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"You—you said you loved me too. That you never stopped."
➳
𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐎𝐗 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 at your house, now both feeling giddy with one another after the interactions that occurred over the car ride there. The two bonded over embarrassing stories that seemed close to no humor at the time—but somehow aged to become something hilarious.
You walk up each stair step leading to your front door whilst your hands sit tightly snug in the depths of your pockets. Your fingers graze the handle of your doorknob before recalling one exceptionally funny moment between you and Vox a few months before your breakup. You turn on your heel to look at Vox.
"Remember when y—"
Vox cuts you off by hooking his arm around your waist before reaching an arm down to hold your leg up to his hip. He looks rather awkward in this position, with your arms quickly hung over his neck in resulting instinct.
You part your lips to warn him not to do something reckless. But of course, they never listen.
The kiss feels different. It was a feeling—an emotion—you couldn't place a finger on. All you knew was that it wasn't something that should be happening. Your brain seems to fail to function properly, and for a moment—you're stuck petrified, unable to decide whether to kiss him back or push him away.
His long serpentine demands entry into your mouth, and it's then you finally snap from your thoughts and retract your lips. Yet to your amazement, you don't scream at him or crinkle your nose. You...laugh.
A faint glow brightens Vox's screen to hear your laugh. You...let him kiss you! You...let him kiss you...
"Sorry," he says, looking off to the side bashfully.
"It's fine," you're quick to reply.
There is a silence.
"I said that I loved you," he finally says. His breath escapes into the frigid air.
You nod. "You did."
He takes a step closer, his breath now fanning your face. "But what about you?" he asks quietly. "When we were drunk that night..." He swallows a lump in his throat. "You—you told me you loved me too. That you never stopped."
"I...I did," you say. But it sounds more like a question.
He takes your hand. "But is it true?" His words cut through the thick December air.
You pause and shake your head. "I'm not sure, actually..." you begin to say, taking note of Vox's defeated expression. "But something's there."
