Pieces of Time

Piece 1- When in Rome...

Alissida

I am sweating in places I did not know existed.
And I swear to God, if I have to sit on ONE more plastic chair...
"Ali, stop ranting. You're in Rome- you could at least try to appreciate it."
Seb glares at me, purposefully ignoring the bead of sweat trickling down his nose.
I glare straight back.
"Easy for you to say! You could walk around naked and no one would bat an eyelid," I say, rolling my eyes, "I, on the other hand..."
A mischievous grin spreads across his face, and I feel heat rush up my face as his eyes, a deep blue, linger on mine.
Damn it.

"Sebastian Meadows," I begin, attempting to wind my fingers through his, "when I agreed to travel the World with you, I was imagining sandy beaches, palm trees, tropical fish..." I gesture wildly with both arms at the swarms of sweaty, bored tourists surrounding us, "Not this!"
Catching my hot, flailing hands in his own, he raises an eyebrow.
"You're simply focusing on the wrong thing. Look around you, Ali; use your imagination." Seb releases me, then places his hands firmly on my shoulders.
I sigh dramatically, but a pleading look makes me slowly turn around.
Holy shit.

The noises around me fade as I take in the majestic, ancient monument before me. A breathe catches in my throat, and the ground beneath my feet begins to sway; my knees buckle.
I barely feel Seb's arms around me as thousands of years crash down upon me; the stories, the secrets, the truth. The insignificance of my existence blinds me, the blazing rush of awe, of knowledge, of...

Ha. Fooled you.

"Well," a hopeful voice whispers from behind me, "what do you think?"
A groan escapes me as I turn to face my eager boyfriend, and his face falls in disappointment. He sighs, defeated, and raises one eyebrow at me whilst digging a crumpled map out of his rucksack.

"Don't give me that look," I laugh, "I blame you for having too high expectations of me." Seb rolls his eyes at this, grinning, and shakes out his map.
"Fine, you win," he mumbles, "I'll just look for the closest Gelateria instead." We sit on a bench, shaded from the blistering sun by the Trevi Fountain, my legs strewn across his lap, his left arm slung over my shoulders, and we (well, Seb) re-plans our day. Running a hand through my thick, dark hair, I take in the man beside me.

I know the curve of his nose, the twist of his ears, the way he impatiently flicks his black hair when frustration takes hold. I know the smooth shape of his lips, the regularity of his teeth, and the way his deep eyes crinkle at the edges when mirth overwhelms him. I know the desire in his eyes as he leans down to kiss me, the strength in his arms as he holds me, the certainly in his voice when he tells me he loves me.

But most importantly, I know he is mine.
It wasn't always this way. I wasn't always this happy.
But I'll leave Seb to tell that story.

Sebastian

Rome is freaking incredible.

Ignore Ali. We've been together long enough for me to know that, for all her indifference, I know she's quietly impressed.
The architecture, the atmosphere, the heat, the...

"Stop rambling Seb, you're boring enough already", Ali smirks, her eyes alight. "Why don't you write about us instead?" She suggests, raising a sleek eyebrow. "We bought this notebook to document OUR travels, not stuff that's been written a million times before." To replace our history, is the part she doesn't need to mention. Cupping my cheek in her hand, she smiles innocently up at me.

Damn it. My self-control cracks as I grin, drop the book, and pull her towards me, crushing my lips to hers in a sudden wave of desire. Her strong, lean arms wrap around my neck as she melts into my kiss, and, once again, I question how someone can be so deliriously, unbelievably happy.

We walk around Rome for a while longer, holding hands all the time. What I imagined to be a cultural trip around one of the most beautiful, historical Cities in the World, has somehow become a Gelato-tasting trip. Brilliant. As I glance down at Ali, clutching her Nutella and Peach Gelato with the pride of a mother hen, a wave of affection surges through me and I and suppress the urge to gather her into my arms again and hold her, safe from harm.

Ali looks up at me, feeling the sudden tension in my body as unwanted memories surface in my mind.
"Seb, we made it. It's over." She pulls me to a stop, her eyes instantly reading the thoughts blitzing through my mind. "And you know full well I can look after myself, so don't go all protective on me," she adds, running her left hand down my arm then lacing her calloused fingers through my own clenched ones.

The small, plain ring on her finger glints in the sunlight, a twin to the one adorning my own hand. "I don't need fancy stones to prove my love for you," I'd told her. "You're worth more than a thousand diamonds to me." Then she'd thrown her arms around me, soaking my t-shirt with her tears. "I love you, Sebastian," she'd sobbed , "And I will love you for all eternity."

We slump onto the wall surrounding the Colosseum, and she rests her dark head on my shoulder.

With the memory of my proposal still lingering in my mind, and since Ali has promptly fallen asleep on my arm, I may as well start from the beginning. The night we met, 5 years ago.