A Loss For Words

Paper

The third time something happens, he begins to worry. It's only a few weeks after the songbook incident and she forgets the word paper.

As in:

"Hey James, can you hand me a blank piece of staff—"

She furrows her brow and frowns.

He looks at her oddly. "Are you sure you've been getting enough sleep? Paper?"

She nods and laughs a little.

"Pa-per," she repeats slowly, and again, the word sounds as familiar as it always has. She shrugs. "I don't know, we've been up late these past few nights. Writing and...um..." she trails off, blushing, because those words haven't quite made it into Mia Davis' extensive vocabulary.

"Making out?" he asks, grinning, because those words have always been in James Kim's not-so-extensive vocabulary.

"That," she says, her cheeks still flushed, and she stands up from the couch. "Do you...do you wanna maybe stay over tonight?" she asks.

They're at home, in San Fran, but they both have their own places now. And staying over doesn't mean sex, but it means a lot of stuff that's close to it, and he quickly stands up from his chair and sets his guitar down.

"What do you think?" he asks, and walks over to stand in front of her. She looks up at him and wraps her arms around his neck and he pulls her close. He kisses her then, because he's wanted to all night and he can because he's her boyfriend and that's one word he'll never get sick of. He kisses her softly, slowly, and when they part she presses her cheek to his chest and he rests his chin on her head.

"I love you," she says suddenly, and it's the first time and his heart starts beating really quickly and he can't say it back fast enough. Because he always has, always, and he always will.

"I love you, Mia," he says, and holds her just a little bit tighter.