The mid-evening breeze was a comfort to bask in; the petals of the cherry blossom tree you stood beneath falling to the matted floor gracefully. It was covered with the ombré pink to white flowers and, something inside you, reached to the ground and picked it up.
The sheer beauty, elegance and nimbleness that came with it made you smile as you reached down, again, to pick up a hand full. Something possessed you to throw it up into the air as you spun around in the falling flowers — a type of joy you hadn't experienced in a long time.
"Having fun without me?" Trent asked, amusement laced in his voice.
He stood clad in his Louis Vuitton ensemble, different shades of matching white and beige, and a black pair of sunglasses settled on the bridge of his nose. Trent looked absolutely gorgeous — it's not everyday he dressed up — so when he usually did, it hit you just how attractive your best friend was.
The disappearing warm rays were just beginning to hit his caramel-toned skin, knocking the air out of your lungs.
He must've had such nice smooth skin — the way you wished you could feel it, caress it, kiss it and mark it with your mouth. There was a lot of things you wished you could do to Trent but couldn't.
"Y/N?" Trent called, so gently, that it woke you from the place you had travelled to. He shook his head, slightly smirking, as he noticed the red colouring your cheeks.
"Yeah?"
"I asked if you were having fun without me but it seems to me that you are." He replied.
The flowers must've been stuck in your hair because he made his way closer, invading your space, and picked the petals from your hair. It took everything in you to not pull him closer as you looked up to him, and his eyes met yours. There was a ghost of a smile on his shimmering lips as he tucked the last cherry blossom — he held in his hands — behind your ear.
Instinctively, your hand lifted to touch the cherry blossom but his long, burning fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled it back.
"Don't." He whispered, the cool mint-bubblegum flavour hitting your lips. "You look pretty like this."
Trent relished in the fact that he could make you blush so easily, a simple compliment had always done it. He never did things carelessly, every action planned and prodded at as he weighs the outcome or the options but with you, it was different.
You were different. With all your kind smiles, your glittering eyes, your caring nature and your ability to not take any shit from anyone. He had fallen for you since he met you — all those years ago — and it's been a constant battle of trying to admit his feelings.
As you could see, it hadn't gone to plan.
"Can I see how I look, at least?" You asked.
"Don't you want to take my word for it?" Trent teased, his thumb grazing against the protruding being on your wrist.
Looking away for a moment so you didn't lose yourself in his big innocent eyes, it landed on the bruised sky. Littered with different shades of purple (to announce the entrance of night-time) battling against the hues of pink and orange (the disappearing rays of the sun).
"It's not that I don't want to take your word for it, I'm never good at receiving compliments." You replied, honestly.
"I've always needed to check myself before accepting the compliment..." Chuckling drily, you continued. "...it's fucked up, I know. But it's my fuck-up, you know?"
The question was rhetorical, and Trent's head still shook side-to-side. "No, I don't get it."
Daring to look back at your best-friend, you noticed the creased lines on his forehead and the edges of his mouth drooping. Of course, he was confused. I mean, the question was not even supposed to have an answer.
It took everything in you to not burst out in laughter as you smoothed out his creased forehead, "Don't even worry about it."
Trent's breath hitched for a moment, voluntary foregoing the auto-respiratory function, as he scanned your face. God, you were prettiest person he has seen in his life.
He wanted— no— he needed to make you his.
"Kiss me." The words uttered into the evening air halted your movements as you looked at Trent, wide-eyed.
Did you hear that right? Did— did Trent just ask you to kiss him?
"Huh?"
"Kiss me." He commanded again. Slim, nimble fingers trailing from your wrist and nuzzling into your hand in one fluid motion. Smooth, wasn't he?
"I want you to kiss me, Y/N." He said, once again, as he towered over you. His lips just mere inches from your own as you, nervously, chewed on yours. It didn't slip by you that his eyes intensely focused on your mouth, the white teeth gnawing on the pink flesh.
"Kiss me." He whispered, with desperation, as he pulled your bottom lip out from under your abusive teeth. "Kiss me."
"Trent, are you sure?" You asked, just in case, he had some doubts. But, it was the smile — so wide and full of life and emotion — that settled the nerves in your body.
"I'm sure. I've been wanting this for years now, ever since I met you—"
His words got cut off as you smashed your lips onto his. To say that it felt like kissing a marshmallow was an understatement, you hadn't experienced a kiss that cushioned your lips and dominated (?) it at the same time.
At first, Trent's eyes was half-lidded, searching for a reaction or anything to prove you were enjoying it. However, with the sheer strength that you were grasping onto his jacket, he could tell that it was something you wanted. He pulled your body closer to his, getting high off of it and craving the warmth that radiated from your body. Now, there was nothing holding him — either of you — from deepening the kiss.
The two of you were in sync. When Trent tilted his head to the left, you moved to the right, and vice-versa. He couldn't get enough of watching, witnessing his lips envelop yours, swallowing your shuddering breaths. It became addicting:
The way your eyelashes would flutter as he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip.
The fact that they tightened as he slid his tongue along with yours, rather than fighting for dominance, and trying to lead you.
The brush of his fingers against your cheek as he held it in his hands and the scratching of his small hairs, starting to grow out again, at the edge of his neckline.
Trent, hesitantly, pulled apart as he gasped for breath. His chest was heaving in pain (lack of oxygen), singing with joy (he just kissed Y/N!) and constricting because (did he really just do that?) Not that you were any better, clinging onto him with shiny lips and a small smiling gracing your lips.
"Wow." Both of you mumbled at the same time, letting out breathless chuckles. Trent gently knocked his head against yours, leaving a chaste kiss on your lips as he huddled you into a hug.
"That was amazing."
"Yeah, it was." You exclaimed, your mind racing, a million things going through them but Trent's soft, high-pitched giggle brought you back to the moment.
The night-time had already descended upon you and without realising it, you were shivering from the cool breeze. Without reluctance, Trent shedded his LV jacket and draped it around your shoulders. His movements were so quick and fluid-like that you didn't even have time to protest, so, you thanked him and pulled the item of clothing close.
The Black Saffron scent assaulting your nostrils, leaving you dizzy and light-headed. It could've been from his perfume or the mind blowing kiss, you would never know.
"Can I ask you a question?" Trent whispered, his voice softening and nervousness evident.
"Go on."
"I— Can I take you— Um, so you see I've liked you—" He kept starting but never finishing his sentences so you answered for him.
"Yes, I would love to go on a date with you."
Trent's head snapped up, his fingers tumbling over one another stopping as he stared at you in shock. It morphed into happiness, though, as he tugged you forward. You couldn't help but laugh and smile and cry — Trent kept his jacket from falling off your shoulders — as you embraced him back.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
He ended each one with a kiss, the last thank you kiss lasting longer than the others.
It was, however, disturbed by Andrew's thick Scottish accent sounding from the sliding doors, "Guys, we were looking for you—"
"Oh."
His aggressive tone turned passive as he smirked at the image he was seeing; Trent's jacket around your torso as he held you in his arms, lips meeting each other's. If the blush on your cheeks wasn't enough to indirectly tell him what you two had been doing, Trent's blush and groan does.
"Oi! Hendo! Yer owe me free dinner forra' week." Robertson yelled into the room as he politely smiled and slid the glass closed again.
"Trentski and Y/N finally kissed!"