Inception {Dreamnotfound}

30 | Perfectly Imperfect | 30

-Zak's POV-
(Last one of his POV!)

"We've both been avoiding talking for so long, it's obvious," Bad sighs, taking a few seconds to admire the room before taking a seat on my old desk instead of the chair beside it. "So come talk to me." He taps the empty space on the desk beside him, cringing at the dust cloud that erupts around us and fanning it away with his hand.

I sweep the rest of the desk clean before accepting Bad's invitation, cringing at the mess it creates. I don't remember my desk being as small as it is, or there being as little a gap between us as there currently is, but the gesture in itself is enough to put a faint smile on my face.

"I know that it probably sounds ridiculous coming from me when I'm the one who removed my band," I start with, continuing the trail of things to say that I've tried to create in my head. "-But I want you to know that the decision I made that day wasn't your fault, at all."

I catch Bad playing with my hoodie strings, which I know must be almost like second nature to him by now. As soon as he notices that I have, though, he pulls away, and something breaks in me at the sight.

"I was just scared of what they'd do to you, alright," I explain quietly, readjusting my hoodie and leaning forward a little so that the strings hit his hands. My hair falls into my eyes at the action, and I watch painfully visible contemplation linger in his eyes.

The hoodie strings seem long-forgotten all of a sudden, his hand now hanging limply between us he debates whether or not to give in to what used to be so casual.

I smile bleakly, gaze caught on his lips as he draws the bottom one between his teeth, letting it bruise as he gives in to temptation. Gentle fingers comb my hair back, just like they used to, and I occupy my jumbled thoughts twisting one of his stings into a little heart.

I present the shape to him with a childish grin, waiting until he takes it from me, or at least smiles back.

"I promise, Darryl, I still love you."

At last, he leans forward to take it, and our foreheads hit in the clumsy motion. It's awkward, but it causes the sweetest little giggle from him, and I can't stop myself from blushing at the sound.

I don't move an inch from there, soon regretting that decision when he lets go of the heart in favour of knotting our hoodie strings together, and I can't lean back if I want to.

"Does muffin count as meaningful?"

I just about choke at his question, how my heartfelt speech resulted in something so stupid. But it's fitting for him, perfectly dumb and so ridiculous that for some reason, it makes more sense than anything that could be considered more sensible would've.

Nothing else would work for us, especially not in a moment like this that couldn't be labelled as anything but stupid.

Stupid, but I can't stop myself from smirking, not when he's clumsily braiding our hoodie strings together like an idiot but damnit, he's the cutest idiot I've ever seen and now I just know I'd never ask for anyone else, or be able to take that dumb soulmate band off again.

"Yes, muffin, it counts."

So even though I could pull back now, I don't. Not when he can read me in that strange way only lovers can each other, meet me halfway to press his lips against mine. I find myself suddenly glad that the desk is there, no matter how small it is, and that there's something there to catch me when my knees buckle beneath me at the feeling. It's tender, familiar, just like I remember it being who knows how many overdue weeks ago.

It's disorganised, a mess of limbs when I try to pull my legs up from where they dangle over the side of the desk, but I can't twist at that angle when he's holding me, and I don't want to let go of him. We manage it though, somehow, and I'm blushing awkwardly for a moment when I realise that the desk is too small to fit both of us on it like this.

So I wrap my legs around his instead, decide that yes, maybe this is a little awkward and maybe I shouldn't have tried to move in the first place, but his lap is probably comfier than the desk anyway.

My doubt doesn't last long, not when we find the situation so ridiculous that we're broke apart by laughter. "Does this officially make us boyfriends again?" I smirk though giggles, receiving a confident but equally delirious "yes, yes we're boyfriends again, you muffin".

Bad tilts his head up to press a kiss to my forehead, and briefly catch sight of our neatly braided hoodie strings, scowling at the stupidly ironic mix of blue and red.

"Good," I blush, tugging on the strings in hopes he'll tilt his head down again.

"So kiss me again."

And he does, the next much sweeter and much more organised than the first. It's softer, a warm hand comfortingly cupping my face as I tangle my fingers into his hair.

I realise then that the past month feels a little more worth it in this moment. When the days I've spent enviously watching other boyfriends don't matter anymore, because now I have mine again. I use that envy, putting that energy into kissing him harder because fuck, it shouldn't have taken us this long to resolve stuff, but I was too proud to admit how desperate I was until now.

Very, I've since realised, and even if I don't like exactly how the soulmate system works, at least it was right about him.

"We're both actually really shit with words, aren't we?" I laugh when we reluctantly break apart, and I press a breathy kiss to his cheek just because I can again. I know he can feel my lips curl into a smile when they linger against his skin, but he doesn't let the moment last long, gently tugging me back to meet his eyes.

"Language," is the characteristic response uttered smugly back against my lips, and at this point, I think I'd be mad if it was anything different.

"But yes, yes we are."

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Skephalo are okay 👍