truce // scomiche

0.5

0 . 5

S E C R E T   K I S S E S

With my parents gone at work, and my sisters off at school, I was able to sit peacefully in my quiet home, free of all distractions.

That is, until Scott came over. He didn't bother to knock; he just barged in.

"Hey." I said, not looking up from my essay.

He sat down next to me, resting his head on my shoulder.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Yeah." As he said it, I noticed a strange smell on his breath.

I put my arm behind the couch, running my fingers through his soft blond hair.

"That looks like a really good essay."

"Thanks, Scooter."  I said, diverting my attention away from my school project.

"Well it sounds really interesting, but I have something to say." He shut my laptop, pushing it aside.

"What are you doing?" I ask, reaching for my computer.

He grabbed my hands and looked into my eyes, "It's you."

"What? Are you drunk?"

"Mitch, you're my everything; my whole life. I'm going to regret this, I know it, but I feel like I need to get it out. Yes, I'm drunk."

"It's four in the afternoon?"

"Look, when you asked me who I liked, I really thought about it. You stirred up something in me. You're the prettiest boy I've ever seen. You're seriously the greatest person I've ever met... my heart feels all warm when I see you. I don't even know, okay? I like you. I even think I may love you."

I was paralyzed with shock. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, although I wasn't mad.

"I'm going to regret this tomorrow," he said, his blue eyes staring deep into my brown ones.

"Wait, Scott what-" but before I could get another word out, he pressed his lips onto mine, soft and tinted with the strong scent of vodka. I was frozen. Shocked.

Then he pulled away, an equally as shocked look on his face.

"I'm sorry." And just like that, he was gone. I sat, unmoving for a while, unable to process what just happened.

I had made it pretty clear to myself that I liked Scott, and I suspected it might have been mutual, but never, not in a million years, would I have predicted this. Part of me thought that this was all drunk, depressed Scott and it meant nothing. But the other part of me remembered that drunken words are sober thoughts.

Scott probably regretted what he had done, but I didn't. I was almost thrilled. I had no idea what this meant for us, but I was ready to find out.

___________________

"Hey, is Scott home?" I asked Lindsey when he answered the door the next day.

"Yeah, he's in his room, but he might not want to talk to you." She warned.

"Is he mad at me?"

"No he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself. Did he really kiss you?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm going to talk to him about." I took a deep breath.  Lindsey gave me a reassuring nod and I headed up.

I ran up the stairs, pausing before Scott's door. I could hear him playing the piano, but I couldn't make out the words he was singing. I knocked and opened his door. He was sitting on the floor; his favorite light blue hoodie covering is head as he messed around on his keyboard.