Relax

The city, me and you

It matters not that my clothes do not match those of the night's party animals, and it matters not that my number one goal tonight isn't to be seen dancing wildly and beautifully under colourful disco lights. Perhaps it's the night's refreshing breeze on my cheeks, or perhaps it's the steaming soup cupped safely in my hands, but perhaps there's another reason.

My arrival in the big city meant sole focus on higher education, but the city wasn't terrifying when I had my mother's warm hand to hold and my mind's certainty that I'd return home to rest in a familiar home around familiar faces in a familiar bed. But now I am grown and I must learn to do as my parents did and live and learn without dependence. Except a few FaceTimes throughout the week, of course.

My arrival meant new responsibilities; remembering the best places to eat, the most and least crowded streets, the darkest alleys, the floor of my apartment. It meant convincing myself to feel big and proud when I really felt lost among the billowing crowd.

But...

Tall grey buildings intimidate me no longer. Nor do confident party girls. Nor do the millions of little things that pinched and prodded my soft and sensitive heart.

For you are here, with the kind, warm eyes that watch over me when I am careless or lost. For you are here, wearing a serious, cold expression when facing the city, and wearing a reassuring, loving grin when you turn to me. For you are here, strutting down busy streets like a model, but when eyes turn your way, you grip my hand tighter. For you are here, with a genuine laugh that meets the end of my jokes like the final piece to a thousand-piece puzzle. For you are here, with the mind that understands mine.

"Why aren't you holding my hand tonight?" You ask me, raising an eyebrow.

"Soup is warmer to hold," I tease.

"If my hands are so cold, I should be the one holding that soup." You reach for it and I pull it out of reach, watching anxiously as the boiling liquid sloshes violently around.

"You'll make me drop it," I warn, but I laugh.

"I'll catch it."

"And drink it," I finish for you.

"And drink it."

You give up trying to snatch my late-night snack, but the return of your serious expression forces me to hand it over. You glance at me and the cup, then grab my hand and we make a ridiculous U-turn in front of a group of frustrated city-dwellers.

"Sorry, sorry," you mutter to them, not sounding very sorry. Then you turn to me with a stupid grin. "Let's go get another soup."

I can't help but let out an exasperated sigh. "It's late."

"Shh," you say. "You know that you'll thank me later."

The warm and fuzzy sensation remains even after we've arrived at our apartment, which was not long ago just my apartment. As you shiver in the kitchen whining about how cold it is, I close the balcony sliding door that you forgot to close earlier. You glare at me as I cross the living room and slide into the bedroom to flick on the bed warmer. You continue staring as I reappear and drop onto the sofa.

"I'm so cold," you complain.

"You should've closed the door like I asked you to," I remind you. "Then you wouldn't be complaining right now."

You groan, but when I turn my head to face you, I flash a toothy grin and you burst out laughing. You leave the room for a minute, and I hear you rummaging around in our room, returning with a large blanket. You toss it over me, and I struggle to untangle myself, inhaling the fluff as you tickle me from outside of the layer of fabric. Finally, you show me some mercy, and pull the blanket out of my face. My cheeks are burning, but my heart is tingly and warm. I have a feeling yours is too.

I readjust the blanket over us, reaching over your knees to tuck one end under your toes.

"Your feet smell," I say casually.

"Hmm," you hum, snuggling closer. "Almost as much as yours."

"Guess I win then."

"Never," you reply. "Come within ten metres of me on a hot day and you'll regret saying that."

"I'd wait till the summer just to smell your feet."

"Kinky."

"Shut up!" I yell, but my stomach hurts from restraining my laughter so much.

I flick through the channels on the television, content in just leaving some random film on a low volume level so we can whisper sweet and stupid nothings in each other's ears the whole night. A minute into a peaceful silence you speak up.

"Can we sit outside?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I thought you said you were cold."

"I'm warm now," you inform me. "I'm only warm when you're beside me." Giving me googly eyes.

I stand up, snatching the blanket from you. You slump sadly against the sofa's cushions. I stick my tongue out, but then I say, "And I you."

As I glide towards the sliding doors, the blanket trailing around me like Snape's cape, you call out.

"What the frick is that supposed to mean, Smarty Pants?"

I laugh under my breath, letting the breath of the night steal my voice. "Just what I said, bro."

"Don't call me bro," you instruct me.

I flick my head to you. "Are you coming, bro?"

Stomping your way onto the balcony, you sit in the chair beside me, purposely shifting a few centimetres away, so I close the gap completely, wounding the blanket around our fronts. You give me a look, and I imitate your expression and you snicker.

The stars are there in the sky above us, but the city lights beam brighter. Red, pink, yellow, white. A casino in the distance changes colour spontaneously. My eyes hurt after watching for too long.

"What's wrong with me calling you bro"? I finally ask.

The sound of muffled traffic and thumping music from the street below greets my ears.

"Makes me feel less than important to you," you say, sounding the most sincere I've ever heard. I don't reply, and you continue: "You call everyone bro."

"So... you wanna feel special?" I ask, pouting.

You tsk. "I wanna feel as special to you as you are to me."

I don't know how to respond, so I just stare at you, letting my eyes examine your eyebrows, admire your eyes, the bridge of your nose, the pink on your cheeks, the cracked surface of your lips. You don't say anything, so I remain silent, and although the cold seems to cast an unbreakable layer between us tonight, I edge closer, letting my eyelids flutter almost-closed. Yours follow my lead. Just as our lips are about to meet, I jeer away, sighing loudly in your face before leaning my head on your shoulder.

"Cheeky piece of–"

"Don't swear," I warn.

"You need to brush your teeth."

I hum obnoxiously out of tune to annoy you.

"Stop it, will you?" I giggle. "My ears hurt," you tell me.

"My heart hurts," I announce dramatically, swooning and hitting you in the forehead with my flailing hand.

"OW!"

"Pfft–Ahahaha..."

"You idiot," you mutter. My heart twangs. "I love you."

"Do you?" I mutter, smooshing my cheek against yours.

You smoosh back, and then you breathe in my ear, and I squeal in surprise.

"More than anything."

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I will head to bed now, but I hope this story appealed to you.

<3

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