You Must Be the One

Pink- Feminity 2/2

The very first time they kissed was an accident. Okay, so maybe "accident" was a loose term. It wasn't one of those movie moments---no one tripped or bumped into the other person, sending lips crashing together. There was no cute, chance encounter. In fact, it'd been so embarrassing that they'd mutually agreed to forget about it, never really spoke of it again.

The trouble is when she kisses him now, everything comes flooding back.

She'd been with him when he got the call that his mother had taken a dizzy spell and hit her head on the counter as she fell and she insisted on making the two hour trip to Philly with him, driving because his hands shook too much to control the steering wheel, sitting in the hospital room waiting room, holding his hand when the doctor informed them they suspected a stroke.

She was with him while they waited for the results of the MRI, making sure he ate and drank, even if it was just bad hospital coffee and a Snickers from the vending machine. Made phone calls for him, tried her best to distract him with her goofy running commentary of the Real Housewives episode that played in the family lounge.

Clung to him in relief when they learned the dizzy spell was a result of a medication side effect and not a stroke after all, came in with him to see Gloria at his request.

She showed up for him (and his mother) in ways he couldn't express in words, only tell her how incredibly thankful he was to have her.

In his truck, in the hospital parking lot, he leaned in to kiss her; he meant to kiss her cheek. And their lips brushed instead.

At first, he pulled away, ready to apologize, but she'd pulled him close, kissing him so sweetly that there was nothing left to do except kiss her back.

They'd left it at that; checking in briefly the next day. No discussion, no further mention of it, just Stefani's "are we cool?" over a impromptu pancake breakfast before they headed back to New York.

He'd tucked the memory away somewhere, not to be dwelled or reflected back on. It was just something that happened and it never changed the course of their relationship; who they were to one another.

He knows now it's all bullshit. You can stave a memory off, not the emotion behind it. It isn't possible.

Instinctively, he kisses her back, the hands on her hips tightening ever so slightly. She tastes like champagne and the lip oil she's wearing and he'd be blatantly lying if he'd said she didn't feel like coming home personified in his arms.

He's vaguely aware that around them, it's gone quiet. The music is still playing, but conversation has muted and it should be undoubtedly mortifying; he should be beyond embarrassed to acknowledge that people are probably staring.

Except it's hard, if not near impossible to think of anything else when he's kissing her. His brain is short circuiting; head void, save for the idea that he's wanted this to happen again for a very long time.

It isn't until she giggles, pulling away a bit that he realizes just how intoxicated she actually is.

This isn't right, blares through his head, a siren, and gently he separates them.

"Stef," Bradley touches her cheek, willing himself to ignore everything around him, "maybe we should get you home."

She frowns a little and for a second, he thinks she's about to tell him off.

"Maybe you're right," she concedes with a tiny nod. "The room is spinning."

"Mhmm, it's okay," he supports her weight with a arm around her waist as she leans heavily against him. "I've got you."