5:30 am, your phone rings the alarm you imprudently set the night before you slept, just after you finished your second bottle of wine.
A smell of certain but distant familiarity in the air as he walks up to her, ever so feverishly beautiful as she sat by the bed, not a word of invite to come close to her because Helen of Troy knows what herculean effort it is not to. His pride takes over his feet and he defiantly walks around the room, pretending not to notice her while she does something in her computer. Did he just see her fingers playfully tuck her hair behind her ear? An effort from her to unblind side her from your vantage point? He over analyzes as he panicked to find something for his hands to play with, buying time to think before the air gets stale and the silence deafening.
“You don’t need to be so damn cunning”, he wanted to say, “Your hair falls differently on your face now”, he said. She looked up, pretending to be puzzled from what he said, but she knew she’s already had him from the moment he nervously grabbed his phone to check nothing, and said, “You notice too many things about my face, but you can never look straight at it.” Damn her, he thought.
He struggles to find courage to come and sit on the bed beside her, realizing how making those two steps can feel like crossing the widest, deepest ocean.
In bed, shoulders barely touching, he listens to all the new things he missed out on her, years of it. While he struggles to focus on her stories, responding with generic uhums, yes, and exactly!, she reaches in for the bottle of wine beside him, as her bare skin uncovered by her tank top touched his, for a moment, an electric current runs from her skin to his shoulder, sending a shock to the deepest nerves in his body.
“Oh how pleasantly devouring it is to be struck by a lightning! Benjamin Franklin was wrong to wait for it under the rain, it was from her, my heroine.” He thought.
Emboldened by the shock from the current that still runs through his nerves, he stretches an arm that finds its way around her slim neck. A few interminable seconds of nervous silence, to feel no resistance from her and the sight of a sly smile across her face, he knew he’d just won the lottery. Suddenly, her words became bubbles and the room looked like the sky from underwater.
The night went by as she excitedly continued to talk while he helplessly descended deeper underwater, holding on to her tightly, as if the slightest gap between them would drown him.
He reaches for the snooze button. Windows all at their pale shade of blue, he turns to look at her, the source of a faint glow amidst the darkness. He delicately pushes her hair back from her face to see what cherubs looks like when they sleep.
He plants a blasphemous kiss, it lands as soft as cotton, but she gives a muffled grunt anyway. Stubbornness was something she never lacked. Even demigods, just like humans, don’t want to be disturbed this early in the morning.
She breathes, warm and alive. She’s human after all.
He rests his head back to their only pillow, facing her, their eyes leveled to each other. Instinctively, he closed his eyes when he saw a slit of opening from hers, afraid it would turn him into a stone when she opens them. Yes, she could be as vicious as Medusa sometimes. He felt movement, and then the unexpected kiss lands on his face. Medusa or not, he had to open his eyes but it was too late, her sleepy arms were already wrapped around his suddenly weakened frame. There has been no embrace emotionally reciprocated more than this.
Finding the strength to overturn her, he endlessly kissed her face as she began to laugh on every tickling kiss that lands. Not a part unkissed, from ear to ear, forehead to chin, every sweet laugh from her an encouragement for him to pursue.
When the alarm rang for the last possible time, and it was time to pull away, he understood that if magnets had feelings, this is what its like every time you pull them apart.