"Here's the thing though . . ." He trails off thoughtfully and then he looks straight at me. His eyes are steely and that makes me realise the fundamental difference between the young Ryan and this Ryan. He's hardened now. The sweet boy I once knew...
The words seem to fill the room, lingering in the air. I close my eyes and can see the text imprinted behind my eyelids. I wonder if I even want to hear what's coming next.
"I don't remember ever seeing you before that day," Ryan says softly, as if he's starting a different story. "But that morning, just before school started, I saw you in the school yard. You were in a hurry and you nearly bumped into one of my friends."
He hesitates. Another clap of thunder breaks the silence but I don't even jump this time. I'm too invested in what he's telling me.
"I thought you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen."
Those words coat me in sweetness. I may overdose on sugar. I'm happy to expire that way if this the last sentence I hear.
"Oh," I say faintly.
I'd always felt so uninteresting back then; mousy light brown curls I couldn't control, boring brown eyes, a body I didn't feel comfortable in. When I discovered bleach and hair straighteners (which, back then, took at least half an hour to get hot enough to actually straighten your hair, by the way!), I felt like I'd finally became a bit more attractive. But Ryan had thought I was beautiful from the very first time he saw me. My fractured heart starts to reassemble itself.
"And then - fuck - you walked into that class and sat down in the only spare seat right beside me just a few minutes later. It felt a bit like . . . Well, fate." I chance a glance at him and he's looking down at the ground and yes, of course he's blushing once again.
"You lied about the pen, right" I ask, trying not to smile. " You pretended you forgot it so you had an excuse to talk to me?"
He bites his lip, shame-faced. "Yep," he nods.
I can't help but laugh. "I knew that," I admit.
Sidebar: You weren't expecting that, were you?
"You did?"
"Your bag was on the floor and wide open; I spotted at least four in there at the end of the class."
He laughs too, sitting back up. Right now, he looks so much more vulnerable, and younger, and just so . . . Ryan 1.0 with those dimples and his glasses, and it feels like every part of my body is just aching with longing for him.
"Well, that's embarrassing," he says. "I thought I'd played that so cool as well."
I shrug. "Sorry. If it's any consolation I did believe you until I saw the damning evidence against you."
As he picks up the Tamnavulin to pour us both another glass, I realise our honesty has chipped away at most of the awkwardness between us. "I guess I owe you another truth since it turns out you already knew that one," he says after he's re-capped the bottle.
"Okay. Shoot." I prop myself back up against the bed, pulling my legs towards me.
Ryan's eyes flutter closed for a moment as he thinks. "Do you remember when I gave you that purple pen for Christmas?" He asks finally. It's my turn to nod, warmth flooding my veins as I remember that moment once again.
"I bought it for you, telling myself I was only doing it because I felt like I owed you a pen, but the minute I handed it over to you I realised that it meant far more than that to me. And I just felt like the world's biggest idiot because you were absolutely going to see how I felt about you."
"I liked that you'd bought me the pen. I loved that you were thinking about me."
He screws his face up for a moment. "Really?"
"Of course. And I love that you made me this pillow fort, just in case. A wee 'Here's one I made earlier' number like you're a Blue Peter presenter."
I laugh again. I want to keep laughing. The honesty has went from a terrifying concept to somehow freeing. Together, alone, in the dark, the storm still howling around us, I don't think I've ever felt closer to Ryan Thorne, despite the distance that has stretched out between us over the years.
"Well, in terms of showing someone how you feel, I reckon the pillow fort definitely trumps the pen," he laughs along ruefully. We trail off as we both realise, apparently at the same time, the magnitude of what he's just said.
Tension begins to sizzle in the space surrounding us. The charged air of the storm has made it inside and breeched the perimeter of our pillow fort.
"Shit," he mutters under his breath, leaning back against the bed too. He takes a big swig of whisky, and it occurs to me we're somehow physically much closer together now too. I can feel his breath drifting along the side of my face as he turns to look at me.
"It's your turn, I think," he says quietly. "Tell me another truth?"
I put my glass down and close my eyes. I can't look at him for this one.
"I wanted you to be my first kiss. That night, at David's party. Not Gary. You."
He sighs.
"I wanted you to be my first kiss too. Then I got stupid drunk and decided you weren't coming . . . And that I was probably imagining that you might like me back anyway, so I thought I might as well just get it over with. I was so gutted when I saw you kissing Gary. I think I'd been sitting outside moping for about an hour by the time you found me there." He chokes out a laugh. "How bloody angsty was that?"
Is it wrong I'm that I'm secretly delighting in this information? After all this time it's almost a relief to know for sure that I wasn't actually alone in my feelings back then. That I wasn't completely out of my mind to think Ryan might be attracted to me too.
And it seems that I'm not alone in my feelings now either.
"I've thought about you way more than I should have over the years," I confess, summoning the courage to open my eyes again and meet his gaze. He nods, his own gaze dropping briefly to my mouth.
"Likewise."
"You broke my heart," I whisper. I'm embarrassed to feel a tear trickle down my cheek.
He reaches out and gently smudges the teardrop away with his thumb, vivid blue eyes intent on mine, his face unbearably serious. "You broke mine too," he counters, his voice husky. His hand cups my cheek.
I swallow hard. My head is full of questions but I no longer seem to be able to formulate words to be able to ask them. All I want to do now is let him kiss the heartbreak away.
Electricity sparks like lightning, only somehow more terrifying, as he leans towards me, pressing a kiss lightly against the curve of my throat. I have no control over the low moan that escapes me.
And, the moment his lips brush against my own, I know I'm a goner.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It's happening... it's finally happening!
I hope you are enjoying the story! Please like, comment and share if you do. 💜
