While You Were Away ✈ (On Edition)

05. In The Shower

Five times.

I've woken up five times last night. Ever since yesterday, when Louis showed up and decided to spill the bill regarding Izzy's departure, nightmares developed into a must during my slumber. The bad dreams weren't eradicated by the sudden appearance of  Aaron, entering to turn darkness into light, affliction into joy and pour some rainbows on his way. Guiltiness prevailed,  eating me alive and keeping me awake until 5 am, a single question on my mind: Could I really be the reason why Izzy is leaving?

Once the clock struck 8:15, I forced my sluggish limbs out of the mattress. It is pointless to concentrate on drifting onto sleep, eyelids closed for more than half an hour straight --especially considering the sun has already bathed the room in light.

I drag my toes towards the shower, leaving a trail of satin PJs on my way. The water is cold and it falls harshly on my back, slowly warming up till steam starts to float above me. Bubbles emerge from my scalp as I massage the shampoo, fingertips drawing circles in an attempt to smooth away a headache. I close my eyes. Showers are always good to clear the mind; sleep is actually better but as I'm having troubles with that, a warm and cosy shower has to do.

It hurts. It hurts a lot to be, although allegedly, the cause of such a radical decision. I could talk to Izzy about it, let him know that flying off isn't a good idea, but he won't listen. Why would he? Izzy and I aren't close and if he opted to hid it from me back at the café, he didn't intend for me to find out. Instead, I could talk to Aaron, he seems to be a bit difficult but I'm [almost] sure I can manage to make him understand that even if the two aren't on speaking terms, it is insane to permit Izzy to give up on this dreams. I refuse to. Izzy buried himself in gigs at pubs, the ones that paid him just barely enough to cover his rent and forced him to save for years in order to buy his classic Aston Martin. He wishes to become a showman that performs all around Europe. He couldn't conquer that dream in Australia. Not because it isn't a great country, but because it isn't on the side of the map Izzy pictured himself in. 

So yeah, Aaron has to be the next step.
Aaron Johnson ought to listen.

"When was the last time you slept?"

Bullocks.

I thought he would disappear for days, weeks, even months --and now, now he's leaning against the shower wall, gazing at my silhouette under the water,  arms crossed over his chest with somewhat worried eyes. Whereas his face represents anger and concern, relief runs down my spine as soon as I lay eyes on him.

He actually came back, not a week, a month, but a day later; and he is here, shirtless, pantless, all but nudity and I can't find it in me to think straight.  

There's a smile plastered on my face when I launch my body into his arms, encircling my legs around his torso. Aaron's arms are firmly wrapped around my waist as I hide my head in the crook of his neck, and we laugh, relieved, fulfilled, overjoyed.

Everything about him and the way he touches me, spreading kisses along my collarbones up to my cheek, seems meant to fucking be, as if my skin was soft for him to touch it and my lips for him to kiss them. 

After a peck on my temple, Aaron's mouth shadows down my nose in pursuit of my own. The kiss is sloppy, hot, his fingers curled tightly onto my nape, pulling me flush against his body.

"Jesus, you're going to kill me," he moans as he deftly hoists me up by the waist to keep me pinned with his hips. 

"I thought you were mad at me," breathlessly, I murmur.

"I was."

"Oh."

He chuckles lowly, the sound reverberating in his chest. His lips return to my forehead and I flutter my eyes closed, sighing happily. Aaron's voice mewls to my ear, "Though you were mad at me, too."