2 kids

Eros or Himeros.

Ashley.

My heart's beating out of my chest at an inhumane speed. I swear Alex can hear the unsteady rhythm of the most crucial organ in my body.

The one organ he broke. Even if only metaphorically, it's crushed.

As his eyes penetrate through mine, that deep ocean blue, a million things swirl in my chest and mind. A million things I want to do.

Those eyes I fell for, those eyes I'm falling for again. Those eyes I'd fall for again and again, in every single life.

And that wicked devilish smile on that handsome face.

It's not the fact that nothing about him has changed that makes my heart skip beats, it's not the fact that I spot no signs of any heartbreak, and nor is it the fact that he still grins at me like I'm his prey, it's the fact that the way he looks at me hasn't changed. Not a single bit. The soft gaze displaying the never ending war between burning fire and dark ice.

And it's the proximity between us.

With each passing second my heartbeat accelerates, and I swear it will beat a hole in my chest.

Even though his hands have disconnected with my skin, I can still feel them on my legs. I feel a terrible mixture of guilt and shame, and burning desire taking over my body. I wish his hands would have wrapped around my calves entirely. That coldness of his touch against my burning skin, the warmth spreading through my entire body.

I want to feel his touch on my body. Again. Covering every inch of it.

I want to pull his face closer to mine, so damn close that our lips will connect.

But I don't. Instead I stare deep into his eyes, at his face, taking in all the familiar features. All the details I already know so well and love. And wondering why it had to go wrong.

Neither of us says anything for long seconds. The proximity is killing me. Killing him too. I can see it in his eyes. The burning desire and cunningness, those devilish sparks. It's consuming exactly like it used to.

But then when his deep and low tone cuts through the air, in a soft "Hi', something in me stirs up again.

How can he still make me feel butterflies? How can those butterflies turn into something so comfortable and make me feel at home? How can I willingly submit to everything he does and says?

It's a natural habit of mine to analyse his words, his tone. The message behind the few syllables. Because I know that most of the time there are a million unsaid things hidden behind his simple, yet perfectly and precisely constructed sentences.

I'm not sure if I'm calmed down by the discovery that his usual laid back tone is leading the vibe, or that the contrast between emotions and no emotions at all still play in his voice. It's dry, yet so bright.

I don't recognise the sound that leaves my throat. The sound that so resembles vague attempts to verbalise an answer, anything at this point. The sound that should be my voice, but barely sounds like something human. What escapes my throat does not belong to me. A demon must have possessed me.

"Hi."

I had imagined this moment so many times before. Ever since the day he walked out through that door and I broke down in tears, I had imagined what it would be like to face him again. What I'd feel and what I'd tell him.

I had prepared so many scenarios in my head, listed all the things I wanted him to know. All the things I wanted to shout at his face.

But now I silently stare at him, experiencing the same rollercoaster of emotions as before.