A teen is stunned to discover he's half-vampire. Will being asexual-aromantic thwart bloodlust, or are there other emotions strong enough to trigger murder?
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Natsu anxiously follows his mentally-ill mother's rules, forcing himself to be an em...
Seeing as Dawn and I are dating, and rules do not bound me, we go on dates. We see movies, shop together, but we don't eat out often. I told her I'm "sensitive to flavor," getting sick easily, and eat homemade food only. It isn't a lie, so telling her just that doesn't feel deceitful.
Tonight, we saw a stage play. I didn't expect Dawn to like plays, let alone Shakespeare, but she was eager to do something she's never done before. Now, as we stand in front of her flat door, she grabs my arm.
"D-do you want to come in?"
"For what?" I've seen movies; I hope she doesn't mean what the people in them mean.
Her cheeks turn red. "To see Welly!"
"Ah. Maybe another time." I pat Dawn's head.
She smiles, but her eyes are sad as she glances away.
"Am I being a good boyfriend?" I ask. Obviously, I don't know much about this boyfriend/dating thing.
"Yes!" The flickering brass light in the hallway sparkles in Dawn's eyes. "Um... I... I'm thankful, but I don't want you to force yourself."
Apparently, I don't know anything about this boyfriend/dating thing. Her statement makes me wonder if it was a mistake to do what I've seen on TV while not going too far beyond my comfort level. If I come off like this is a game to pass the time, it'll only hurt her. "Does it seem like I'm forcing myself?"
"Not exactly. It feels like you're... following stage directions."
I don't want to come across as fake. Because I like Dawn. Not in the way she likes me, but I like her. I've never had as easy a time talking to someone as I have with Dawn. I have a huge secret, but it's so irrelevant that it doesn't feel like I'm hiding anything with her. She's amusing. And inspiring. Strong. Resilient.
I brush the black hair from her pale cheek, tuck it behind her ear, then lean down and softly press my lips to hers. It doesn't make me feel anything, and when I pull away to look her in the eyes, I can tell it makes her feel something. "I like you," I tell her because it isn't a lie.
I bury the small pang of guilt. I'm sure she'll be happy in the end. It won't matter that our likes aren't the same.
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Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Flirting is an art. Thanks to a book on the topic that I ordered off the internet (because I frankly don't have the courage to buy it in person) and The Female Brain, Dawn is brighter. Books have saved me once again.
Instead of straightforwardly correcting her Japanese mistakes or smiling at her choice of "kawaii" phrases, I add in calling her cute. She especially likes when I do it in Japanese.
And I kiss her every time we say goodbye. Afterwards, her eyes always have a sad look as she reluctantly loosens her grip on my arms or shirt.
Tonight, they look the same. "I like you," she whispers in Japanese.
