Hurricane Boy // h.s au

3.

  "All I longed for is her touch, yet every time she tried to seize my hand, I snatched it away fearing the hell within me would burn her innocent state." — Zosraus

It was easy, sometimes, to get lost in the moment.

Fleeting touches would come as an acrid fire, burning the edges of her soul. Daydreams would dance across her inner eyelids between the hushed whispers grazing the hairs of her ear, and when nightfall would come, she'd imagine he was there, right beside her, his fingertips running across the expanse of her hot skin.

The autumn weeks passed as a slow, slumbering patient breeze. As October neared, T-shirts turned into long sleeves which turned into sweaters. Shorts turned into leggings which turned into jeans, and for Juniper, a simple crush turned into the very thing that would cause hot, anxious tears to run down her tired skin under the pale white moonlight.

He was a blazing fire, a web of movements and words and gazes that would keep her awake well into the later hours of the night. She'd always felt, with everything he told her, with every smile, every gaze, there was a part of him which she had not known.

Even in school, there would be some days a distant look would take root in his eyes. His words that fell away from his lips sounded far away and unreachable. He was sad, she could tell, but she never knew what words to say, never knew how to reach him. There were things they both wanted to say, conversations they needed to exchange. She loved him, and he loved her, but neither of them knew that. And so the hunger and the loneliness and the want continued to swim and ebb and cleave through their veins.

He was holding himself back from her for reasons she had not known, only touching her when absolutely necessary. There were moments she'd accidentally brush against his skin, just as she had the first time they were working on their project, and the same darkness would overtake his gaze as his skin tensed upon the contact. She'd immediately shoot her hand back, as a young child's from a hot stove, feeling the heat of his skin still radiating throughout her palm. He was hot to the touch, but cold to the eye, and even with all of this, she still longed to be closer to him.

She'd pretend, sometimes, that she was his.

But he was so cold, so distant even when he was inches away from her. After the project was finished, he'd avoided her for a while. He'd divert his gaze when their eyes met in the hallway, move away when he was too close to her in class, do anything, at all costs, to increase the distance between them. Each and every time, a sharp, sunken feeling would arise in her lower stomach.

It wasn't until a week afterwards she realized she still had his clothes that he lent her. She'd begun to accept the fact that he probably had no interest in her whatsoever, and she decided that returning his clothes would be closure to this infatuation that she'd held for him for so long. She'd simply planned to show up to his house, give him the clothes, say goodbye, and she'd go home, slip under her covers, and dream of beautiful and wonderful things that had nothing to do with him.

The autumn breeze slightly chilled her bones as she stood outside of those same tall oak doors. She hesitantly pressed her finger against the golden honey glow of the fancy doorbell, already feeling the nerves build up in her system. But she swallowed them down, deciding that she had enough of him making her feel like she was less, like she was a nuisance, and upon him opening the door, she straightened up her back, lifted her chin, and gave him a polite nod of greeting.

"I'm not going to bother you, don't worry," Juniper said, reaching into her bag as she pulled out his clothes.

"I'm just here to give you these."