now that we don't talk [tom blyth]

12.

I didn't hear from Tom for nearly a week. Though, I did see him. I saw him everywhere, and god did he look good.

White shirt, a beige blazer jacket and those goddamn black trousers that he loved to wear, clearly. I wonder if he knew the impact he had on me.

I worried about his lack of replying. I thought we may had turned a new leaf, something fresh, maybe a fresh start to what once was, but the radio silence from him only made me worried that this was a quick Berlin-trip-fling that wouldn't eventuate to anything.

When Sunday night rolled around, I didn't have any messages from Tom about him being back in New York. I was sat at my kitchen bench, desperately finishing the articles and feature. With my headphones on blasting the loudest punk music I could find, I didn't notice the door open, someone enter my unit, or standing behind me, until a pair of hands wrapped over my eyes.

My blood-curdling scream echoed through the apartment as my heart rate picked up. I threw my headphones off, finally hearing the laughing of the British boy behind me over my laboured breathing. I turned to see him hunched over, holding his stomach whilst he laughed at me. I, on the other hand, was less than impressed, a hand on my knee as I bent over trying to regain my breath.

"I fucking hate you," I said between breaths, Tom finally regaining composure to stand and look at me, chuckling a little.

"Well, if you answered the door 20 minutes ago when I first knocked, I wouldn't have had to let myself in," he shrugged, moving to the fridge to pull out the water jug and pour some into a clean glass from the dish rack. My body followed his movements to face him in the kitchen, a scowl still on my face.

"I was busy, and how the fuck did you get in anyway?" he flashed the small, silver key in his fingertips before sliding it across the kitchen bench to me.

"I still have it from when I lived here. Been meaning to give it back, but came in handy. I didn't really want to use it, but I also wanted to see you."

"And you couldn't have just, I don't know, gently tapped me on the shoulder?"

He thought for a second, sipping at his water, reverting his gaze right into mine, "No."

I rolled my eyes, shutting my laptop and filling the kettle with water to boil.

"What were you working on?" he had shifted his body to lean against the counter, sipping at his water and watching me prepare a cup of tea.

"My articles and all that from the event. I've got to have them in by tomorrow night. I am nearly done, just final editing and all that jazz. Dean is doing the videos," Tom nodded at my reply.

I made my cup of tea, turning and leaning against the bench opposite him. We faced each other, both sipping our drinks, me staring at the living room behind Tom, whilst him staring directly at my face. God, he was intimidating.

"I missed you, you know," I said in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper, "I missed having you here." He sighed.

"I missed being here too." Silence fell over us again.

Tom finished his glass of water, placing it in the sink and making his way over to me. The cup of tea in my hand was gently removed and placed next to me, Tom now placing a hand on either side of my hips on the bench. We were only centimetres apart, and whilst no different to the hugs we'd exchanged, my heart was racing faster than ever. This felt wildly different to our hugs. I could smell his cologne on his body, my eyes locked on his chest so as not to crumble under his eye contact. I took in what he was wearing, reaching up and running my fingers over the edge of his jacket.

"This is nice," I whispered.

"I thought you might like it."

Our bodies were closer than I realised, or maybe he was just getting closer. My chest sat just below his, my eyes fixated in front of me before gazing up at him. He was looking intently at me, a glisten in his eyes. He reached a hand up from my side, tucking a strand of brown hair behind my ear and letting his fingers travel to my jaw. He gently raised my head up to face him properly.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered. I nodded gently and, with his hand cradling the side of my face gently, he leaned in and placed his lips on mine.

Tom always kissed like it was his last breath of air and now was no different. The kiss was both gentle and desperate, full of love and lust. Our lips moved together with familiarity and ease. It was like two experts working in their field, we knew exactly how to move together. He removed his hand from my face, reaching down to my waist and lifting me onto the bench. Sliding me back, my legs moved apart for him to stand between. His hand returned to my face, his right cradling my cheek whilst the other held my waist close to his.

Sparks erupted between us, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. We kissed like it was the first and last time, although I believed this would be neither. Something about this kiss felt promising, and purposeful, a message to me that he still loved me.

He pulled away gently, his lips reddened from our kiss, his cheeks matching in colour. His chest rose up and down much like his hands were on the sides of my waist, caressing the skin gently under my shirt. His lips were still close to mine, begging for me to lean forward and connect them again.

"I've missed you so much."