puckandpie | (no subject)

We're not even close to the last people to leave. Not even from the group I invited. It's still late though, well past 1:00 in the morning and my muscles are absolutely singing with the adrenaline of a good workout, the likes of which I only ever get from dancing. My blood is thrumming and it's only partially from the exercise; most of it, I know, is from the fact that I'm going home with a boy.

I'm going home with Jack Zimmermann.

Even now I can remember the warmth of him pressed against me on the dance floor, the brush of his breath against my ear when he'd whispered the promise of later.

It's officially later by a few hours now and even if I know I shouldn't be expecting the offer to still stand, I can't help hoping. Even if I can't even begin to imagine what sort of things Jack's had in mind. If anything at all.

"Did you have a good time?" I ask him as we head back to the apartment, hand in hand. The air is cold against my sweaty skin and I try to supress a shiver, just holding Jack's hand a little tighter instead. "I'm so, so glad you decided to come. I'm sorry if it was kind of a lot. My next birthday will be more subdued, I promise."

Threaded | Flat

"I did have a good time, oui," I assure him. Sure, parts of the night got me a little on edge, and the familiar temptation was there, but I resisted. It was easy to resist when I had Bittle to distract me.

Our hands are entwined and I squeeze his tightly as we pass under a streetlight. The dim orange light catches on Bittle's skin, the sweat glistening on it, and makes him seem to glow. The eyeliner is smudged around his lashes, making his eyes look big and bright, and I've never wished for my camera more since arriving here.

"Your birthday will be whatever you want it to be," I say softly, pulling him closer, "and I'll be there."