There are so many things that I should say. About a thousand of them run through my head, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I stare at him blankly for a split second before I launch myself halfway across the room into his arms. He lifts me off the ground, and my arms hang around his neck. I stop grinning long enough to kiss him, and he spins me around once before he stops and hugs me tightly, not willing to break the kiss.
"That is not the greeting I expected," he laughs, kissing me again. He sets me back on the ground and I smile you at him.
"I don't care. I'm done wasting time."
"You're assuming that I'm here to patch things up..."
My stomach sinks, and a completely unbearable wave of humiliation washes over me. Then, he laughs. "You asshole."
"Sorry, sorry," he says, still laughing. He sweeps me up in his arms again and kisses me, and everything is forgotten. I laugh with him and wrap my arms around him tightly. "I thought this would be harder."
"I am so sick of fighting with you. I don't want to be away from you anymore."
"Well, we're on the same page, then. Because I'm never letting go of you again."
"I'm so sorry I slapped you," I say, kissing his cheek.
"I earned it. I was egotistical enough to think that I was all you could possibly need. I'm glad you're smarter than me."
"It's okay. I didn't exactly communicate effectively."
"And you're doing well."
"Aside from missing you, fine. Writing my next album."
"You look great," he says touching my face.
"You need to shave." He laughs and kisses me again.
"I can either go shave or take you upstairs."
"You can shave later," I say, smiling and grabbing his hand. We run up the stairs like a couple of teenagers and race to the bedroom.
In a matter of seconds we're both naked. For the first time in a long time I stop thinking about anything. This is the part that we're good at. This is the part that reminds me how well we fit. Soon, our bodies are exhausted and I prop myself up on his chest to look at him. He clearly hasn't cut his hair in a while, and I play with his curls, smiling to myself. It's been a decade since his hair has been this long, and while I know it was unintentional, I'm grateful for it. He knows how much I loved it.
"I'm not going back to the band, Stevie."
"I don't care. As long as you stay with me."
"I have no intention of leaving. Ever. I think me not being in the band is the best thing for us."
I can't pretend to be excited about the fact that he's not coming back, but deep down I know that he's right. I don't argue with him. "I don't want to talk about that right now."
"Okay."
We can talk about everything else later. It all seems so trivial in the scope of what we've been through in the past couple years. Maybe this is our balance. Maybe we are excellent lovers and terrible coworkers. Maybe our mistake was that we decided to join this band mix the two. Whatever the reason, I know that it has just become history.
