padam - a jan peteh pov story

MEDIOCRE - 23.08.2019 - HANA POV

After the success of the previous night, we agreed to meet again in the same place. As the night had continued on, I had become more and more captivated by his dark eyes, the way he shook his hair to fix it - and I had two more nights left to relive it all over again.

I had been incredibly surprised by his actions; he hadn't even tried to kiss me, although his darting eyes and intent stare told me that perhaps he thought about it. We talked about our lives; me much more so than him. He seemed to enjoy acting totally mysterious, and I was enticed by it: the idea of him potentially revealing more to me as I leaned into him was strangely seductive.

'Will you tell me your name yet?' I questioned, giving him a gentle shoulder-push.

'Maybe.' he replied, his voice deep and quiet. 'Hana.' he added onto the end; banter. His way of quietly boasting that I had been so transparent, while he shut himself off.

And, sure, he wasn't exactly opening up about his personality - however, he was opening up his wallet, and money was something I valued much more than knowledge. I sipped my rum and coke, purchased by him, while thinking of what to say next.

'I know people that are also your friends.' I pointed out, gesturing over to where the pair of international students chatted among themselves on their regular table over by the corner. 'I could ask them.'

'Nice try. I'll tell them not to say anything.' he shrugged, laughing slightly.

'I'll find your Instagram.' I fought, attempting to gain even a morsel of information about him. 'Where are you from?'

'I couldn't tell you. I have a very complicated heritage.' he dragged on, avoiding the question completely.

'Okay, where did you fly from, then?' I grinned smugly after I said this, folding my arms in victory. I leant forward to take my straw in my mouth, as he answered confidently.

'Frankfurt.'

'You're German?' I asked in disbelief. Although it was entirely possible, I wasn't exactly the best person at guessing people's home country. Yet I could've sworn that his friends didn't speak the language, given that it was one of the few that I could recognise from the accent. I watched as he struggled to hold in his prideful smile, and I rolled my eyes. I assumed that he had given a smart answer, and was now going to laugh at me for thinking that he had allowed himself to be vulnerable.

'Connecting flight.' he replied, now allowing the smirk to escape onto his face.

'For fuck's sake.' I threw my hands up in the air exasperatedly. 'Will I ever work you out?'

'Does it matter?' he flirted, his eyes once again drifting away from mine. I had purposefully chosen a slinky top, one that flattered my small waist and gave me some illusion of cleavage, yet his gaze didn't drift that far down. Respectful, I thought, watching as his pupils centred on my lips, before quickly snapping back upwards to meet mine once again.

'I suppose not.' I raised my eyebrows slightly, trying to hold the redness back that tried relentlessly to flood onto my cheeks. I ultimately failed; he noticed immediately. Had he not been distracted by my purposeful pink lipstick, I would have suggested that he might have allowed his smile to widen even further, if that was possible. Like a Cheshire Cat, I thought. Even worse, his glee was infectious.

It's probably necessary that I mention that we had relocated to a booth; totally an accident, but also a great advantage for if he decided to make a move on me. Although we had originally greeted each other at my usual table, the moment we had left for the bar, it was taken up - leaving only a few stray counters in the corner, that just so happened to be fitted with small, round sofas.

Where the couples usually sat.

I had already prepared; mentally told myself that I would allow anything to happen if he was also in agreement. He was handsome, well-mannered, and also had no intention of stopping the drinks from arriving at the table - there was little more a girl could ask for.

The maroon of his irises shone under the low lights, glittering slightly as I studied them. Although we were both silent, nothing seemed awkward; it all felt right. So right, that when he leaned in towards me, to wrap his hand around my back, the fluttering shut of my eyes came naturally to me. My lips parted, a silent form of consent to his mystic touch.

The first kiss was gentle, slow. He pulled me in slightly closer, painting colourful images on my spine using his finger. Time froze for a few seconds; the music ceased, the chatter of the bar disappeared. I cocked my face a little further to the right as he pulled away, landing my head firmly onto his shoulder. I didn't notice until then that my hands had subconsciously drifted from their former positions at my side - they now wrapped around his neck for support.

He soon looped his arm back around my shoulder, cupping my cheek with care and tilting it back towards him. His touch felt cold against my rosy complexion; although I was embarrassed, he didn't seem to mind. A whisper of a kiss hit my lips again, making me feel fulfilled for at least half a second, pulling me out of reality for one last dip into the fantasy realm.

'Mediocre.' I commented instinctively as we separated, allowing his face to fall before I erupted into a fit of giggles. I outlined a pretty heart onto the back of his neck, feeling the hairs respond to my presence.

'Yet seemingly enough for you to not back away.' he responded, as though he was trying to figure me out; he knew I was into him, yet seemed to question my every move.

'You're getting ahead of yourself, Frankfurt.' I laughed, dropping my head back into the crux of his shoulder and closing my eyes.

'Frankfurt?' he repeated, utterly confused.

'Nickname. Get used to it.' I shot playfully, smiling as I did. 'Unless you're going to give me your real name.'

'That would take all the fun away.' I felt his muscles contract as he reached for his hair, running his fingers through it.

'You would think you would have more hair, the amount of time you spend messing with it.' I observed, now untangling myself from him to glance into his eyes. 'You would certainly suit longer hair. Maybe I could play with it, then.'

'Longer hair?' he asked, as though he was considering it.

'Then again, your side part is pretty.'

Holiday romances never last; that's why it didn't particularly bother me that there was a gut feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was missing, that we didn't fit together like perfect puzzle pieces. He was from an unnamed country, and I was a student with commitments. There was no way in which we had a future beyond these three days, and we would create empty memories to last scarcely a few weeks.

Yet, in this moment, he swept my body into another kiss, and I let all of those thoughts dissolve like adrenaline into my blood, to course around my body and provide me with further thrill and rush for this seemingly impossible affair.