but you're also not sober. And we both aren't in the right headspace cause... yeah." He was nodding, "because you literally have my entire heart."

"And I love you. And- and you're here with me and this is-this is good. Like it feels good. We don't..."

"W-we exist without sex." He was trying to catch my eyes, soft smile on a flushed face. "I'm here because I wanna be here. I wanna talk to you, can we just... talk?"

Here I was throwing myself all over him, like he hadn't begged me to stop playing with his feelings last time. I was doing that thing again knowing that in the morning, I'd probably push him away. "I'm sorry."

I wasn't good at that. I think I blamed a lot of my inconsistencies and poor choices on drinking but I'd always been impulsive. I knew it wasn't fair to him.

"Don't be."

Julian kisses me then, gently on the cheek. It's soft and it's sweet and it's gone so soon.

JULIAN

"I mean, it's not even like we're together, together. We're together without all of the extra stuff."

"Emotions."

"No."

We had been more emotionally evolved in the past few months than we'd been the last six of our relationship.  "W-we-we're openly communicating our emotions, you know, building a friendship. Sex is the other stuff."

"So, talking." Miranda smiled. "You're sleeping together and you're talking. You're dating."

"Again, we haven't had sex." I wasn't sure why that felt so important to note but it was a big step for me, being the one to set that boundary. We hadn't touched since that night in his studio. "We're just... we're kissing, sometimes."

"I didn't mean sex," and she sounded... optimistic, for once, "honestly just laying with each other can be more intimate. You're having deep conversations. Sitting across from one another in cafes... bookstores, and he's..?"

"Written by a woman."

Miranda laughed.

"That too. But you know what I mean." Her smile turned worried, that little knit in her brow. She tried not to show it, her voice remained the same. "He's your first love, Julian."

"I know. He's also the person who pretty much saved my life dozens of times and I'm still in love with him."

"I'm willing to try again. When we're both ready, I think he is too. It just feels a little extra painful and a little unnecessary to go through that process alone..."

"I know him. I know him better than I know myself and it never feels bad."

I had been happier just talking to Paul, being able to confide in him again. It felt like I had part of my heart back. "It feels uncomfortable, it feels, it feels a little morose, sure but it never feels bad with him."

A/N:

averaging two chapters a year? not very cash money of me.

hope u love the growth.

-ty x

Updated: May 3rd, 2022