Episode Twenty-Six:
THUMP
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F A W N ' S P O V :
"Um, sorry you had to see me like that," I mumble, trying to refrain from getting lost in the seas of blue and green melting together in the depths of his irises, sitting in such close proximity that I can actually take the time to observe them closely.
As I observe his eyes, his pupils travel further south, settling on the top of my upper lip.
The silence that follows is nearly unbearable, his hands firm on my waist, and eyes forever locked in what must be the most frustratingly long gaze of my life. Slowly, barely at all, I can feel his featherlight fingers shifting their position on my waist, traveling higher, then lower, then settling back in place as though none of it had even happened. Like the brush of shoulders as you walk by someone in a hall, touch existent, but no one but you and that person would ever know contact was made.
Sometimes even the people who make contact wouldn't know, yet it happened.
"Elliott?" I whisper, trying my best to keep my emotions in check as I squeak out a word.
"Do you know what's happening?" He asks quietly.
His calloused hands reach the small of my back, and I know now that I am not imagining things.
I am not alone. I am not crazy.
I'm scared out of my mind, but –
I like Elliott.
Or maybe I just like whatever it is he's doing, distracting me from, releasing me from, but I know that I don't want him to stop. I want him to keep holding me like this, and keep looking at me like that, and saying things that insist he's fine with my want – for him.
Fuck.
"Fawn, do you know?" He repeats, voice lower than before but not necessarily gravelly.
"Y-Yes,"
"Are you okay with what's happening?"
He slowly reaches over himself, flipping us so that I'm surrounded by nothing but his scent, body, and soul.
I can't decide which is the most alluring.
"Tell me I'm crazy." He breathes, the scratchiness of his voice only coming through when I look away from him, so I can relearn how it is you breathe.
I've forgotten at his point.
"This is some cruel dream," he mutters.
"It's not a dream," I whisper.
"It's not real life," he leans down from his place in the sky to where his face is looking down upon mine, directly, no weird angles, no weird shadows, just him and him alone.
"You're always s-so n-negative," I respond, causing him to inch even closer to me.
"Kind of my thing," he smiles, "Just like your thing is ruining the moment,"
YOU ARE READING
Wrong Guy
Teen Fiction❝Would it be wrong to think - to think, that I could make you so much happier?❞ Fawn Lockhart and Elliott Mass have never gotten along. The water and oil of people they avoid each other at all costs, and when they do interact it's nothing but petty...
