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Requited Romanticism Over Late Night Reviewing

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The sound of the clock ticking fills the room. It’s past 11 o’clock and the late night study session you agreed to have with Tweek – his paranoia of failing the class and having to retake it again next semester despite the fact he’s doing really well – is in full swing, but you’ve can’t focus on proportion values or hypothesis testing for two populations. After graduating you both decided to go to the local community college in the meantime to save money and share your statistics class with him. You’ll do okay, you figure, and the final’s not for a while, so you decide to call it quits and lean back on your family’s old flower patterned sofa that somehow always has a faint lilac smell.

Letting your body relax, your eyes laze over to the jittering body, hopped up on his mixture of caffeine, sleep deprivation, and anxiety; the usual but turned up a notch due to end of the semester finals. His hair’s pinned back messily to keep the hair out of his eyes and you notice a loose strand by the nape of his neck, gone unnoticed by his full on concentration on redoing the classwork as study material, chapped lips biting into the body of the mechanical pencil as he fiddles on the calculator.

He’s wearing the old t-shirt you remember he once dropped a plate of ketchup-covered fries on back in sophomore year, when you convinced him to sneak out with you for a late night drive; you had gotten your permit and were eager to relish in the newly acquired freedom, even if it was just for an un-chaperoned drive to a 24-hour fast food joint. You vaguely remember the smell of ketchup that lingered in the family car even after he obsessively wiped at his chest to get the condiment out of the fabric and how you teased him as you drove him home and he punched you shoulder, annoyed.

The color’s faded and the neckline’s all worn out now and it hangs low enough that you can see his collar bone peeking out and you feel your mouth dry as your gaze lingers and goes a bit lower to the expanse of his chest. Suddenly, the two feet of distance seems like nothing and everything as you feel the temperature escalating. He’s not paying attention to you and doesn’t register the pair of ogling eyes from his side, but you still break away, not taking a chance in case he decides to look your way, something you’ve been doing for the past year.

Your sister’s at a sleepover with her friends and your parent left on an early vacation out of state, but at the moment you can’t remember where, nor do you try to. The house was entrusted to you because for some reason post-high school adulthood not only means your fair share in extra liberty but extra responsibilities as well, so it’s completely empty, save for two bodies, humming with energy but for different reasons. Briefly, you consider getting a drink from the kitchen but you decide it’d be weird; there’s a can of soda at the foot of the coffee table in front of the couch you haven’t finished, so you remain seated.

Again, the ticking from the clock’s the only indication of time passing, and you try to ignore the slight vibrations coming from Tweek besides you as you lay your head on the back of the sofa and close your eyes. The warmth you felt earlier doesn’t go away and his movements have increased until the sound of a groan and a plop of a book on the coffee table knocks you from your attempt at relaxing.

Opening your eyes, you turn your head at the same moment a head of blond hair backs onto the sofa and a pair of hazel eyes pierce into your blue ones. He’s laying his head on the back of the sofa too and looking at you with an unreadable expression that you can’t help but think he’s been paying attention this whole time to you or that he’s gained the ability of reading your mind and the past year’s the topic of the upcoming inevitable conversation.

But you decide to prolong the probable inevitability by asking him if he gave up and he affirms it with a tired hum and you both leave the conversation there and you both continue looking at each other which makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle.

He’s studying you as you’re studying him and it’s a self-inflicted cruel joke that he’s in front of you but you won’t cross the distance between you, wanting to touch the bruising under his eyes from lack of sleep, wanting to glide your fingers over his jawline, to grab his forearms that lead to rugged hands and long fingers. Just wanting in general but lacking the courage to do anything.

His gaze trails over your face and you think maybe he feels the same; he looks stuck in thought, a slight crease by the junction of his eyebrows and he bites his bottom lip briefly before, with a hesitant low voice, he says, “Craig?” and instead of answering, you just raise an eyebrow, not trusting yourself to speak just yet.

He hesitates with himself over what to say next and you consider sitting up but before you make up your mind he leans towards you and his lips meet yours. He’s leaning over you, your head still resting on the back of the sofa and it doesn’t take long before the initial shock wears off and your lips press against his, your hands coming to life to grab the side of his face and his waist. You don’t believe this is happening, but you’ve thought of this scenario a thousand different ways that you don’t care if it’s a figment of your imagination. But the texture of his chapped lips, soft despite their constant mauling, against yours and the heat radiating off his body from over yours validates that yes, this is happening. The very thing you’ve fantasized about doing but lacked the balls to initiate has been undone by his leap of faith that you know must have taken a lot from him and you’re so fucking glad he did because nothing you’ve thought of how this would be compares to the reality: Tweek Tweak is kissing you on your dingy old couch.

He pulls back to sit cross-legged in front of you and you turn to him, eye-leveled. You don’t know where to begin and the first thing that comes out of your mouth is, “Why?” with a hoarse voice. He looks at you panic-stricken and you know you messed up, so you try again before he gets to really panicking, or worse, regretting what he’s done and you don’t want that.

“I mean, do you like me” you try and hesitate before adding “too?” You want to look down at yourself, to chose to look at the old shirt you chose to wear for class today under a slightly newer opened hoodie but you keep your eyes on him, needing to know.

He nods tentatively and says, “Yeah. But I wasn’t sure if you did a-and I couldn’t take it anymore so I just . . . did it.” He looks awestruck at his realization and you smile at him, which he returns warmly and you lean over to kiss him this time.

You’re both around the same height so you don’t have to bend down and instead seamlessly connect your lips with minimal effort. Your hands go back to cupping his face and waist and his move to the back of your neck and chest. You start kissing him slowly and as time passes it becomes more intimate and fueled, neither of you holding back any of what you’ve felt and it comes across as your lips move against each others’.

Heat erupts in the core of your abdomen and travels through your body and as your tongue touches his bottom lip and he opens his mouth so both your tongues meet and the kiss deepens. You feel a shiver go through his body and he moves towards you and you fall back on the couch as he rests on top of you and you pull him closer; you feel the hairs on your arms rise and everything becomes intensified as you keep kissing each other, tilting your heads to deepen the contact.

He runs his hand up and down the sides of your ribs over your shirt and your hand moves over the back of his neck to grab at his hair, earning a small gasp from him that only serves to excite you. His mouth leaves yours to move towards your neck, licking and sucking at the skin and he grips your hip, which gets a small groan of pleasure to exit your lips and you tug on his hair in response, earning a moan from him to be muffled from his mouth still at your throat.

Your hand goes to his jawline and you pull his head towards you so you can run your mouth against the crevice where his neck meets his jaw, something you’ve fantasized about and is now made an excruciatingly pleasurable actuality. He sighs contently at the motions of your lips and tongue and it doesn’t take long before your lips meet again, tongues sliding into each others’ mouths in unison.

The clock isn’t audible anymore over the sound of your heart beating heavily in your ears and the sounds of both your lips parting and meeting over and over. You don’t know how much time has passed; the motions of the two of you haven’t lost the intensity but have slowed down and your lips and tongues move against each other slow and languidly, taking note of the contours of each others mouths and taking time to get familiar.

He’s still on top of you but gave up supporting himself over you so his weight rests on top of you and his leg rests in between yours. The sound of a cell phone vibrating on the wooden surface of the coffee table jars you out of your make out session and you both pull apart. You’re both trying to catch your breath and he checks his phone under the open textbook; you were meant to be studying, you remember as he looks over his phone.

He turns back to you and tells you his parents asked when he was coming home. You briefly consider telling him to spend the night over but remember he has a final for another class in the morning so you decide against it, you’ll see him on campus tomorrow anyways, so instead you insist on driving him home. As you make it to the front of his house, he opens the door but stays in his seat, asking if you were still on for another study session tomorrow and you try not to sound overeager in agreeing but fail and he laughs. You tell him to shut it and he gives you a brief kiss before going into his house.

On the way back to your house you think that you could get used to this new type of study sessions with Tweek.