Tommy
I woke up with her in my arms, the early evening light slanting through the curtains and catching the soft lines of her face. She smelled like sleep and warmth, and my chest tightened with the need to hold onto her, to keep her close, to make sure she knew, without words, how much she meant to me.
I traced the curve of her body with my thumb, memorising her, savouring the quiet intimacy. The world outside didn't exist; there was only the rhythm of her breathing against mine, the soft weight of her hand on my chest, the steady thrum of her heartbeat. I wanted to tell her everything, but words felt clumsy and inadequate. Instead, I let my lips brush the top of her head, then her temple, then her cheek, each kiss a vow.
The ache inside me grew, a mix of longing and love, a pull that went deeper than desire. I wanted to share every piece of myself with her, to be trusted with hers in return. I held her tighter, feeling her respond with the soft press of her body against mine, the subtle sighs that told me she understood.
I wanted to let go completely once again, to let our bodies speak what our hearts had been saying for months. But I stayed in the moment, savouring the closeness, letting every brush of skin, every heartbeat, every shiver of warmth carry the depth of what I felt for her.
I told her I loved her, right there, right now, and that I'd love her, every moment of every day, and would be with her in the way we both dreamed. Finally being able to hold her, touch her, and share everything with her; it was intoxicating, overwhelming, and yet as beautiful as I imagined.
I buried my face in her hair and whispered, barely audible, "You're perfect," and meant it in every way. She pressed closer in response, and I knew she felt it too — the unspoken promise that whatever we faced, we would face it together.
The rain had eased, but the air still smelt damp and heavy. I walked Emma home through the glistening streets, dragging my feet as every step brought me closer to the end of our night. Her hand fit perfectly in mine, warm and small, and I wished the night would never end.
When we reached her door, neither of us moved. The street light cast a soft glow over her face, catching the drops still clinging to her hair, making her look almost otherworldly. I lifted a hand and brushed them away, but my fingers lingered on her cheek longer than they needed to.
"I hate this part," I admitted, my voice rougher than I intended.
Her eyes softened, filling with the same ache that sat heavy in my chest.
"Me too," she whispered. "Every time we say goodbye… it feels harder."
I pulled her against me, holding her like I could fuse us together, if I just tried hard enough. Her arms tightened around me in return, clinging, as though she knew I'd be gone too soon. I buried my face in her hair, breathing her in, memorising her warmth, her scent, the rhythm of her heartbeat as it pressed into mine.
"I don't want to go back tomorrow," I whispered into the quiet night. The words cracked something in me as I said them.
Her voice trembled against my chest. "I don't want you to either."
God, I wanted to stay. I wanted to step inside with her, sit with her until the sun rose, never let the night end. But I also knew the weight of goodbyes; how they got harder the longer you delayed them.
So I kissed her, soft and lingering, pouring everything I couldn't say into that moment. When I finally pulled back, I rested my forehead against hers.
"Tomorrow," I whispered, my throat tight. "I'll see you tomorrow."
She nodded, but didn't let go until I did. Her touch slipped from mine slowly, reluctantly, and I stepped back into the night with my chest aching, carrying the warmth of her embrace all the way back to the B&B.
The following day, the hours crawled by. I could barely focus, catching glimpses of the street through the window, wondering if she was smiling, laughing, or even thinking about me. Every tick of the clock was a reminder that time was slipping away.
Finally, it was time to meet her after work. She emerged holding a small paper bag. She handed it to me with a shy smile that made my chest ache.
"I wanted you to have it before you go," she said softly. "Just… something to remember me by. Something small."
I took it gently, like it was the most fragile, precious thing in the world.
"Emma… you didn't have to," I murmured, my eyes searching hers.
She shrugged, pretending casualness but failing miserably. "I wanted to. You've given me so much, I thought… this is my gift to you."
I opened the bag, and my breath caught. A dark leather bracelet, with a tiny silver compass and our initials intertwined attached to it. My fingers traced the initials, my heart swelling.
"It's perfect," I whispered, emotion thick in my throat.
"You're incredible, you know that?"
She ducked her head, hiding a blush.
"You're the incredible one. I just wanted… you to have a piece of me with you."
I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist, fastening it tight enough to feel secure, a tangible connection between us.
"I'll wear it every day," I promised. "And every time I look at it, I'll think of you."
Her hand brushed mine, hesitant yet certain, and when I looked up our eyes caught and held. I leaned close and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as though I could press the moment into permanence. The world passing by on the street blurred, became nothing. Time itself thinned to a thread. There was only her — her warmth against me, the steadiness I craved — as the tension, the worry, the heartbreak I carried slipped from my shoulders, if only for this fragile breath in time.
We stood there, our fingers laced, the silence heavy and full. It wasn't just quiet; it was a language, a promise, an ache that spoke louder than anything either of us could say aloud. The weight of what we had, of what we swore to each other, bound us tighter than words ever could.
But then she tugged gently, her smile touched with sadness, her eyes glinting with the inevitability neither of us wanted to face.
"Come on," she whispered. "I'll walk you to the station."
"I'll be counting every minute until I can see you again," I said, and the words broke in my chest as soon as they left my lips.
Her laugh came soft, fragile; not light, not carefree, but tinged with the ache of missing me already. It hollowed me out even as I clung to it. And together we walked down the street, our hands still joined, moving slowly toward the station, each step feeling like a step away from everything I wanted to hold onto.