Dressing up for the club was much harder than I thought. Maybe it was my brain punching in these dates as some of the last bits of memories I could have with the man I was in love with, but everytime he showed a bit of skin, I found myself covering the distance, running my hands over it, letting my lips savor his taste.
He didn't mind, and even though deep inside, I felt empty, sad, almost ripped apart, I was grateful that it didn't spring up on me. I was grateful I found out. I was grateful we could try to find a cure together.
I finally left him alone long enough to finally wear the black shirt I had helped him pick out, and he gratefully smiled as he raked his fingers through his hair.
"Iris?"
I looked up to him, just as he pulled me in for a long kiss, his hand holding both of mine
