![]() I hadn’t been kissed in so long I could barely remember what it felt like. ‘I could be very wrong,’ he said, already leaning towards me, ‘but I think you’re thinking this.’ ‘Tell me what I’m thinking.’ My green eyes met his blue ones once again. ‘I promise you: I am infinitely more oblivious than you are,’ I assured him. ‘I think I know what you’re thinking, but I may be very oblivious.’ ‘Oh, so what am I thinking right now?’ I stared directly into his blue eyes, a challenge waiting to be answered. He led me to a bench overlooking the grey-blue sea, and our hands rested on the wooden surface between us. Daffodils bloomed in the undergrowth, and the sun shone down upon us as we traversed the narrow cliffside path. He said, ‘It seems like you want to find out,” and sent me into a stunned silence. I asked, ‘So how bad of a kisser are you then?’ Casually, he told me his ex-girlfriend and flatmate had both said he was a bad kisser. A forest rose up above us on the cliff, and we climbed a wooden staircase in single file, our hands still intertwined. I melted into the sensation of his damp palm against mine, while he reminisced about his homoerotic rugby days and sand seeped into my trainers. Perhaps in fiction the friends-to-lovers trope is stolen glances and well-hidden pining, but when his hand slid into mine, it was not a momentous twist of fate that spun me around till I collapsed from dizziness. He asked if I was okay to cross them, and I hesitated for just a moment, until he offered me his hand. Waves crashed against great black stones as we descended to the beach. When he let me go, I scoured the grass at my feet for the severed corpse of my purple teddy bear earring that had been sunken by the tide of affection. ![]() We clung to each other again, as if it was more natural for our skin to touch than not. I reached out to the ginger curls on his own head, and taught him how to be gentle with me. He teased that these were not fortuitous times for claiming I couldn’t breathe, and stroked my hair, patting it clumsily with his boy hands. He made me giggle with bad German accents, and out of nowhere told me, ‘I think people do find you attractive.’ Amidst our new-found earnestness, and the soft whisper of my intuition, it wasn’t a surprise when he got out the car at the train station, and the familiar eyes of my friend burned with a blue electricity that warmed my cheeks to fiery red.Īlone, between Culzean Castle and the stony beach, I hugged him till I felt the air leaving my chest. I told him I was sad, and all I wanted was for someone to hold me and stroke my hair. We had talked on the phone all morning, joking about an arena where my (non-existent) suitors could fight each other to the death. Anticipation ricocheted through my body, bursting out of me in a giggle that blossomed into a gleeful cackle. It was April 4th, and the chilly Spring air sent shivers down my spine. I was finally alone, and my mind brimmed with thoughts of the rug of monotony that had finally been pulled out from under my feet. The platform was empty, save for a teenage girl talking loudly down the phone. ![]() Etta James’ ‘At Last’ played through my earphones as I waited for the last train out from Ayr.
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