Heartbroken//Mileven

Chapter 3

I love you because I wish one day I could be like you, be as important as you, and maybe, if I'm lucky, be half as special.

"Does it look...pretty?" 

"Yeah, like really" He fluffed the top with his fingers, "its adorable, I love it. Not that my opinion of your hair matters or anything-"

"Mike."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." She smiled. 

Even if it didn't matter, it still felt good to hear.

Sometimes she was scared these feelings would disappear, that they ran and hid just as she did. But being here, holding his hands, overwhelmed by the presence in front of her, she realized exactly why these things were unexplainable.

Their faces were much closer than she remembered. 

Was it too soon to beg him to move?

Maybe he was nervous too. She hoped that he was more nervous than her, maybe so much so that he wouldn't realize her palms sweating profusely into his. Maybe his were just sweating onto hers. 

Maybe she was thinking about this too much.

Yeah, he was nervous. God he hadn't been this close to her since, well, since she basically died (kind of not really) right after their first kiss. That was too embarrassing to think about right now. 

Why was he thinking about that right now.

It was probably the thought of messing everything up, again. But it didn't help that she was looking at him like that.

"El?" 

His voice was barely above a whisper. 

"Yes"

"Can I...?"

She nodded.

Please.

She was going to be the death of him.

He just thought, if his parents were the only relationship to represent love, then he was pretty sure he had no chance at. Bickering, separate beds, avoidance, it seemed like they were barely acquaintances, much less in love. There was nothing to long for, nothing to hope for if he didn't even understand what he was missing.

So what was it?

Love?

It was easy to assume now that he first felt it standing in the rain that night in the woods; that unconditional bottomless terrifyingly strong pull. All soggy with the t-shirt swallowing her whole, she was simply the most beautiful person he had even seen. And it was so unexplainable, so illogical, how he could he care so severely so instantly. 

But this caring feeling, the longing, the ache in his soul when they parted ways, it felt like he needed her. And that was much more terrifying than the kind of basic superficial love he used to cover his eyes and gag at. 

He felt safe, he felt happy but at the same time completely mad. So insanely wild that the breath would be knocked from his lungs, and it inconceivable that there was a time before her. 

He swore there would never be a moment that he would leave the dishes for her to do late at night, or shout at her that dinner tasted worse that usual. He would never run away from her and sleep on the sofa every night, never ignore her new outfits, never be the cause of her sobbing when she thought everyone else was asleep.

What he felt was infatuation, sure. Affection, attraction, attachment, adoration, was that too many a's. 

Was this too cheesy to even be conscious of?