Fixing Her

Part VIII

"Armed I am with love. Disarmed I am."― Manuel Alegre

Part VIII

To: Jo
From: Your Damian

I think I like you too x

The postcard read. Damian loved handwritten letters. It was both weird and... interesting.  When I had asked him about the postcard he had sent the past week, his humble response had been, "There's just something about sitting down, getting a pen and putting words on paper for someone. Something I prefer over the highly overrated electronic texts." I hadn't thought he was being serious, but when I got my second postcard, I figured there was no joking with him. He had promised that I would be getting tons more postcards from him and I was not complaining. 

There was a lot about him that I dearly liked. He had an insane affection for cats, his library almost matched mine, he was a huge fan of dystopia, he listened exclusively to heavy metal and punk rock, he was intolerant of cheese which baffled me somehow because I could never live in any planet without cheese, he couldn't go to bed without a cup of green tea, and some of the funny things he was embarrassed to share with me. He was almost like a dream or even better. I had spent the entire night at his place, falling asleep on his sofa whilst watching some boring film he had picked out.

And much to my surprise I woke up on his bed. He slept on the couch, which left me feeling a little bad for stealing his bed.

He had driven me home the following morning because he had to hurry to work. It was sad really, having to say goodbye to him, even if it was just for a while. He was the kind of person I wanted to hang out with all the time.

When he kissed me goodbye and told me he'd be seeing me later, the last thing I expected was him sending me a postcard midday, but he did and I loved it. I appreciated that he was putting in the effort, that I was not the only one trying- though marginally- to make whatever we had going work.

Later on, when he came to pick me up, yet again he looked tired. The consensus had been that we'd be going out tonight but seeing him like that, I called it off. There was nothing terrible about spending time with him at his place anyways- particularly because we had given the place a thorough clean the previous night.

As we sat on the floor of his living room, wrapped in each other's arms and relentlessly touching and feeling each other in silence, he surprised me by breaking the quiet atmosphere.

"So, how did you end up majoring in Applied Maths?" The question was followed by a low chuckle.

"What's so funny?" I punched him playfully.

"You studying to become a Mathematician."

"What's so funny about that?"

"I don't know, it's just is." He couldn't stop snickering.

"Damian." I glared at him, trying to get him to take me serious for once.

He put on his straight face, "It's just...I've never dated a nerd before." The statement left me in a stupor for a second; he actually called me a nerd again.

"Ain't you the mean one..."I pouted at him, which promptly induced a peck from him.

"Don't get me wrong, I love it. It's... refreshing." He was looking me in the eyes, but hearing his words; I couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. So I was like an experimental drug to him, nothing more than another chick to pass time with. 

Sensing my discomfort, he added, "Look, I like you. I really do. And I think you're kinda...cool. It's just..." He seemed uneasy.

"What?" I entwined our fingers, signalling for him to trust me with whatever he wanted to say to me.