“If I leave, I’m going to vanish.” She says it was a sort of finality in her voice, as if this was it and it’s now or never. For a second, she’s worried that he’ll let her go. She doesn’t want to. Not really. Why would she ever want to leave? It feels like he wants her to leave sometimes, but that’s a sad thing to think and she’d much prefer it if he just said that he wants her to say. She sits across from him now, wearing one of his shirts and a confused smile. He makes her confused. Always. All of the time. Knowing everything would be much easier, but he doesn’t give her that luxury. Sometimes she wonders if he does this just to torture her.

“Are you going to leave?” He moves closer to her. Part of her is tempted to move back to see if he’ll follow. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes she’ll walk around the room and do something silly with the excuse of having to move around before one of her legs fell asleep. Usually, she wants him to follow her and do something cute and romantic. The boy can’t take a hint though and she’s left floundering, trying to figure out how to play it off cool.

“Really leave? Maybe. I could.” She pauses, tapping on her chin thoughtfully. “Would you like me to leave?” This is her, being blunt. It’s much easier than being subtle, but she sucks in a breath, hoping that will bring her some kind of courage. Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no. Two seconds feel like an eternity and she kisses him because she doesn’t want to know what he has to say about that. To leave or to stay? It’s a good question, a big question. It pops into her head whenever she questions her value to him. Insecurities should go away. She doesn’t want that. She just wants to have fun and be happy and enjoy her time with him.

“Don’t leave.”

“Stay?”

“Yes, stay.”

That’s it. That’s all she needs and she’s grinning at him, tilting her head to the side. She wants to laugh, but she doesn’t want him to think that she’s laughing at him like that time when he first showed her his motorcycle and she started cracking up for some crazy reason. She didn’t even know. It wasn’t even funny. He thought that she was laughing at him for some reason, at his motorcycle, but she wasn’t. Laughing at him and his bike would be silly. Ridiculous, really. Complete nonsense, but she commonly ended up rambling about nonsense so it wouldn’t have been so been. Unable to help herself, she laughs, falling into his lap and staring up at him.

“I wasn’t really going to leave.” But if she did, she would vanish. Just so she didn’t have to care about existing or think about him or worry about him finding her somehow. “I don’t think I’d really be able to.” Honesty. It’s a good thing, isn’t it? A marvelous thing and it’s supposed to be good for relationships. She isn’t so good at relationships though because she’s never been in one and she doubts he has either. Is this even a relationship? Maybe, maybe not. She practically lives in his flat instead of hers, though she doesn’t keep much of her clothes there. Maybe a shirt or two (probably more) because she thinks his are nicer and warmer and more comfortable. Part of her wants to just push him further and further until he gets sick of her, but she doesn’t want him to get sick of her. Not really. She wants to love, love, love him and to be loved, loved, loved too!

“Oh, yeah? Why not?”

“Because you are i-r-r-e-s-i-s-t-a-b-l-e.” Spelling it out makes it seem more like a code language or something. Something sneaky, secretive. A hidden message! A riddle where the answer is obvious. He pushes her off of him and then pins her down. She squeals and laughs loudly. He leans down, kisses her and she’s quiet again, but she’s grinning like a lovesick fool. More, more, more. She pulls him down to kiss him again.

“Spelling it out doesn’t mean I won’t understand what you’re saying.” He kisses her and she kisses him. There’s a whole lot of kissing, with breathing in between and she doesn’t want stop but she wants to joke around too. Secretly, she enjoys their little bickering, the nonsensical bantering. The back-and-forth, to-and-fro of yes, no, maybe so. She likes having him close by. She likes how he makes her think and feel and do silly things. He makes her sad and angry, but happy and blissful, too. Sometimes. There are moments when makes everything seem impossibly perfect, but they only exist to balance out the moments when she feels hopeless, helpless and alone.

“I was lying anyway.” He’s not irresistable. It wouldn’t be impossible to resist him and his charm and ignore that funny feeling that he gives her. Sometimes it’s just terrifying and she wants to run far, far, far away.

“You’re silly.” He tugs on her hair and she scrunches up her nose. He’s leaning over her. She feels surrounded, trapped, but she doesn’t mind so much.

“I’ve always been silly.” It’s true. Mostly. Isn’t it? She hums, reaching out and touching his face. She doesn’t trace his features like she usually does, just brushes her fingers across his cheekbone then drops her hand back onto the bed. His hands wander across her skin and she tries to remember why she thinks about running away from him when there are moments like this when she doesn’t want to move or leave or do anything except stay like this forever.

“Are you staying?”

“Mhm,” she smiles. He’s next to her now, arms wrapped around her. She just wants to sleep, to stay there and sleep and wake up and see him there. That would be lovely, lovely, lovely. “I’m not going anywhere.”