“Head! Down! Faye!” she yelled; but it was too late. There were more cracking sounds, and one last deafening blast, coupled with an intense flash of orange and red, until everything went black.

I gasped and shot up, rubbing my head in an attempt to forget my nightmare—my memory. I put my hand over my chest and took deep breaths to calm my shocked self down, keeping my eyes clenched shut because I knew if I felt air skim across my open eyes but still couldn’t see I would send myself into another panic.

I sighed roughly and sat up completely, tucking my knees into my chest and running my fingers through my hair. “Fuck,” I breathed, shaking my head.

After a few moments of trying to relax myself, I frowned. Where did this sudden anxiousness come from? I quickly turned to the side as I remembered, patting the empty space next to me. I probably would not have had a panic like that if Mike were still here…

I shook my head of my thoughts. He was under no obligation to stay. I wished he would have said goodbye, first, but he probably was afraid to wake me up. Yeah. Not that it mattered, though.

I yawned and stretched my arms, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and standing up. I frowned again, wondering what time it was but knowing that it was no use to speculate. I carefully walked to my bathroom, deciding that taking a shower would make me feel calmer. My mind was spinning already with thoughts upon thoughts; I needed to wash them all away and start the day fresh—unless the day had already started, I wouldn’t know because the time was a mystery.

I always liked to shower with cooler water. Not freezing, but I definitely found cold water more refreshing than hot water. Even just warm water made me anxious for some reason; it was too closely correlated with heat and fire. It made me feel like I was suffocating, like I couldn’t take deep breaths and when I tried it hurt. It slowed my heart rate down to the point of making my dazed. I didn’t like those sensations at all.

I showered quickly and stepped out, wrapping a towel around myself. I brushed through my hair and then returned to my room.

“Well, this is awkward,” I heard, the voice startling me so much that I jumped back in alarm and hit the wall behind me. “Shit! Sorry!” Mike rushed.

“Uh, er, I thought… what?” I rambled, tightening my grip on the towel around me.

“I didn’t really know what to do, I didn’t want to scare you by waking you up but I couldn’t just leave…” his voice trailed off and he chuckled nervously. “I guess there was no way to get out of scaring you,” he concluded.

I suddenly felt ridiculous for thinking that he would have left me. I felt ridiculous for even caring so much, for over thinking his initial lack of presence.

“Should I leave?” he asked with another nervous and flustered chuckle.

“Uh, yeah, maybe,” I said. “I mean you can stay here, if you want, but let me at least get changed,” I clarified quickly.

He laughed. “Right, yeah. Okay then. I’ll uh, go this way,” he said. I shook my head and grinned, waiting until I heard my door shut before I got dressed.

“Bye, Mike,” I sang with a smirk. He laughed and I heard his footsteps fade away, along with my door closing. I sighed and smiled happily, going to put some clothes on.

I was amazed and slightly afraid at how my mood had completely reversed with knowing Mike was here. I felt around my closet for a pair of jeans and ran my fingers across the pockets and down the leg of the jean, knowing that they were the pair I wanted. According to Phoebe—and I actually practiced this memorization a lot—the jeans with three wide slashes, two tiny frayed spots throughout the legs, and thin pockets were dark washed and "very cute." I quickly slipped them on and moved to the sweater part of my closet, feeling around for my favorite and comfiest sweater—apparently it was cream colored and matched well with the pants I picked out. I put it on and then flipped my hair, briefly towel drying it before tossing it into a high, messy bun. I pranced over to my dresser where a bunch of headbands were stashed, and I slid one over my head and pulled it up to a little past my hairline.

I tossed my towel into the laundry basket by the door and walked out. "Fuck," I grunted when I realized I had forgotten that the door was shut. I could have sworn I heard Mike laughing from the other room. I sighed and swung the door open, rubbing my forehead where I had bumped it.

"What room are you in?" I asked, pausing.

"The kitchen," he chuckled. I nodded and continued my way to him. "Good morning," he said.

"'Morning, Mike," I smiled. I heard his voice by the island in the kitchen, so I walked further in and went to where he was. My hand brushed across his back so I knew he was sitting on a stool; I sat in the one next to him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said coolly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your house last night. But I figured you could use some company since Phoebe isn’t here,” he said.

“No, that’s okay. Thanks,” I smiled. “Now you can cook me breakfast,” I joked.

“What would you like, lady?” I heard his stool slide up and the air rush around me as he jumped out of his seat. I laughed.

“I was kidding. You don’t have to make me anything,” I said. “I’ll just stick with cereal today,” I said, standing up myself.

“I can do it!” he said enthusiastically. I giggled and shook my head.

“Allow me,” I gently nudged past him, walking to the cabinets. “Which one?” I held out the two cereal boxes we owned. I knew one was cheerios and the other was lucky charms, but I didn’t know which was which, obviously.

“Cheerios. Left hand,” he said. I smiled and put the lucky charms away. Then, I took the appropriate steps to where we kept the bowls. I put two on the counter and poured the cereal carefully. I knew that I didn’t under or over fill it because, when I concentrated, I could hear how much was being poured and knew what the right amount was. Normally, I never poured my own cereal—I was usually never this alert in the mornings, so I couldn’t do it without messing up. But today, I was showing off. My tongue peeked through my lips in concentration.

I walked to the fridge and took out the milk. I slid a bowl to Mike’s spot and then my spot, and then I opened the milk. “Now this I can’t do,” I said, deciding it would be safer for Mike to pour the milk. He chuckled and took the milk, I heard the liquid pour into our bowls. I darted over to where the spoons were stored and grabbed two, returning to Mike’s side. I sat down and handed him one.

“How’d I do?” I grinned.

“Very well,” he approved in between a bite of his cereal. I smiled and took a scoop, too.

We sat in silence, enjoying our bowls of cereal. I didn’t mind the silence, though, because it wasn’t really silent. I paid special attention to the softness of his heart beating and the sound of his breath going in and out of his nose, finding it to be calming. Maybe it was a little creepy to focus on such a thing, but it was calming nonetheless.

“How are you?” Mike asked. I set my spoon down as I finished, sliding the bowl across the counter. I could hear him do the same.

“I’m good, how are you?”

“Just good?” he asked. I nodded and smiled softly in his direction. “What were you dreaming about?” he asked. I grimaced.

“It was obvious I was dreaming?” I asked.

“Not really. But you did say a few things in your sleep.”

“Like what?” I bit my lip.

“You said my name,” he said, his voice smug.

“No I did not!” I objected, hitting his arm. He chuckled.

“You’re right, you didn’t,” he laughed. I smiled and shook my head. “But,” his voice calmed down into a more serious tone, “you, uh, did make sounds,” he said. I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. I sighed.

“Yeah, sometimes I have dreams about what happened. Especially after thinking about it a lot,” I admitted. “Nightmares,” I clarified.

“Oh,” Mike said in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I managed to crack a small, reassuring smile.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked quietly. I smiled and patted his arm, shaking my head.

“No, Mike. It’s been sixteen years, if I haven’t gotten over it by now, I doubt I ever will.” I wasn’t trying to be negative or rude, it was the truth. It was just something I had to deal with. Not being able to see was a constant reminder of what happened in itself—hopefully that would change soon, but until then there wasn’t much I could do about the memories. They were a part of me, like a piece of my puzzle and as much as I hated it they were necessary to make me whole, they made me who I was today.

Mike didn’t say anything—I didn’t expect him to. I could tell he was just trying to show he somehow cared, which meant a lot to me.

“Thanks, Mike,” I smiled, squeezing his arm.

“For what?”

“For being a good friend,” I smiled softly, and then I winced at the term ‘friend’. It honestly sounded horrible coming out, especially because I considered him as more than a friend. I didn’t know exactly what he was, but we did kiss last night. “Friends” didn’t just kiss each other.

I heard Mike’s breathing change—a subconscious sign that he didn’t like what I said, either. He probably didn’t even mean to do that, but I always listened to the way people breathed. Since I couldn’t look into honest eyes, I had to rely on the small clues that people’s breathing patterns held.

“Uh,” I fumbled on my words and then just decided to stand up. I reached across the counter for our bowls.

“I got it, it’s fine,” he said softly—his voice sounded defeated, and another wave of guilt flowed through me. My face heated up because I didn’t really know how to handle awkward situations—I really didn’t know how to handle any situation for that matter. I have never had to interact with a person this much--besides Phoebe, but she didn't count.

I receded my hands to my side, letting Mike take care of our dishes while I drowned in my thoughts. I was too flustered to do anything, and I wasn’t interested in embarrassing myself by breaking a bowl.

I scratched the back of my neck and waited to speak until I heard small clinking sounds—Mike finishing putting away the bowls.

“Uh, what time is it?” I asked.

“Eleven,” Mike replied. “You have an appointment today, right?” I nodded. “What time is that at?”

“Two,” I said. I stood stiffly with my head tilted down at my feet.

“Hey,” I heard Mike say softly. And then I felt his fingers gently tap underneath my chin, tilting my head up. “Relax,” he murmured, like he could sense that I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was probably obvious—my eyes were probably wild and red, my body was probably rigid, and my hands were probably in tight fists. I relaxed my hands, finding that they were, in fact, balled up into fists.

“Sorry,” I murmured, looked down again.

“It’s interesting, sometimes you’re really open and easy-going, and then you have these moments where you shut down and close up,” he observed. I shrugged my shoulders and gulped. “You don’t have to be nervous or anything around me, Faye. I like to see you smiling and happy and relaxed. I know you can do it,” he encouraged. I looked up and as I did so I felt his breath on my face—he was standing so close. I smiled softly.

“I know. I can’t help it, though. I forget for a while and then I return to reality.”

“Reality?”

“Of thinking too much. Of little things, of what to do here and there and what this and that means, you know, just thinking about every little detail…” my voice trailed off, cutting myself off from my rambling.

“Then don’t think so much,” he said, as if it was a simple thing to fix.

“Sometimes thinking is all I have,” I said quietly. My entire world was in my head, me thinking, imagining.

“Then forget a little more,” he said, his voice light and positive and I could almost hear a smile in there, too.

“I can’t just do that on command, Mike,” I laughed a little.

“You kinda can, though,” he said easily.

I furrowed my eyebrows and put a hand on my hip, tilting my head to the side. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re doing it right now. You’re all relaxed and stuff,” he said, and, as he spoke, he took my arms and tossed them around, lifting them up and down, demonstrating my looseness. I giggled and rolled my eyes.

“Fuck you,” I laughed.

“You’re welcome.”

I rolled my eyes again and crossed my arms over my chest, furrowing my eyebrows again.

“I guess you make me both nervous and calm at the same time,” I realized, saying my thoughts right as they popped up into my brain—something I didn’t normally do. Normally, when I had a thought, I would mull it over in my mind over and over again, like clay, until it was just right to say.

Mike chuckled. “I’m glad I have that effect on people,” he said with a smirk in his voice. I rolled my eyes again.

“I don’t know about you, Mike Fuentes,” I sighed with a small smile.

“I don’t know about you, either,” he said back, his voice low. “But that’s what makes it worth while, right?”

“What does?”

“Not knowing…” his breath was hot on my face, it was getting closer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said in a small voice, because I did know what he meant—the less you knew, the more there was to discover. Even my blindness could make this—whatever this was—more worthwhile, in a way. I couldn’t see Mike. I didn’t know much about him. Learning more about him was a lot more of a challenge for me than for someone who could see, but what Mike was saying was that it could make this—whatever this was—more exciting. More interesting. Worthwhile.

That was the optimistic view, of course.

Then there was the pessimistic view: not knowing could be terrifying, and the journey to learning more could be difficult and horrible, building up trust in something or someone you couldn’t even see.

“Your eyes are beautiful when you get lost in thought,” he said, one of his hands on the side of my face. “Starry,” he added. I smiled shyly and looked down, only for his hand to bring it back up again.

Before I could say anything—and I didn’t really know what to say, anyway—Mike brought his lips to mine, kissing me gently. I was surprised at first, but I wasn’t about to object. I was glad he did that—I wanted him to know that I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted him to know what I was thinking, I didn’t want him to think that I saw him as merely a “friend”. So I kissed him back, warily at first but my confidence grew. I lifted my arms up and around the back of his neck, pulling him down closer to me, and he placed his hands on my waist. They hovered barely over the surface, like he was unsure if it was okay or not. When he saw that I wasn’t objecting to that, either, he rested his hands there more securely.

I didn’t know what to do next—Mike was kissing me, I was kissing him, but there was a little part of me that wanted more. More of what, I wasn’t sure.

Mike seemed hesitant, too, as if he knew what I was thinking and felt the same way.

He had told not think so much, but that wasn’t easy. But I knew out of all people, Mike could give my head a break. Maybe he could do something to my heart, while he was at it. I kissed him again and smiled a little, my lips parting. Cautiously, Mike’s lips parted, as well, allowing our mouths to mold together a little more. I could tell he was being gentle and reserved by the way his tongue moved around mine. It wasn’t getting heated; we were just slowly exploring each other’s mouths. Slowly and gently, almost shyly, as if both of us were back in grade school, kissing for the first time, unsure of what to do but knowing it had to be done. Mike was more experienced than me, but his lips were moving the same way as mine, like we both were dying to learn something new about each other—the less you knew, the more there was to discover. I could almost taste the freshness, wonder, and even slight edge of fear that Mike’s lips were whispering to mine, every time our lips grazed—when was the last time he has kissed a girl like this? With so much passion, control, not even a hint of lust. Was this the first? It didn’t matter to me now, because I could feel his honesty in this—whatever this was.

I felt his right hand leave my waist and curl under my chin, his fingers were like soft velvet, caressing around my face as he slowly pulled away from the kiss, holding my head delicately. We stood there in intimate proximity for a few minutes, quietly, unmoving. I imagined him looking into my eyes and I wished that I could look into his.

“What are you doing to me?” he breathed, his breath moving from the left side of my face to the right side of my face and back again, meaning he was slightly shaking his head.

“I’m turning you into a hopeless romantic, that’s what I’m doing. That’s my mission. It will ultimately result in me destroying you, once you become hopeless and vulnerable enough,” I said easily, in the classic ruin-the-sensual-moment-with-something-amusing style. I didn’t think Mike minded though; I could sense that he was a little flustered from our sensitive moment, something he probably wasn’t used to.

“Woah.”

“Oh my God,” I giggled, face palming at what I had said—when did I become so snarky? So dorky? Mike chuckled and without warning he kissed me again. Then he pulled away only to come right back and kiss me briefly again. I didn’t mind it at all. Breathless, I lowered my right hand and traced my finger down his chest, swirling it around and tracing patterns.

“The real question is, what are you doing to me?”

Notes

Hi guys. I hoped you liked this update. Another mushy gushy one. This is probably the mushiest, gushiest story I've ever written and probably ever will :')
Although there will be drama later on, I have 'lots planned out but I'm taking my time getting to those parts. Yay for trying not to be impulsive! Haha

Speaking of impulsivity: I STARTED A NEW STORY! It's a Jaime one! I wasn't going to post it for a while but then I was like "why not" so, yeah, ahah. It's called We Can Run and it would mean a lot if you could check it out :) Let me know what you think, I'm excited for it! I'll probably take it slow like this story

See ya next time
xoxo