Uncontrollably Fond

THREE

Lisa doesn't miss it, of course. She may be inaccurate in reading Andrew most times, but she never misses a single twitch from him. She hears the small huff of breath that escapes his lips even as he tries not to laugh, sees the tell-tale crinkle of his brows and the minute wrinkle of his nose.

It's him trying not to laugh at her, yet spectacularly failing to do so, and she gets this brief flashing of deja vu pulling at her thoughts, practically dragging her away kicking and screaming towards the better, light days.

Andrew doesn't miss it either. The nervous bite settles on Lisa's lips right on cue, and he warms at the thought after all this time and at least one thing hasn't changed. Then re-evaluates that thought, tried to determine if it's a good thing or a bad thing, because they're both still attuned to one another responding subconsciously as if they didn't spend months in other orbits, galaxies, nebulas, whatever space word would justify the amount of distance they stayed apart.

That shouldn't even be possible, because people change and feelings change and life goes on, and it seems not only unreasonable, but also highly unfair, that some of the better things he used to love didn't change. It's like expecting him to move on, while having something holding him back, and now he isn't so amused anymore, he's just angry.

Lisa finally manages to find her phone, and jabs at it to shut up.

A few tables over, she hears someone mutter a "Thank God." And out of habit Lisa mumbles a "You're welcome."

Andrew sees her deflate, the relief pouring out of her as she inhales and exhales in slow and steady beats. He doesn't battle with the smile that tugs at his lips, because he's genuinely proud of her. She's learned to take control of her emotions more, and teaching her how is probably his life's greatest achievements.

Lisa, on the other hand, doesn't really associate her breathing exercise with Andrew anymore. It's just a habit now, a necessity to keep herself in working order. She doesn't even have to think of doing them; she just does, like a reflex with panic drowns her and she as to save herself.

She does her own saving of course, because she's her own hero. She doesn't need a knight-in-shining-armor, especially a clumsy, six-foot one who happens to be smiling at her right now.

Or in her direction.

Whatever, she doesn't care.

She sweeps over his features again, as if she hasn't stared enough, mapping out the lines and contours of his perfect fault. The hard edges of his jawline. The gentle curvature of his eyes. The stiff point of his nose.

Even the planes of his every emotion, overlapping each other to form these geometric patterns that just flash by Lisa's eyes, and she knows them so well it's like seeing the alphabet spelled out before her.

Andrew's heart freezes. Outright freezes. Like it's suddenly a very negative temperature and he can feel the goosebumps crawling through his skin. The rush of foreign emotion travels his bloodstream and give him this gigantic jolt that makes the tips of his fingers tingle.

It makes him want to curl into himself, and he isn't sure if he wants to make it stop or make it go on,  because it borders on the kind of too-good-pain. That thought should worry him more (is he a masochist?), but he can't pry his eyes away from hers, and it should be weird and awkward, but it isn't.

She isn't looking away. He isn't looking away.

A blink passes. Two. Three.

They're playing a staring game and it makes them question everything that has run across their thoughts for the past hour. This is an acknowledgement of each other's presence.

No more feigning ignorance, no more excuses, and no more final exams to hide behind. It's like the warm blanket of comfort that has been stripped from them and all that's left is a shivering sense of self-awareness. It's suddenly too much, too fast, skin tingling and heartbeat pounding and palms sweating and lips drying.

It's both familiar and foreign, the feelings familiar like a welcome back and the features foreign like a hello there.

Hello there, welcome back.

And then they're not quite so sure what to say to that. Glad to be back? Don't want to be back?

They're both smart-asses in their own right but when they breathe the same airspace they're rendered stupid, dumb and by all means, a fool. Because only a fool would do the things they did, would say the thing they said, would act the way they acted.

Only a fool would fall in love.

Lisa would like to believe she is no fool. Sure, she may be a bit slow on the uptake when her friends have all these dirty jokes that just goes way over Lisa's head. She may have a limited knowledge of anything science-y, because she hates science with a passion. She may be horrible with direction, and be a sucker for bargain sales, but she prides herself in making slow, calculated decisions when it comes to people, friendship, and relationships.

Except - because of course there are exceptions, love screams just to become an exception - when Andrew's six-foot limbs stumbled into her life with his stupid video games and stupid neat-freak ways and stupid momma's-boy-clothes.

Andrew admits he's a fool. He knows himself inside and out - a rarity for someone as young as him, since vague, mysterious, and misunderstood seems to be in style these days. He's a simple guy and he wears that fact like his superhero spandex costume. It's actually not so much as being foolish but of being brave. He takes risks. He throws himself out there. He takes opportunities life gives him. At least, he started to, ever since Lisa infiltrated not-so-in-distress-damsel. He had to step up and save her, duh.

She'd argue that she didn't need saving and he would tell her to shut up; they both needed saving, period.

So two fools, one admittedly and one not so, sitting across each other as if the space between them is a cliff and crossing it would mean falling...in love, that is. Falling in love.

They stay where they are. Far enough to keep the feelings from spilling over and close enough to let the memories bubble to the surface. It's a moment within a moment, too precious to break yet too precarious to hold on to.

That tears them up inside, into tiny petals of hi and bye plucked from whatever metaphorical half-bloomed and half-dead flower that probably signifies their relationship with each other. It's a thin string that holds the relationship together, with mere memory and emotion clutching at each other so desperately, and it's ironic because they would love brutally sever it already.

But they can't. They just can't.

It makes them both weak.

Lisa can hear it in Andrew's head. Weak. She repeats it in her head. Weak.

It's quiet, but they both can hear it.

Lisa has always heard all the things he has never said.