blue ; gallavich

25

Ian and I look at each other, infatuation and sadness circulating in the air surrounding us. "What the fuck just happened?" I ask, making sure not to break eye contact. I keep a steady gaze on Ian, soaking in every aspect of his spectacular body- from the way his hair blows back in the nighttime breeze to the freckles that form a smiley face on his ankle. He's a fucking god.

"You fell in love with me again." He whispers harshly as a hard lump forms in my throat. Is that true? Did I stop loving him at a point in time? Was this me reclaiming what was mine? He breaks contact with me and sucks in a sharp breath and I can see tears glint in his eyes as the bright glow of the moon reflects off of them.

"I understand the tattoo. The one on your wrist." He says as I look over at him, bewildered. "Fiona told me about that one day when she say you walking down the street, tears in your eyes and stuff. She asked you how you were and you said 'blue'. I get it now. Blue isn't just a color like you say it is, Mick. It's the feeling of disappointment and abandonment. When you're in your room- alone- and you sigh with the saddest pain in your chest. Or when you're all by yourself and the feeling of loneliness creeps up on you and you realize that everyone is gone. That no one cares. That's blue."

I stare at him in shock, and when I open my mouth to speak nothing comes out other than the squeak of my thoughts trying to comprehend what Ian just said. But, in the sense of what he's saying, I do understand what Ian means. As I'm about to say something, anything to break the silence, Ian grabs my hand and flips it, tracing the word on my wrist gently. It tingles and the tickle lasts in the areas that he outlines, covering the same spaces repeatedly.

"But," he continues, now looking at me, "there's also a lighter shade of blue. Like- like the blue in your eyes. I've noticed that when you're happy or interested in something your eyes blaze brighter. When I saw you sitting on the grass earlier your eyes were dark, like what I said before, but just a few seconds ago when we kissed they were a baby blue like a beach in the Bahamas. What I'm trying to say, Mick, is that your tattoo isn't pointless. It's just a strange way to... Express your feelings."

What the fuck is he saying? Is he high?

And how the fuck do I understand what he's saying? Am I high, too?

Am I high off of love?

For fuck's sake, please tell me I did not just say that.

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A few moments pass of nothing but silence, and I'm shocked that I can't hear the cogs in our brains twisting and turning as we think about deep shit that you only process at 3 A.M. We hop the fence that we made out on, Ian's giant ass having to hoist me over, and I follow him- who still hasn't let go of the tight grasp he has on my wrist- down a desolate road. My eyes light up when we reach our destination and I can see the moon reflecting off of the water, just like in the movies.

Ian looks over at me and smiles, peeling off his shirt, and I watch his glowingly pale body proceed to walk towards the water. "What are you doing?" I ask perplexed. He turns around and flashes me a big smile before hopping into the pool and disappearing underneath. A few seconds pass and I begin to worry as Ian doesn't surface. Panic settles in but fades quickly as Ian pops back up, his hair tangled and messy as he roughs it up a little bit more.

"Well, don't just stand there." He says and I give him a dubious glance and a head tilt as he laughs. "C'mon, it won't bite." Seriously, Ian? Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?