Heart's Done Time (Aerosmith Fanfiction)

Chapter six

Chapter six

Steven's POV

Sesame stayed the rest of the night, and though we did hardly anything, it was a great time. The best I'd had in awhile, actually, sober or otherwise.

We drank the entire bottle of sake pretty quickly, and the lemonade even quicker, so we ended up taking gross shots straight from the lid near the end and then washing it down with fried rice, if we could stomach it. Not that I minded much. As she'd said, it wasn't too different from downing straight vodka, which I did a lot of.

We were pretty drunk that night. And that isn't to imply that much went on, but there was plenty that could've, and I doubt I would've protested to anything she could do to me so maybe it was for the best that we mostly just lay in bed and listened to records.

The intimacy we frequently shared felt much different now though, because I'd meant it fully when I told her I loved her, and not simply in the way she seemed to think. Things felt weird.

But not too weird to function semi-normally, as was obvious by the night's events.

"Damn my hair!" yelled Sesame just after the sake had disappeared. She was quickly standing, albeit unsteadily, and all but ripping the hair-tie from her bun, resulting in a sudden waterfall of waist-length pink locks. I was mesmerized.

"Do you not own a comb?" she asked me then, searching my messy room for one. "Is that why your hair is so ridiculous?"

"Fuck you, my hair looks bitchin'," I replied, locating a brush and handing it to her.

She nodded her thanks, but not before rolling her eyes at me.

 She brushed through her hair easily, and I felt myself unable to look away as the strands passed through the brush bristles and then fell gently back to join the rest. I scooted closer to where she was seated on the bed.

"Your hair is perfect," I said before I could think about it. I was feeling adventurous, so I dared to run my bony fingers through the thick, wavy locks, eyes refusing to leave the way it reacted, falling like sand through the gaps between my fingers. It really was lovely.

I moved my eyes over to look into hers, then, studying the layers of grey and the way they melded together so nicely beneath two perfectly shaped brown-black eyebrows. I looked at her nose, which curved like a ski slope and ended up with that cute, model-esque quality. Then I looked to her lips, which were perfectly painted with light pink lipstick. I took in her whole face, pale skin almost blemish-less and eyes large and piercing. She was so beautiful.

This scrutiny made her blush, but she didn't look away, eyes darting as though searching my face for an explanation. I wondered if her thoughts were anything like mine.

I broke the moment, though, panicking because this was all so, so strange to me. I shivered.

Sesame had a look that said she didn't understand, but I didn't get it much myself, so I could hardly explain to her how I wished that things could go back to the way they were before: natural and safe. When our relationship actually made sense.

The alcohol made me sleepy, but I felt too good to wanna sleep off all the effects. That didn't stop me from crawling into bed, though, and I smiled when Sesame followed suit, long, shiny hair sprawling out across the pillow.

"I'm tired," she announced, but made no move to go to sleep. Quite on the contrary, she got back to her feet and traipsed over to my closet purposefully.

She had shed her cardigan and coat long ago, when the alcohol had first begun to warm her insides, so she was left now in only her jean shorts, blouse, and signature thigh-high socks. Her shoes sat in the corner of the room.

She began undressing, then, but it was nothing I hadn't seen after so many years of friendship, so I didn't look away.

She removed her top and cami only, and then began rooting through my closet with only a white bra covering her breasts, scoffing at half of the things she picked up.

"How do you fit in clothes this small?" she asked after a short while. "You must weigh, like, eighty pounds. There's no way I could get this around my huge rack," she joked, holding up a particularly form-fitting top.

"Oh yes, soooo huge," I threw back sarcastically, smirking when she stuck out her tongue. She threw the top aside.

After that, it didn't take long for her to locate something she liked; my black, long-sleeved v-neck that was a little too low-cut for most (but perfect for a rockstar-in-training) and my super-long black and white plaid scarf. She quickly got to work turning the top right-side-out.

When she had it righted, she slipped on the shirt, ignoring how the low neckline cut straight down between her boobs, and then tied the scarf how she knew I would, giggling at her reflection on my full-length mirror.

She strutted around the room, then, grabbing the hairbrush from earlier and singing into it in what I assumed was an impression of my raspy voice. I laughed.

Next she did a little spin, landing surprisingly-gracefully right at the end of my queen-sized bed and sitting like a Disney princess with her legs together, her spine arched back, and her hands on her knees.

I told her, "You look like Snow White or something," and she laughed, her eyes shut tight and her eyebrows scrunched so they were no longer hidden behind her fringe. She was so, so beautiful.

Her teeth were perfectly straight and white, and her lips were such a lovely pink I felt tempted to kiss her right then and there, with her drunk and laughing about being compared to a princess and me drunk and confused and happier than I could ever remember being all because I'd made her smile.

And I knew then that I did really, truly love Sesame Bello, as more than just a best friend.

I loved her as a lover.