We were lying on the carpeted floor, watching TV, and just talking, trying to get to further know each other. Our bodies, lying on the floor, were faced to each other. He had his left arm beneath my neck, while his right was placed over my waist.
We were so close to each other, taking each other's invasion of personal space into comfort. Our faces a few inches away from each other. I was so tempted to kiss him. I'd always wanted to. So I did.
Without hesitation, I took advantage of our proximity and brushed my lips against his. Once, slowly, gently. Our kiss was soft. His lips were soft. He looked surprised. Mere seconds later, that surprise turned into craving for more, but I pulled away before anything got out of hand and focused on the TV.
A tingling sensation formed in me at the thought that he liked what I did. At the possibility that we both could be feeling the same way towards each other.
After what I shamelessly did, I never looked back at him again. Because despite the possible mutual understanding, something intimate still happened, which I initiated. I couldn't help but still feel some embarrassment.
I remember gushing over a male celebrity on TV, which annoyed him. He looked jealous because my attention was on a mere figure of the screen when he was physically right next to me. So I tried to make up to him. I apologized and even tried to hug him, but he kept ignoring me. Eventually, we held hands, our fingers playfully intertwined. Like he had already forgiven me. Like he couldn't stand being mad at me for so long.
Then I woke up.
