Once Upon a You | A Beauty and the Beast Retelling ✔️

20 | Nothing Else Matters (Ross)

Entering her hug was like entering a maelstrom.

A swirling chaos of turbulent forces, she engulfs everything in her path, leaving destruction in her wake. 

She really is a beast, but she's my beast.

Bea is wearing a clunky pair of Dr. Martens, and absolutely nothing else. I stare at her impossibly long legs. They start where the hoodie starts and descend here and there bruised, neverending, into those boots.

I am tongue-tied.

Why does her hair make red seem the brightest color? Why does her ragged breathing through slightly parted lips, her tongue flitting once to moisten them, seem risqué? How can her bare neck, all smooth curves and shadows, suggest that the loose clothes she wears are not there at all? Revealing.

My heart bungee jumps from throat to bowel, and back again. I try to say something. I should tell her how happy I am to see her. That I —

The words jumble in my head when I realize her earlets are gone, and so are her fangs. Her eyes are now human again. I cherish and care about this version of Bea as much as I cherished the beastly one. 

Her hair is still wild, pushed back out of her face, her hoodie loose and disheveled. Her chest heaves, as if she ran to get here. And she probably did.

I always thought she was beautiful, but her beauty now just hits me—like a ton of bricks. It hits me after I resigned myself to never seeing her again in person. To her leaving back to her life, leaving me here in the middle of nowhere.

Yet here she is.

And nothing else matters.

All around us, people flash their phones, whispering Bea's name, filming us to immortalise this peculiar night highlight, creating a buzz of excitement and curiosity.

But I don't care. And she doesn't care either.

In this moment, with Bea smiling at me in that dazzling way of hers, I forget myself. As I twine my hand into her hair, I can't remember why I'd been so sad in the first place. Whatever it was, it can't possibly compare to this. I surge forward, wrapping my hands around her face, pressing my lips against hers. The ambivalence and confusion falls away, replaced by longing, companionship, acceptance. More.

I want more of her.

Kissing Bea is my most favorite thing in the world, I discover. The only reason why I pull away is because I have to breathe. She giggles and presses her forehead against mine, using the moment to catch her own breath. Her fluttery eyelashes meet my cheek in a gentle, playful touch.

I stroke Bea's face, her neck, not quite believing she is actually here in my arms, not even as she hides her head underneath my chin.

Words are very unnecessary, so we don't use them at all.

Oh my god, actually I'm kissing Beatrice Laurent after I thought I'd never see her again. And it's so beyond awesome I think I'm going to explode.

My mind is officially blown.

To bits.

To itty-bitty bits.

Bea is amazing. Kissing is amazing. Kissing Bea is... is... I have no words.

I, Ross Thorne, super-nerd extraordinaire, have no words. This day is full of impossibilities becoming possible.

When she pulls away, I open my eyes. She's heavy-lidded, eyes smoky, lips slightly parted. I want to pull her in for another one. I want to reclaim that euphoric feeling.