When I wake, it's to an angel sleeping beside me.
She's lying there, tousled blonde hair littered across the pillow, tendrils of the gold falling across high cheekbones and pink lips and glowing pale skin, and I feel my heart clench inside of me at the sight, at the memory.
I can see the facial changes; the deeper creases in her forehead, the slight aging of her skin, the lack of freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose, the darkness to her hair — but she's still just as beautiful as she was a year ago, if not more, and I can't stop myself when I reach out to touch her face, stroking my thumb along her cheek, down her jaw, across her chin, to see if she's real.
Something inside of me is still not willing to believe that she's really here, that she's really back, and that she's going to stay.
It's the same thing that's terrified she's going to disappear again.
Just as that thought processes, just as my thumb traces over her bottom lip and my mind reels back to the feel of it pressed against my lips, I feel her stir and the breath catches in my throat when I lift my gaze to find bright brown staring back at me. The light filtering in through the blinds behind her creates a halo around her face, and the image of her, lying there, the pale and blonde highlighted against the blackness of my bedsheets, honestly takes my breath away.
I don't think I've ever been so simultaneously affectionate, loving and frightened at the same time.
I pull my hand back when she says nothing in greeting, though before I can tuck it beneath my pillow, she makes a grab for it, long fingers wrapping around my smaller ones and tugging my hand until it lays in the space between us. She doesn't make a move to tangle her fingers through mine, and I hold back on the urge to do it, instead letting my palm press against the cool mattress. It's more than I should really be giving her, anyway.
Silence drags between us two, time stretches, too, and I take these quiet moments to memorize every inch of her face, my vision dropping to her lips when her tongue pokes out to wet them. I want to kiss her, I want to touch her, but there's something holding me back and when she takes in a deep breath, I know I can't avoid it any longer.
My hand moves back almost automatically, her face twisting and eyes flashing with rejection but I can only offer a sad smile in return as I shift and roll onto my stomach, my arms sliding beneath the pillow, head turning and cheek pressing to it so I can continue staring at her.
Then it's time to speak, and I inhale deeply, my lungs filling and head swimming with her scent as I prepare my words.
Except she speaks first.
"I thought you wouldn't be here," she breathes.
My first reaction is to scoff, because really? That's slightly hypocritical. But then I stare into her eyes a little longer and I see the fear lingering behind them and it makes all the bitterness, all the anger, the typical Lalisa Manoban bitch-tastic reaction, seep from my body. With anyone else, I would've snapped, made a biting remark, a scathing comment, but I can't even find it within myself to treat Rosé the way I treat everyone else. I never have been able to.
"I don't think I could leave if I wanted to," I sigh, my eyes never leaving hers.
The corners of her lips curve, a slight redness creeping across her cheeks and she twists her head, half-hiding her face into the black pillowcase, one brown eye peeling open to peek up at me, but I don't want her to hide her face. I've missed it too much, it's been gone for too long, and my hand's stretching out, the back of my fingers brushing across her cheek before I can even stop it, my thoughts coming out in words.
"Don't hide your face," I whisper, my voice raspy, hoarse; a reminder of what I spent the early hours of this morning doing. "I haven't seen it in so long."
She reveals her entire face without a seconds hesitation, the honesty and meaning running deep within my words and both of us just stare, breathing softly, taking in the view of each other for long moments. And it hits me, really smacks me in the gut, when I realize that I could just stay here forever. There's just something so addictive, so beautiful, so enticing about her, and I honestly don't know, really don't freaking know, how I went so long without looking into her eyes, without hearing her voice and seeing her face.
So I just watch her, the way she slowly blinks and how her chest rises and falls when she takes a breath. I ache from it, my heart increasing its beat.
I can't even begin to explain how much I've missed her.
"Lisa," I hear, my eyes drifting to meet hers. I suck in my bottom lip and tip my head, a silent response to her words. "Lisa, I—" she gulps, glances away briefly. "Did you mean what you said?"
Unsure of what she means, I tilt my head as much as I can, a perfectly shaped eyebrow lifting half an inch. "What did I say?" I ask through a breath.
She pauses, stutters, her eyes nervously darting away from my face to the room around us. I want to press her, want to know what she's asking, but then my mind goes back the events of last nights, the words that left my lips and I find myself pausing, too. My entire body stills, my muscles tensing, revealing the tenderness buried within them and I don't know what to do, what to say. Should I just speak the truth? Should I take it back? Should I get an ounce of revenge on her?
I almost laugh at myself — I could never do the latter.
"You said..."
"I said I love you."
Brown eyes widen comically so, shock setting into Rosé's features but I just suck my lips into my mouth. What's the point in denying it?
"Yeah," she lets out through a long exhale, her head nodding and body shifting, scooting subtly closer. Her hand drops further down the bed until her fingertips are barely touching the skin of my hip, lodging just beneath my stomach as it presses against the mattress, and she wiggles it a little, urging the black sheet, covering only my lower half, further down to reveal more sensitive skin. It kills me that she still remembers where and how to touch me.
"Did you mean it?" She finally asks quietly, and I'm not surprised because I was waiting for it. I knew from the moment she mentioned it that at some point I'd have to answer this.
And it seems so pointless now to lie. It seems so pointless to deny it after this long because for twelve months, for three hundred and sixty five days, for eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty-five hours, I've wanted nothing more than to hear her voice, to make sure she's okay, to tell her all the things I should've done before she left. All I've wanted to do is to love her, to make her mine, to do everything I can to make her smile, and even if that means breaking down these walls I've tried so damn hard to build, even if that means I'm going to have to go back on all the progress I've somehow managed to make in this past year... I'm going to do it.
Because I've denied her for so long. I've denied myself for so long, and I meant what I said to Jisoo over a year ago; it's exhausting having to pretend like I'm not in love with her. It's exhausting having to pretend like I'm just best friends, like my heart doesn't beat for her.
So I don't.
"Yeah," I say. "I meant it."
There's a beat of silence between us, a beat where vulnerability pulses through me, spiking against my skin and warming my face, and Rosé's biting her tongue between her teeth, her brow furrowed but eyes full of relief. But then it's gone because I know that look, I've seen that look a thousand times and even though she hasn't asked anything, even though there's definitely a lot of uncertainty between us, a hell of a lot of things we need to talk about, I find myself nodding.
Then she's moving in slowly, her eyes gazing into mine as she leans in, nudging my noses together once, moving a little lower and taking in a deep breath as she holds herself. She doesn't move any further, and I'm staring straight at her, wanting to know why she isn't kissing me yet but I know it's because she doesn't know if she can. She doesn't know how I'm going to react, even though I already nodded, and it breaks something within me because whether I like it or not, she knows me better than I know myself, better than anyone does, actually and it's why I can't deny myself any longer and close the gap between us.
My lips brush against hers, barely even touching once, and my eyes flutter shut at the feel; but then I'm pulling back, sucking in a shaky breath and moving in again, holding my lips against hers until she's parting hers, gradually letting me in until I'm shifting and sucking on her bottom lip. My hand comes out from beneath the pillow to rest against her cheek, her hand creeps onto my back, settling at the base of it and I kiss her slowly and gently, remembering every kiss I've ever had with everyone in my life and how no-one will ever compare to her.
I let it go on for a while, never deepening it further than just the soft press of her lips against mine, and I just feel the way my heart pounds, the way I can feel hers doing the same, matching the rhythm of mine and how it feels so perfect, so right.
It feels like the past year never happened, like she never left, like I never knew what it was like to need her, to love her, to miss her, and I know it's stupid because reality's going to hit me in the face soon. It's going to kick me in the ass and make me feel like shit again, but I just want to hold onto this feeling for a little longer. I want to hold onto the feeling and the memory of the way she tastes, the way she kisses me and the way somehow sends butterflies throughout my body; from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
And I don't know when it stops, or even who stops it, but before I know it, my lips are parting from hers with a dry pop and she's scooting to me, her front pressing against my side, her arm winding around her waist and her face resting on the same pillow and her nose squashed against mine. Her eyes are so close, her lips, too, and I ache to kiss her again, but then she's speaking and I can't deny her request.
"Say it," she commands softly, her hand drifting up my back, following the notches of my spine until her fingers twist the ends of my hair. "Please," she begs, because that's the only word to describe her tone. "Please... say it."
My immediate response is to deny her. To tell her I won't say it because there's a small part of my brain that wants to be petty. That wants to know why she isn't saying it first, but I don't want to argue with her, and I certainly don't want to hold it back any longer.
So I sigh, and move my head until my lips are ghosting over hers, my breath kissing her because I can't. I can't when I'm about to say the thing that's been eating me up for so long. I can't when I'm about to seize the opportunity I've purposefully skipped so many times before. I can't when I'm about to tell someone, for the first time in my entire freaking life, that I've fallen madly and deeply in love with them.
I've already let this chance go by multiple times, and even though it's not magically going to fix everything, I just need to say it.
I've held it back for too long. Kept it locked away for too long.
And I'm just not going to do it anymore.
"I.." I swallow, wet my lips and let my eyes fall shut briefly, calming myself with an exhale through my nose. "I'm in love with you," I whisper against her mouth, my eyes squeezing shut again at the rush of intensity that flushes through me. I can't believe I've just said it. After all this time, after everything, I've just fucking said it. "I love you, Roseanne Park," I continue, the words hushed against Rosé's lips. "And I—"
I don't get to continue with my declaration, I don't get to make a speech and tell her that I think she's the only one for me and that I've been a mess ever since she left because she's pushing my shoulder and rolling me, then throwing a leg either side of my hips and covering my body with her own. Her lips are next, pressing against mine and I muffle a moan as my hands shoot to her hips to keep her steady.
Though I don't get to kiss her for long before I feel wetness dripping onto my cheeks, taste the salt in her kiss and feel her body wrack with a sob and I'm breaking the kiss, holding her face in my hands and wiping away the tears with the pad of my thumbs. She stares down at me, her eyes growing red and her face scrunching up as she rests her forehead against mine, though she never breaks eye contact.
And my heart aches at the sight. It clenches inside my chest, twisting uncomfortably and I know back in my bitter, angry phase, I would've enjoyed this sight; I would've enjoyed knowing that she was pained, that she was suffering because I'm kind of fucked up like that, but now I hate it.
Now I hate myself for even thinking that once upon a time, I might have enjoyed this.
So I just do the only thing I can think of, the only thing I know to do to make her smile, and kiss her, bringing her face down with my hands and stroking the tips of my fingers along the hinge of her jaw, delicately tracing her features. It takes a few repetitions of it, a few simple pecks against her lips, but eventually she sniffles and edges back a little, enough to wipe the heel of her hand over her eyes to stop anymore tears from falling as the corners of her lips turn up.
I just watch her, admire her movements, fall in love with every shift of her body, but it's as I'm doing that, that I feel something curdle, something tighten within me and I realize she hasn't said it back.
Before the panic and fear can settle in, I decide to demand it of her like she did with me. "Please, say it," I mutter, dusting kisses across her jaw, across her cheeks, over her nose and down to her lips again. "Please," my voice breaks, cracks, revealing the vulnerability and weakness I feel. "Please say you love me back."
I keep pressing kisses over her skin until long fingers wrap around my wrists and urge my hands away from her face. My heart skips a beat at the touch, the uncertainty of whether to feel frightened that she stopped me and peeled my hands away, or whether to feel happy that she's gazing me in the eye, the brown strong and sure as it stares down at me. Though I stay frozen, stay without a breath leaving or coming through my lips and I just wait.
And it's silent for too long, just the rapid beating of my heart and the almost deafening volume of my pulsing screaming inside my ears, but for some reason I don't feel scared. I don't feel like this moment's going to make or break me, because in spite of all the previous doubt, the pain, the hurt and dull ache of missing her, I don't feel like she's going to walk out on me again. And it's stupid really, because nothing's been set in stone. There's still a chance that she could be back in New York for a day and flying off to somewhere else, but I just guess that I want to make the best of what I had now as I didn't before.
(There's also a part of me that truly, honestly believes Rosé isn't going to leave me again.)
My thoughts are swiftly cut off when Rosé's hands grab at my face and gently push my head back against the pillow so she can meet my eye and look down at me seriously. Her thumb strokes over my cheek, but her grip is firm and it's confusing because the expression on her face is inscrutable, impossible to read, though her eyes are a dark brown and I can actually see the affection flashing behind them.
My own hands come up to hold her wrists, keeping her palms against my face and I gulp, unsure of what's to come.
But really, I should've known all along.
"Lisa," she says, her voice low and stern. My heart thumps loudly against my ribcage, and I take in one deep breath before I hear the result. "I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving someone," she breathes out, tears forming in her eyes as they dart between each of mine. She licks her lips. "I shouldn't have left, and I love you," she shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. "And I don't work right without you and I—"
This time it's me that cuts her off, even though I do it in the same way she did. My lips press against hers hard, my tongue eagerly dipping into her mouth and my hands move from her wrists up to her hair, tangling through it as I stroke my tongue against hers. She whimpers into the kiss, her body beginning to rock against mine, her hips rolling against mine, and I know I shouldn't be focusing on the blood rushing to my groin and should be focusing on talking it out with her. I know I shouldn't be focusing on trailing my hand down her chest and groaning against her mouth at the wetness I find between her legs because the declarations Rosé and I just traded haven't really changed anything.
I know I shouldn't be rolling her over, letting her wrap a hand around my cock and stroking it until I'm fully hard, then lining it up with her entrance and urging me inside of her, because it's probably not the most productive thing I could be doing with her right now — I could be healing my heart and figuring out what the fuck is going on between us two — but now I'm inside her and I can't really bring myself to stop making love to her.
I just need her too much.
And okay, maybe there's still a long way to go, but I'm making baby steps and for now, I'm just going to enjoy the present; because today, right now, is for me and Rosé.
I can deal with the other shit later.
***
Rosé and I spend the entire day making love to each other.
After I finish a round, I roll off her, hand pressed against my forehead as I attempt to catch my breath, but barely five minutes later, her lips are pressing against my neck, her tongue's flicking out against my nipple and her hand's trailing down my stomach and I'm reacting in the only way I know how. It isn't all her; I can't seem to keep my hands off her either, and if she isn't making the first move on me, I'm tilting my head against the pillow, taking in her glistening skin and heaving chest and I'm moving on top of her, pushing my way between her thighs and kissing her again.
Neither of us even think about getting out of bed until we've just finished like, hundredth round and she's collapsing face down onto the bed, I'm following her but shifting her right and draping an arm over her lower back. Her stomach rumbles loudly, and we are so caught up in this love fueled sex haze that we don't even think about the serious topics to come and instead burst into laughter, turning our heads until we're staring at each other with shy smiles.
"You hungry?" I ask, my fingers tickling over the dimples in her lower back.
She nods, pushing her arms beneath her pillow. "Starving," she over exaggerates with a waggle of her eyebrows. I chuckle throatily. "How's pizza looking?"
I grin and spot her phone on the bedside table to her left, bobbing my head in approval. My body shifts, and with weak arms, I push up and drape the top half of my body over hers as I reach for it, not even bothering to slide off as I dial the pizza delivery store and order for both me and Rosé as I've done so many times before. When I hang up, I drop her phone back to the table and move to shift off, but then she's turning onto her back and staring up at me, twisting the strands of my hair fallen above her between her fingers.
"What?" I question quietly, cocking my head to the side. I'm not sure of why she's staring at me so softly, like I'm the best thing she's ever seen.
She turns the corners of her lips up into a shy smile and gazes at me for a little longer, but then shakes her head, her eyes dropping to her own fingers, wrapped up in my hair. "It's nothing," she replies through a breath, her eyes tearing up.
I almost get to prying more, to getting the real reason out of her, but then she's smiling sadly up at me and I get it, but I don't want this day to turn serious. I don't want to deal with all this crap right now because she's back, she's here, she's beneath me and I want to kiss her, so I do just that.
We lie there making out for long, hot moments, longer than we think because before we know it, there's someone knocking at my front door and Rosé's mumbling "pizza" against my mouth before rolling me over and pressing a final kiss against my lips. She hops off the bed, only stopping to throw on a long t-shirt that barely covers her ass and glides out the room, returning moments later with a pizza box and a smile on her face as she slips back into bed.
After we begin chewing on our own slices, I notice that she still has the t-shirt on and eye it with a narrowed glare. I must stare at it harder and with more dislike than I intended to because Rosé begins giggling and puts down her slice, her hands traveling down to the hem of her shirt before she whips it off and over her head with one swift motion.
A gasp catches in my throat, and I'm really fucking glad I wasn't chewing then because I definitely would've just choked. But apparently the way I blush, the way my eyes grow wide as I realize I'm staring at her bare chest unabashedly, is enough to make a Rosé — a girl who barely half an hour ago was 'starving' and hasn't eaten more than a slice of pizza — throw back her slice into the box and clamber over to me with a smirk as she fits her hips over mine, digs her knees into the mattress either side of them and kisses me.
And really, after that, I kind of forget about my pizza slice, too, and throw it back into the box as I focus on Rosé's lips against mine as we head into the next round.
***
Later on, when both of us are well and truly exhausted, Rosé curls up against me, her hand gripping at my bicep, her head resting against my shoulder and her nose pressed against the underside of my jaw and she falls asleep.
I'm not far behind, but I take a few minutes after she's been taken away into the land of dreams to trace over her face again and think about the inevitable talk that's going to put a hold on all of this — possibly even put an end to it, actually. I don't want it to come. I don't want the pain, the frustration, the explanation, the tears; and even though I totally need to know why Rosé left, why she didn't contact me and why she thought it was okay to just come straight back to me after both of those things, I'm almost at the point where I'm just ecstatic enough that she's here regardless of everything.
But I guess that it's going to come whatever happens, it's unavoidable and I have to admit, i kind of want it to happen because I want some stability and certainty with Rosé in my life now.
Though right now isn't the time to think or talk about it; so I just settle down, curve my arm around Rosé's back and shoulders and pull her closer to me until the sleep takes over.