Affinity

Gradually

The sun eventually wakes up me the next morning. Adam is at the typewriter, his fingers flying across the keyboard, making metallic clicks after each letter. He was angry, and this was his way of showing it. Even though he let it out last night, I doubt that did more than hurt his knuckles.

I turn on my back, slowly pushing the blanket aside and thrusting a foot out from under it. It had to be early, the daylight was too weak to break fully across the wood floors. Lazily, I pull myself up into a sitting position, rubbing my eye with the back of my hand. I try to be quiet, there wasn't a reason to break his concentration.

He's in the same clothes from last night, his hair in a ruffled mess. He didn't look like he got any sleep. Several pages are set next to the typewriter, and even more are crumpled balls of paper scattered in different places. His hands are in his hair as I approach, his elbows on the desk restlessly.

Gently, I lay my hands on his shoulder, lowering to gently press a kiss right below his ear. He sighs but barely flinches at the contact, just continues to move his fingers in his hair. I reach around him, prying his hands from his hair and examining them.

A few cuts and bruises taint his knuckles, otherwise, his callused fingers from writing too much are normal.

"You're hurt," I whisper, I run my fingers over them, delicately tracing over the bruises, careful not to hurt him. I finish by intertwining our fingers, pulling them up to my lips and pressing down.

"I'm sorry," His voice cracks and my heart hurts for him. He thinks it's his fault Tucker did what he did, because we got separated. I can tell that's what he's doing, he's blaming himself, I can see it in his eyes. I touch his chin gently, pleading for our eyes to meet.

"Babe," I murmur, softly leaning down and catching his lips in mine. It doesn't last longer than a second, and my forehead rests down against his. "It isn't your fault."

"I shouldn't have let you out of my sight, I could've found you quicker-"

"Stop." I breathe, unable to take anymore. He was beating himself up inside. I grab his other hand, forcing him to turn completely towards me. "Look at me. It wasn't your fault. You had no idea Tucker would have done that, you had no idea that was going to happen. It isn't your fault and you can't beat yourself up over it."

"You could've been hurt. He could've done worse, he could've-"

"I wasn't, though. It's over now. I'm okay, you're okay. We never have to see him again, alright?" I say, kissing his hand once more. "God forbid." I murmur under my breath.

I can see my words do little comfort to him. He still blames himself for it, going through alternate scenarios where he could've gone differently to fix everything, that's just who he is. He's a writer, it's his nature.

I pull him again, this time to follow me and he reluctantly agrees, trailing behind me as I pull him.

"Where am i going to go? I can't stay here, I'm not relying on you, Taylor." He says, almost absently. He wasn't thinking, just letting me drag him along.

"You can stay. You can rely on me." I say, almost quietly. That seems to get his attention.

"You're home, to me," He says it almost as if I'm not here, as if the words just escape his mouth. It didn't seem to fit into the conversation, and he interprets my confusion as indifference.

My first thought went to self-preservation. He's going to take it back. They all do. They always go back on what they seem true to. But I know this is Adam, that he's real. I wanted this to be real.

I sit on the edge of the bed, letting my grip on his hands drop to my lap.

"I remind you of home," I clarify, thinking of Maine, how different aspects of me may remind him of home.

He kneels in front of me, one hand tucked to his midsection, the other on my knee. "No. You are my home."

I couldn't respond to that. It was way too important. Too significant to me to respond to. He meant something to me. Home meant safety to me. Safety and love. Happiness. I couldn't guess what it meant to Adam, who never really had a stable family. He relied on his grandparents for his childhood because his parents were off on business. He always said he misses them but yet, he hasn't seen them in nearly 7 years. He hadn't had any consistency. His home was ever changing, even if he never moved.

He was watching me, trying hard to read my reaction to his words. I wanted to tell him just how much they moved me, but nothing could express what I felt.

Tentatively, I reached for his hand, and when he gave it willingly, cradled my cheek. I can see him swallowing, his eyes darkening like they always do when he's thinking, or when he's harboring some deep emotion. He leans closer.

"Don't think about him." He says even before the memories begin to flash. "Think about me," He whispers. And then his lips touch mine.

His kiss is so soft I barely feel it, it reminds me of last night, when he was a mere ghost. When I wished it was his lips nearing mine, when I prayed it was him that would walk through that door and rescue me. I needed more. I needed him to be here now, I needed it to be real.

I pull him closer. His kiss deepens at the invitation, making my whole body feel alive and electric. His hands drift to my shoulders, and down, around my back, leaving streaks of heat in their wake. My breathing picks up significantly.

"It was you," I said softly. "It's always you I think about."

The intensity in his gaze takes my breath away and sends shivers down my spine. I can feel him. Every part of him. His soul was connected to mine. Our hearts beat at a pulse consistent to each others despite how fast I can feel my heart drumming in my ear.

Adam and I barely touch often- our hands, mouths, knees- but there was no part of me that was not his.

I couldn't speak, but if I could, I'd tell him that I'm here for him. That it wasn't his fault what happened last night. That I forgive him for whatever blame he's put on his shoulders.

His passionate kiss turned to trailing, gentle kisses down my neck until he stopped at my heart, letting his eyes close at the sound of my heartbeat. He looks up at me after a second, his eyes back to their bright, childlike self. It seemed like nothing in the world made him happier than to know that this moment is real, and nothing can tear this memory away from me.

I let myself slip into sleep with that remaining thought.
•
He still looks exhausted when I decide that I absolutely have to get food. We were tangled up, my head on his chest where his heart is steadied out. Everything felt perfect and if the serious whale moaning in my stomach would subside, I wouldn't leave this spot for the world.

"Can't we just get chinese food delivered?" He had asked at one point.

"We'd still have to go to the door to get it," I sighed and we gave up talking for awhile until I couldn't help it. I sat up, gave him a soft kiss on his lips, and went to the kitchen to rummage through what we had left. What I grab is a variation of snack foods, cereal, several different drinks, and the remote for easy netflix access.

"This is why I tolerate you," He grins, pulling me into his arms the second I get close enough, the boxes and foods go tumbling around us in a heap.

"You're a jerk," i tease, tilting my head so my nose barely brushes his stubble.

He nuzzles his face in my neck, grinning. "You know you adore me."

"Don't take it too far there, slick," I grin, running my hands through the back of his hair, my eyes falling closed. It was a simple moment, but ones like these are some I cherish most. Because not every moment will be this good, and right now, it's very good.