summer romance (e.d.)

fifty-one

anna

the sound of ethan's light snores and the feeling of his arms wrapped protectively around me makes me flutter my eyes open as the sun streams in through the windows.

i smile at his presence and realize i would love to wake up to this every morning.

he seemed so off last night, and i could only kind of pinpoint why. but he doesn't like to talk about the things that bother him, because he's afraid they'll bother me.

again— selfless.

i lay staring at the wall for a few minutes, curled up into the shape of his body.

"ethan," i whisper eventually.

he moves his foot, but that's all. his breathing patterns and deep sleep is not interrupted.

"ethan," i giggle a little bit. "wake up."

nothing. no movements at all.

so, i flip to my other side, still tight in his embrace. i'm no longer the little spoon, but rather facing him chest to chest.

his lips are slightly parted and smushed against a pillow, and his once styled hair is now a mess— sticking in a couple directions on his head.

i find myself smiling and reaching out to trace the outlines of his face. his eyes flutter for a moment, but they stay closed.

so i just keep tracing. i go around his jawline, up the sides of his face, onto his forehead, along the bridge of his nose, and around his lips.

i can tell he wakes up during it, but pretends to be asleep still.

after my seeming like millionth outline, i pull my finger away and give him a light kiss on the cheek. his skin is soft and warm, and flushed with a healthy pink.

he opens his eyes, letting them adjust to focus on mine at the close proximity to his face.

"i don't think i've ever woken up that peaceful," he mumbles, morning voice peeking through.

i smile. "good morning."

he laughs a little bit, and buries his face in the pillow again. his eyes close, but he forces them back open.

"good morning, angel. what time is it?"

i glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. "it's about 8:00. why, have somewhere to be?"

"i have nowhere to be but with you," he whispers.

such a cheeseball. deep down under all his layers, he's the most sentimental guy i've ever met.

it's insane to me how one single person can say something like that, and i'm instantly weak in the knees. it's like i forgot how to speak or even how to interpret english.

"when i first met you..." i begin.

he rolls his eyes playfully. "oh no, where's this going? am i going to end up being mad? or crying?"

"no!" i laugh. "just listen."

he nods, keeping his eyes on me.

"when i first met you, i pictured you to be the cold, closed-off, moody, non-loving, quick-tempered little country club boy i saw you as," i whisper, and i see the smile on his face falter.

"but," i quickly say. "i'm here to say that i was so, so, so, so, so, so wrong."

"how many's so's was that?" he cracks a smile.

"doesn't matter," i say softly, bringing my hand up to his face. "because i was wrong."

"so what am i then?" he asks with genuine curiosity.

i smile turning away from his eyes and looking up at the ceiling. "you are generous. kind. overly affectionate. smart. genuine. funny. empathetic. and the list goes on. you're not what you presented yourself to be."

he sighs a little, attempting to bring me even closer to him (if that's even possible).

"i'm overheating. can i take off my sweatshirt?" ethan asks.

laughing, i reply, "yes, duh. why'd you ask?"

"because there's nothing underneath it, and i just wanted to ask."

i fall from his grasp as he sits up and slides the hoodie over his head. on the back, it says his last name with the number 8.

"what's that sweatshirt from?" i ask as he lays back down.

he wrinkles his nose. "i played lacrosse for two years, but my mom took me out when she saw that i was still not improving at golf. that's where it's from."

"did you like lacrosse?" i ask, finding myself staring at his bare torso.

he smiles, like he's remembering something. "i loved it. i was really happy my sophomore and junior year, because i could do lacrosse. that was what i was good at, not golf. i wish my mom would've understood that."

"i'm sorry," i whisper.

he shrugs, turning on his side to face me. "not your problem to be sorry about."

i smile at him. "are you hungry? i can make us something. i mean, you ate all my strawberries yesterday, but i'm sure i can find something else."

he chuckles. "i should probably be getting back home. grayson can only cover for me for so long."

i nod, a little disappointed. "okay."

he notices the look on my face and sighs. "you're so hard to say that to."

"what?" i laugh. 

"i can't believe i'm literally inches away from you, and i have to leave."

"ethan," i say slowly. "i live with you technically. you can see me anytime you want and be centimeters away, if you're feelin like it."

he laughs. "okay, fine."

i watch closely as he sits back up and stretches his arms. he lifts the duvet and sits on the edge of the bed and bends down, probably to grab his shoes and tie them.

when he stands up, he grabs the sweatshirt from the ground and throws it over his shoulder.

i smile up at him. "i'll see you later, okay?"

he nods, and bends down to kiss my forehead.
"later."

i sigh contently as i watch him slip out the window.