Bastille Imagines

Perspective

A/n: Okay so this one is a little different. I dunno how this has worked out, it's like I've mixed 1st and 2nd person. You read it from two POV's so I dunno. Just read it and hope it makes sense. Enjoy!
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Dan

I stare into your eyes like I'm staring into the galaxy itself and getting lost within them is like getting myself lost in a maze: there's no way out. I admiringly take note of your cute little chuckle that had me hooked the first day I met you, and still to this very day I can't go an hour without hearing it. My fingers intertwine with yours as I'm playing around with them, always feeling like silk beneath my touch. But you just see it as a playful thumb war.

I honestly don't know how you do it: you're naturally partnered with a radiant glow all the time, even in your worst of moments. It radiates my system, automatically mutates me and allows me to become obsessively hooked with the sight of you. How beautiful you are. Your long, floaty hair has my fingers dancing partner and partner with it, constantly wanting run my hands through it and feel that soft sensation through the gaps of my fingers. It's not the only part that I love, it's the smell. That coconutty whiff has me drawn to bury my nose into it, and hold you lovingly at the same time. Always wanting and never having.

I sit here with you admiring your features that are absolutely flawless. I feel blessed having the privilege to spend my time with you alone. And yet you sit with me like I'm just another person among many to know. But you see, it's all about perspective. You may see this bond between us as being mutually platonic and maybe even as a typical friendship, but the way I see it, I see a connection between us that holds a certain role in my affection for you, it's meaningful in a way that I want it to never end.

But here I am in your presence, knowing just as much as yourself that we both have uni work to do, but rather we spend that time with each other. We plainly sit, watching the Tv with a hypnotised stare in the dead silence. It's not awkward at the slightest, comforting to know that I don't need to be responsible for keeping the flow of the conversation. I don't know what we're doing to be honest or why you invited me over, but all I know is that spending time with you - however spent - is totally worth it. You, however, just want me to distract you from being bored.

You start up a conversation, one about the fight just outside campus territory. I already know, but I let you tell me all about it anyway because the sound of your excited voice is music to my ears. I catch a glimpse at the twinkle in your eye, once again proving that you literally have the galaxy in your possession. I let you incessantly ramble about the event and subconsciously smile, you're cute when your ramble. But you think I'm laughing at the joke you just made.

The moment you move closer to me to show me a funny picture you just found has my heart racing. I don't know how you don't notice it when it's literally pounding out of my chest but somehow it just blindly goes over your head. You're so close to me that I feel obliged to put my arm around you and you let it. Miraculously. Your body intermingles with mine like we were meant to be, curled up in the foetal position with your phone being centre of attention. My cheek is so close to your head, it's aching to rest on it and I want to, but don't have the courage to do so. That is until you rest your head upon my shoulder comfortably finding the perfect position in the crook of my neck. But you're just tired.

This is just platonic.

You

You arrive just minutes after I text you. I know I can rely on you to turn up within a matter of minutes. You always brighten up my day every time I see you, your company is enough to settle any stress. Despite this being the real reason for wanting to see you, I always use the excuse of boredom. I don't have the courage to tell you the real reason. You stride in like you own the place and I naturally close the door behind me keeping my gaze on your voluminous quiff. As you past me I have no choice but to let the mesmerising smell of your cologne enter my nose. It's been the same ever since I met you, but still, I never get tired of it. I can tell you've had a haircut, the sides are shorter and your infamous quiff is kept neat and tidy like it always is after you get a haircut. It's things like these that I take great care in looking out for, it's the smallest of things that make everything about you look better: the freckles that decorate the bridge of your nose, that crooked tooth that never fails to make its appearance and that perfect flick at the end of your quiff. I want to tell you about these little details, but I don't want you thinking I'm strange.

As we begin talking we subconsciously conjoin to start a thumb war but keeping our focus on the topic of our conversation. You're gentle with me, your soft touch careful not to overdo the competitiveness inside and accidentally break my thumb. In the end you let me win, you always do. You smile even though you are defeated, and with that smile you present that little crooked tooth that you hate but I love. You release your grip from me and pull your hand closer to yourself and out of my reach. I want to hold onto your hand a little longer but I worry that you won't want to do the same. I fear rejection.

I turn on the Tv and sit at the opposite end of the couch, giving you your space. I peer over at you sometimes just to remind myself that you're actually here with me. I know you have important uni work to do and you only use me for a distraction and an excuse not to do it. But I don't want to be used for just a distraction.

I can't help to notice the tensing your jaw, complimented by the perfect amount of slightly gingery stubble. I can see your eyes inspect the telly wishing that those eyes would lay themselves on me. Your big blue eyes is all it takes to have me internally crumble and my knees buckle beneath me, it takes every ounce of strength within me to keep my stance and not heart meltingly fall to the floor. You suddenly turn your head obviously noticing me gloating over your perfect features, I wish I wasn't so weird like that but I am. I can't help it, you're just so enchanting.

You keep quiet at the other end of the couch and I feel complied to start a conversation. You always listen to my stories no matter how boring they are, it's that attractive look of interest that you pull when I'm telling my story that makes me stumble over my words, completely forget what I am going to say and get myself distracted by your beautiful face. I tell you all about the fight that happened earlier today, and I'm surprised you haven't heard about it, it's everywhere. I soon stop when I realise that I'm continuously rambling and making no sense, a feature that I have to put up with. That feeling of delight when you laugh to my little joke fills me up with joy. But are you laughing at me or the joke?

I challenge myself and take a dare to approach you, with my phone in hand and the image of a funny picture. Your warmth welcomes me and I get lost within the embrace of your body. I hear you giggle and it's literally the sweetest thing that my ears have ever heard. The picture isn't even that funny, but you laugh at it anyway giving me a sense of hope that you actually think I'm funny. I can't bring myself to look up to you, I know that I would instantly melt in your arms if I do, so instead I pan my attention on my phone setting boundaries for myself so that I don't get carried away. But that's when you do it. You snake those big arms of yours around my petite frame comfortably resting on my shoulder. But am I taking up too much of your personal space?

I don't know how you don't notice the bright pink colour on my cheeks, it's the most noticeable thing in this room. I begin to feel the magnetic pull that you lure me into, and I hope you know that I'm not immune to your charms nor your sweet disposition. I can feel my head sink into the crook of your neck and yet again that adoring smell replaces oxygen. I'm not sure whether you think that I'm doing this intentionally or for whatever you reason that you may believe, but when you respond by resting your cheek on top of my head, I can barely contain myself. I hope that what I'm trying to hint to you is coming through loud and clear.

This is totally not platonic.