Capturing Us (bxb)

Chapter Sixteen

Liam's POV

Woodford was quiet when the sun was rising. Hues of orange, yellow, and pink painted the sky as the sun emerged from the horizon, marking a new day. The only noises were those of nature, save for the occasional distant honk of an early traveler. 

Birds sang while the wind blew a gentle, beautiful breeze. Liam thought that mother nature was painting a perfect day in mockery of his miserable one. It hadn't been six hours into Saturday, yet he'd already decided it wouldn't be one of happiness. The only partial remedy to his pain came in the form of a lone, wooden bench on the top of a hill, adorned with cracks and hugged by weeds. From his spot, he was awarded with the view of a dormant neighborhood waking up. Surrounding him were an array of flowers, overgrown grass, and the sporadic butterfly. 

Ever since he was young, he had frequently found refuge in that bench. Whether he was alone or accompanied by another, he was always felt with a feeling of tranquility and safety. As the bench aged and withered, so did Liam's trips to the spot. But since freshman year, the spot had been tainted with all things Blake, and Liam couldn't bring himself to go there as frequently.

The two-seater bench was a regular spot at which Blake and Liam would visit. Sometimes, they would come bearing ice cream or other treats from the parlor not too far away, but other times, they would go just to spend time or to watch the sunrise, sunset, or the stars painting the night sky.

It was theirs. 

Or, more accurately, it was Liam's spot that had turned into the both of theirs once Blake starting tagging along. 

And Liam liked that thought more than the thought of it just being his. 

When Blake discarded their friendship, Liam never discarded their spot. He would visit every night. The closest solace he had after he had lost his sole comfort was that spot. A foolish part of him even used to wish Blake would be there, sitting on the worn bench, waiting for him. 

But he never came. 

Now, just like he had four years prior, Liam found a nostalgic comfort in the hard, chipped wood beneath him. He basked in the near silence - a contrast to the war raging inside his head. 

Why did he kiss Blake?

Well, that was a stupid question. He knew why he kissed Blake, or at least had an idea, that of which he had yet to accept, but how could he let himself fall for the same boy that broke him? How could he put his trust in the hands of someone that had broken his trust just years ago?

When Liam woke up that morning, he was surrounded in an unfamiliar warmth. For a few blissful moments, he basked in it, not wanting to escape from whatever the feeling was. 

That was when he opened his eyes. 

Immediately, whatever morning haze had accompanied him had vanished, leaving him with a harsh reality. He was in Blake's arms. 

After a moment of debating whether he should cry, scream, kick, or simply go back to sleep, Liam decided to make his escape as seamless as he could. The morning had yet to develop, but he saw that the beginnings of light would allow just enough clarity in Liam's sight for him to be able to maneuver around without tripping or falling.  

From his spot in Blake's arm, he reached over the edge of the bed, grabbing a pillow off of the floor, of which he assumed had fallen off the bed during the night, and slowly replaced his body with the pillow's. Taking a second, he allowed himself to gaze at Blake's sleeping form. The sight sparked feelings of warmth and affection, but also those of hurt and confusion.