Each Silent Emotion | Complete

6.5. Moon, in Aster's eyes

"She is here."

My eyes fall from Nia as she stepped aside opening the door wide for you, Moon, you looked so breathtaking gorgeous it made me take in a fresh breath of air—quick and hasty because you had just knocked me off my feet.

I had seen the suit you wore before, Nia snapped your black loosely fitting pants along with the white sleeveless shirt and neck tie—you looked so ridiculously cute, you even posed—you didn't look shitty rather just like a meeting was calling you.

What was calling me was your smile, then the creeping colour of your bedroom walls—denim blue—so that was colour your room, I'd to see more of your room but that is just too much to ask—we haven't had our first date yet.

I couldn't linger more on what you looked like before Nia tossed everything you wore aside, it gave a different type of appeal than a cute meeting nerd.

Your pants remained the same, black and loosely fitted. Your shirt wasn't white not sleeveless, it was short sleeved and cropped resting right above where your pants rested on you waist—buttoned almost all the way, a single button left undone as the blush pink shirt hanged off your shoulders.

Blush pink just like my cheeks.

I noticed how your black pants matched my black crop top, the boomer jacket you held in your hand—the hand I wished I was holding—a distinctly brown as that of my skirt.

Nia knew what I wore, you didn't until now of course—she made you unknowingly match with me, I could see it through her grin as my eyes met hers—she wanted me to noticed.

"How does she look?"

"Beautiful."

I turned away from Nia, how did you look? Like you were going to take away my ability to thinking and breathe—your once chipped nail polish gone replace by fresh shade black and dark blue, I'd say you had done them earlier this week after Wednesday but there was a smudge on over your cuticle—you had done that today, I wouldn't doubt it.

Your hair, Moon, your f*****g hair—did you know how much I wanted to fix your hair, run my fingers through it whenever you did—whenever I'd imagine you—how much I wanted to brush that loose strand of hair that kept irritating your eye.

'Perfect.' I thought, my finger brushing your curls—my finger tips resting lightly again your skin, your looked and felt so perfect Moon.

But how did I get here, and how did your hands rest on hips—when did we get so close, did you meet me half way?