chris sturniolo imagines *ੈ✩‧₊˚

we've got this

✧.* part two of "nothing's working".

✧.* broken up.

i haven't seen y/n since december. today would've been our four year anniversary, april fifteenth. not a day has gone by i haven't thought about the warmth of her hug, the softness of her hair, and the delicate tug she did with her kisses. it was all so detailed and imprinted into my mind; i could never forget something so intricate like her. i wanted to marry that girl, and i'm still convinced i will. our story can't be over.

i've known her address this whole time, but i've been too pussy to pull up. i also definitely wasn't in the right mindset to have a mature and heart to heart conversation with her without an argument. i can't ever fight with this girl again. so i waited this long, and i'm ready to see her face again.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"chris?" my heart fluttered and ached at the crystals in his eyes. they looked shinier than what i remembered, but just as beautiful, if not more.

"y/n." he smiled and i watched his chest sink and rise. he looks impossibly better, and it upset me. he looks happy and adorable and bright. i look like a poster boy.

"chris. what?" the english i previously knew flew right out my ears and escaped me before i could ask him anything.

"i needed to see you today."

"wanted to or needed to?" i questioned.

"you know i need you, y/n. don't do that," he stepped closer in the door. he looked so good.

"can i come in?"

i immediately nodded and opened the door wider. watching him in person again was so familiar but so awkward and weird for me. his glow is back, the one he had when we first started dating.

"happy anniversary." i whispered and hoped he didn't hear me; i immediately regret saying that.

thankfully he smiled and it eased my anxiety about it. i could never forget our anniversary. it's always the best day of the year, right next to his birthday. we used to  spend all day together retelling old stories from the beginning of our relationship and remembering all of our good times. our anniversary always felt like a reset of our relationship, putting past any arguments we had and moving on to cherish being with the person you love most... and for me that was chris. it most certainly still is.

seeing him today has brought back feelings i wasn't sure i still had, and i know i still had a lot for him. looking at him feels like a pain in the chest, but the good one. it's scary to see someone like him again. i missed him too much, but i am the one who pushed him away.

"watcha thinking about, y/n?" he was cutting the ends of roses i didn't notice he had at my island counter like he is my husband. he's so casual about this and i'm a mess of nerves and regret.

"just thinking about how much i missed you. and how sorry i am for giving up on you. on us."

"it's not all your fault. i shouldn't have let you walk out like that. i should've came to see you sooner. " he sighed at the end of his sentence and waltzed over to the sink to fill the vase. i eyed him so closely to take him in real good. i can still smell him from when he passed right by me in the doorway. it's my favorite smell, exactly the same, so nostalgic.

my feet started, and now i'm in front of him. "i want to start over but it's not a good idea."

"we've got this, and you know it. we can do it real slow, like how we started." he finished fixing the roses and finally looked at me.

"i'm scared." i admitted, because i am. scared of hurting myself, scared of losing him, scared of it not working, scared of the arguments.

"oh, believe me, i've never been more scared. but i'm willing to be scared if i get to love you again." he stepped closer and i know what's going to happen. the way his nostrils flare, lips quirk up, eyes darken. small things any other girl would never notice, but i've spent years tracing his habits.

"chris." only words i can get out before our lips connect.

all passion, all need, all trust. i've need someone or something more than right now; i let myself fall into him because i trust he can take care of me. his lips are soft and flavored like oranges, just the way i like it. i smile at the thought of him putting on chapstick just to kiss me. my hands trail up the skin of his waist and exit at the bottom of his shirt, only to be connected with the wispy hair at the base of his neck. it all feels too natural, but i know how to please him. i know exactly what he likes. he liked my nails through his waves, he liked when i push into him, he loves when my hands trail other places.

but he pulls away, fanning his breath over my swollen, wet lips. "i said slow, love." 

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    lovely, bia ⍣ ೋ