sjsprWriting

They had nothing to say to each other, at least not anymore. Everything that needed to be said had been said. The furry on his face showed it all. The satisfaction on hers completed it. You couldn’t have called it love from the start. The stolen glances and shy brushes meant almost nothing compared to this. The way she could get him so fired up over one tiny thing she said. The tinted red skin on his cheeks surpassed even the most vibrant of roses. His wild, dark hair strewn across his face from the wind at the beach today made her want to reach across the table and ruffle his hair. He pouted, like a little boy, and that almost made her giggle. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms... and he knew it.

He played the game too. He glared at her mischievously, taking in the smirk that danced on her lips. It wasn’t like normal relationships. Nobody met nobody’s parents and they couldn’t talk as much as they wanted to, but for some reason, it worked. He took his arms of the edge of the table and walked around it. The corners of his lips turned up and she got up to meet him face to face. “I’m kind of sorry,” she stated, less genuine than the norm. He retaliated “I know,” and that was that. She brushed his rogue locks to the side and he reached down to take her other hand and intertwine with his. Lips locked, and maybe it wasn’t the healthiest of romances, but it was theirs, and it was ok.