30 Day Writing Challenge // Ryllon [PART THREE]

Day 26: Intertwined

I've woken up plenty of times with Ryan in my arms. All of those times would be us waking up early for him to leave and sneak into his house, but with my parents at my aunt's for two weeks and his dad thinking Ryan's with his grandmother, we're in the clear. 

It's dark inside, except for the blinking Christmas lights from across the street peering in between the blinds. I'm pretty sure that Ryan is still asleep. His back pressed against my chest, my nose and mouth on his head, legs intertwined, my arms wrapped around him protectively, his arms on top of mine, blankets covering us to protect us from the cold.

I open my eyes and just barely see our reflection in the T.V., see how calm and small Ryan looks. His expression is relaxed, and I smile a bit. It's snowing outside.

He is the most beautiful person ever. I told Jon that recently. Ryan Ross is the most delicate, beautiful, nicest, sweetest, coolest guy to ever exist. If there's someone out there that's more extravagant then I wish to never meet or lay my eyes on them. I don't want to smile at anyone else, I don't want to talk to anyone else, I don't want to hold anyone else, and if I am to kiss another person that isn't the boy in my arms then someone ought to shoot me dead. 

I never thought of myself as someone to fall in love. That's the part that gets me. I swore to myself I'd never love again, not after Brendon. That worked for a good year and a half, and then I met Ryan and suddenly I see colors I've never seen before. I hear lovely sounds that I once tried to block out. I smile and laugh and blush and feel that fluttery feeling inside my chest. 

Ryan inhales semi-sharply, readjusting just a bit. I kiss his head, holding him closer. He hums, then turns around to face me. He doesn't open his eyes, but he does kiss me shortly before snuggling into my chest, arms wrapping around me. I kiss his forehead and pull the blanket up, holding him close. 

Our legs intertwine together, just like our shirts under our fingers. His hair feels better than a silk bed, his movements far more graceful than a ballerina, touch more delicate than a princess's. His smile is brighter than the sun, eyes more sparkly than the ocean on a summer's day. His body is like a symphony and I'm the one conducting. 

I swear that when we're apart I feel myself sinking, drowning in honey as everyone's smiling on the lid. We get scared but when we're together we just laugh it off, laugh away the fear. He is so elegant that if he wanted, I would bow down every time I see him. I treat him like an emperor and touch him like a god. If he was a religion then I'd be so far inside of it that if I simply hear someone talk about another, then I'd laugh and call them a dumbass.

The way his skinny body looks when he's naked, the way his stomach rises and falls rapidly when he forgets to breathe steadily, the way his fingers shake when he grabs the sheets or my hair, the way he gasps and his body jolts when he's letting go, the way he presses his lips together in attempt to not moan, it's all so graceful. He tries to tell me that he is the far least graceful or least beautiful person to exist. 

I'm afraid that sometimes he just doesn't look at himself the way I look at him. He sees someone else in the mirror. It's not him, it's the person his mind made him to be. He doesn't understand that others look at him greatly instead of horribly. He's convinced that he's no good, no special, not interesting, but I could write a whole book about how he truly looks, how truly beautiful he is.

There's no one that could ever compare to how magnificent and wonderful and sensational he is. I love him. I truly love him so much that it almost hurts. All I wanna do is be with him. My love is so strong that it would make a normal person physically sick. I wanna marry him. He just turned 20 and we've been dating for two years in secret from our homophobic families. I wanna marry him. I wanna run away and buy an apartment for us and we'll get married and we don't have to worry about what the hell our families say because we're in love.

Ryan snuggles more into my chest, fingers gripping my shirt a bit tighter, but soon relaxing as he fades back to sleep. 

And this is exactly where I want to be.

Him and me, no one else. Just him and me in my bed on Christmas Eve, bodies just as intertwined as our hearts and our minds, because we understand and love each other.

And I don't ever want to let that go.