C - 7
704 Words
You don’t even need to look to know who it is when a pair of arms circles your waist. Your body has become so tuned to his presence that you can practically sense the air shift when he’s near. He plants a soft, lingering kiss on the top of your head before moving to the living room to wait.
It feels strangely natural, as if you’ve been doing this for years. You don’t feel the urge to corner him for a "talk" or demand a label for what happened; somehow, you don't feel like you need it yet. You tell yourself that if he decides to walk away, you’ll accept it—even though you know deep down that the void he’d leave behind would be twice as deep as before.
Dylan finds the change in himself just as jarring. He isn't the type to indulge in morning cuddles or domestic displays of affection, but seeing you standing there in the morning light, he couldn't help but gravitating toward your warmth. He isn't sure how to address what’s between you, especially since you aren't asking for anything.
In fact, he felt a sharp pang of irritation this morning when he woke up to an empty bed, at least until he realized you hadn't left the house. His only real fear is that you might want nothing more to do with him now that the night is over. He wouldn't force you, of course, but he knows one thing for certain: he isn’t going to let you go without a fight.
"Eat your food now—it’ll be gone the second Martin gets down here."
Dylan looks up from his phone as you stop in front of him. You give his head a playful pat, signaling that the "storm" is approaching, then head back to the kitchen to finish setting the table. A moment later, a loud thud echoes from the living room, followed by Dylan’s pained yelp.
"What the hec—! Ugh! Okay, okay, I’m sorry!" Dylan shouts as Martin continues his lighthearted assault. You can’t help but let out a laugh from the kitchen. Dylan catches your eye and glares at you, prompting you to playfully "lock" your lips and throw away the imaginary key.
"And you," Martin says, pointing a finger at you after landing one last hit on Dylan, "don't get too close to this asshole."
"A little too late for that!" Dylan mocks, quickly ducking behind you and using your shoulders as a barrier.
You look back at him, unimpressed. "Are you seriously using me as a human shield?"
He just nods shamelessly.
"See?" Martin scoffs, throwing his hands up. "Good for nothing!"
You rub your forehead, already exhausted by the noise, but then you remember the real challenge hasn't even arrived yet. Speak of the devil—Sunny and Sally appear at the table, their expressions identical. They stare intensely at Dylan, who is still clinging to your clothes like a stubborn kid. You know that 'You better have a very good explanation for this' look better than anyone. You let out a long sigh and mouth a single word to them: "Later."
You almost survived the morning. You were so close to the finish line until Dylan decided to leave you in a situation that made you silently vow to kill him later. He was halfway out the door when he decided it was the perfect time to lean in and catch your lips in a quick, firm peck right in front of everyone. Your eyes widened in shock, and you swung a hand to swat at him, but he ducked with a triumphant laugh and bolted. He knew exactly what he was doing—there was no way he was letting you act like nothing had happened.
"Asshole!" you hissed at the empty doorway.
"Okay, spill," Sunny demanded immediately.
"Yeah, every single detail," Sally added, leaning in.
"Ew, keep the intimate details to yourself. I don’t want to know," Martin interjected, making a dramatic gagging sound. You just glared at him, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.
- Writer
