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The accident happened when I was 10.
I don’t remember much of it anymore since it’s been a literal decade since then, but it’s not like I don’t have a permanent reminder of that event. The orphanage I’d lived in had caught on fire while everyone was sleeping, including me. The left side of my face had been singed. The doctors had to cut my ear off.
It was painful, but I don’t recall the pain anymore. The burns I’d suffered were severe enough to damage my tissue – the doctors had said the burns would scar. There’s this weird lump over my left cheek now, and a stub where my left ear used to be. Sometimes, when I braid my hair, my fingers brush across the damaged skin and it’s weird to feel it, so my braids are usually haphazard because I hurry.
People still look at me weird for it. My family members have gotten used to looking at the scar by now, but strangers would oftentimes look at me twice, and I’m telling you, it’s not because I’m beautiful. I try to tell myself I don’t mind, and I don’t, but sometimes someone would look at me and I’d just shrink because I don’t like the way they look at me. I’m just a normal girl. There should be nothing to see.
Don had suggested I let my hair grow out so I can get bangs like Ray. That way no one would notice my scars. Ray and Gilda hadn’t liked that idea. Norman had then mentioned there was no need, and everyone listens to Norman because he’s mature, so that was enough of that.
Nobody would adopt me cause of the scar. Mama Isabella used to tell me they were missing out, so I’ve learned not to care so much. Besides, this really cool guy Mister Yuugo took me in when I was 16! He’s perpetually grumpy but he makes sure I’m fed and I get to go to school, so I’m really grateful for him.
But now that I’m in my second year of university he’s refusing to pay for anything. He says I should learn to get by on my own. He gives me a monthly allowance but that’s it. He’s not like most fathers, I’ve come to realize. He doesn’t coddle me or euphemize anything. He tells me things as they are and forces me to learn how to cope.
Anna says he’s made me tougher. I kinda like the sound of that.
But his parenting style also means I have to pay for my own food. The university I’m studying in offers a small dorm along with my scholarship, so I’m okay on the renting front, but it’s a hassle to find and cook my own meals. And buy my own clothes.
And virtually everything else. Which sucks.
Ray was nice enough to inform me about a vacancy at the coffee shop he works at. (“It’s called a café,” he’d reprimand.
“What’s the difference?” I’d say, because it’s hilarious to rile him up.)
Working at a coffee shop – café – whatever it’s called – is an experience. It took me a while to realize what half-and-half is. All I’d known prior is that it made my hands sticky. People who come in the mornings tend to order from what I like to call the hot side of the menu. The classic black coffee, an expresso, whatever. Sometimes I look at the early-bird customers and see this crazed, hungry glint in their eyes. Preparing their drinks always just takes a second. I’d hate to have them in my presence for too long.
No offense.
Afternoon people are more chatty. And mostly students from the university. They tend to come in groups and hog all the vacant tables. It’s always a crowd by the time morning classes are over.
I work two shifts in a day to cover the eight-hour minimum and squeeze in classes at the same time. Ray doesn’t share his schedule with me, but I think it’s because he’s embarrassed to admit he practically lives in the coffee shop at this point. (He’s one of those early-bird people with unchecked caffeine addiction, except it’s twenty-four seven and ten times worse.)
Norman comes in the mornings, at around six, when the shop is still quiet. He always orders black like a stereotypical smart person – “Like a wimp,” Ray would quip – and he’d chat with Ray and I for a few minutes then he’d get going for class.
And let me tell you. Those slacks he wears to school? They do not do his butt enough justice.
I’d tried to be sneaky once and I’d suggested to him that he should invest in a pair of jeans – he’s rich enough to buy a whole other wardrobe – but he’d said jeans just aren’t his style. Which is a bummer.
Actually, sometimes just everything about Norman is a huge bummer. He tends to act all professional – it’s not his fault, I guess it’s just his personality – and he often handles even the most mundane things with a grave sort of efficiency. That’s normally during the day when we’re with other people.
Even with his straight-laced personality, though, Norman can be pretty fun. He doesn’t exude sarcasm like Ray does, but every once in a while he says something so witty it’s hilarious. He’s always willing to help me out, offer his services, and I’m glad to have him in my life. He’s also got the kindest smile, and sometimes when he looks at me it’s like that smile softens just enough that I think it’s a smile reserved just for me.
But that’s a pipe dream. Norman doesn’t express interest in the opposite sex. We may be the best of friends, but we can’t really be anything more I suppose.
The bell above the coffee shop entrance jingles and I turn around with a ready smile. Norman’s coming through the door, punctual as always, and today he’s got a royal blue suit on. Ahh, he probably has a presentation today. He usually goes for lighter colors.
“Hi Emma,” he greets, and I suppress the urge to crumble like ground coffee beans at the sound. I love his voice.
“Hey Norman,” I say, and I’m glad I don’t swoon. He looks so charming in that suit. “Got a presentation today?”
“Yes, actually. It’s a major project.” I go about making his usual order, and today I can’t help but feel his eyes on me, following my every move. The notion makes me grow warm. Focus Emma! “Where’s Ray?”
“He’s in the back sorting the new shipment,” I tell him, and he matches my cheeky grin. “He’s all grumpy so it’s better he doesn’t get any form of social interaction until he gets his first cup of mocha frappe.”
“Poor Ray,” Norman teases, and I laugh. If only Ray can hear him now.
I plunk his order down in front of him, along with a small card. “Happy birthday, Norman.”
He looks up at me and blinks, and I notice his bright blue eyes studying me intently, though I can’t possibly begin to fathom what thoughts are going through his head right now.
He blushes, and damn, he makes even pink look good on him. “I’d actually forgotten.” He beams up at me, and for a moment I wish he’d do more with that mouth than just smile. “Thank you, Emma.”
I grin back. “No biggie! We should celebrate properly later.”
“Say, I get out of class early today. You and Ray could come to my apartment,” Norman suggests. “Besides, you have to pick your laundry up from my place.”
“Please don’t remind me,” I beg, because I really don’t want to be reminded.
The laundromat near my dorm is currently closed down due to technical difficulties and I have two weeks’ worth of laundry piled up in the corner of my room. Gilda had taken one look at it last weekend and had demanded I find a solution immediately. That was mostly just because I’ve been borrowing her skirts for a while and they were all in said pile, much to Gilda’s annoyance. That, and I am so close to wearing my underwear backwards.
Not that Norman needs to know that. Gilda had told him about my plight and in usual Norman fashion he’d offered to let me use his washing machine. Gilda forced me to accept, so Norman drove up to my dorm last Sunday and we crammed all my laundry in the backseat. That had been beyond embarrassing.
Norman didn’t really seem to care though. He’d even offered to help me sort through them so I don’t mess up and accidentally turn all my socks pink – because that does happen in real life, shocker – but I’d hastily declined because my whites include my underwear and the only panties I want his hands to be touching are the ones that are currently on me.
Cough. Not that I said that out loud.
Also, when Norman’s at home he doesn’t wear suits for pajamas – like Don always jokes he does – he instead wears a pair of sweatpants and a white shirt, and if that isn’t a sight worth salivating over I don’t know what is.
Needless to say, I’d locked myself in the laundry room if only to keep myself in check. No need to let Norman know I’ve been in love with him for, like, forever.
“Yo, Norman.” Something sails over my head and Norman fumbles to catch it. I turn and see Ray coming out the storage room, looking displeased but slightly happy to see us. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you, Ray!” Norman holds our gifts in his palm gratefully. “Will you be able to come later?”
“Sure.” Ray shrugs, illegally making himself his frappe. (Illegally because we technically aren’t allowed to make drinks for ourselves, not that that’s ever stopped Ray.) “Have you got that new Neverland game?”
“Yeah. Haven’t played it yet, though.”
Ray and I groan simultaneously. Norman pouts. “What?”
“We should do something else,” Ray says, and I agree vehemently.
Norman has this propensity for slow gaming. While Ray and I tend to rush through our video games and challenge each other to dumb competitions, Norman takes his time with every game, absorbing the story and reviewing his choices. Which shouldn’t even be a thing because with a brain like his, gaming should come easy. But no. Norman insists on taking a whole month to play. He has such a freakish patience level.
“I promise I’ll play at your pace,” Norman swears. “It would be nice to have you two over for my birthday.”
That last line has me sold. I’d do anything to spend time with my friends. Ray looks suspicious however, and it takes a while before Norman and I get him to agree.
“Why the fuck are you so slow.”
Today is a good day. Our classes ended early, for once, and we had most of the afternoon to ourselves. Norman drove us to his apartment and we settled down and played the new game.
Ray and I have wasted hours going through the different levels. Norman’s wasted hours just exploring the virtual world.
Norman shrugs away the reproach in Ray’s tone. “They updated their visuals. It’s stunning. I’m just appreciating the graphics.”
I sigh loudly. Why can’t he appreciate my graphics?
“I’m never playing a game with you ever again,” Ray threatens, plopping down on his back with a groan. I poke him with my toe. He shoves me aside.
Norman side-eyes Ray with a mischievous little grin and my heart does a small flip at that. Lord, why is he so sexy? Please tell me.
“I’m feeling like adding to our twelve-year tally in Mario Kart today,” Norman says nonchalantly. I snicker. Ray sits up at that.
“Is that a challenge?” Ray smirks. “I can’t imagine how you’d win when you’re such a slowpoke.”
Norman shrugs. “I have my ways.”
“Oh you’re on.”
We switch games and our ruckus gets a lot louder after that. It’s really fun to just sit back and unwind with Norman and Ray right beside me. It’s also really fun to watch Ray and Norman battle it out on the screen. I’d given up playing Mario Kart with them a long time ago – they look at the racetracks a whole lot different than I do.
My stomach grumbles at some point, and that’s how I know it’s past dinner time. Norman seems to hear my stomach’s lament from over the sounds of the game and he looks at me concernedly. “Are you hungry? Maybe we can order take-out.”
“Pizza!” I cheer, and Ray rolls his eyes.
Norman hands me his phone because he and Ray are still going at it, but just as I manage to input the number to the nearest pizza place I get a call from Don.
I look to Norman and he nods, so I accept the call and bring the phone up to my ear.
“Normaaan!” Don yells from over the line, ever enthusiastic. “Happy birthday! Let’s hang out!”
I put Don on speaker. “Ray and I beat you to it, Don,” I say, with a small laugh. Ray pauses the game and he and Norman turn to the phone, curious.
“Oh, come on,” Don whines. “I cleared my schedule and everything.”
Norman raises a brow. “It’s not that hard to clear out a schedule, Don.”
“Ah, Norman! The birthday boy!” Don greets, sounding pleased. “Is Ray hearing this? I was hoping we could all go out. You know, guys’ night!”
I pout. “What about us girls? We want to celebrate Norman’s birthday too.”
“You can take him shopping for suits tomorrow,” Don says, dismissing me. “Gilda has some fashion discount or whatever. For now, the guys own the night!”
“The night isn’t something that can be owned,” Norman attempts to joke, but there’s just too much philosophical meaning behind it that no one laughs. Oh, he’s cute when he tries.
“For one night,” Don implores, “Can we please be normies and have a night out?”
Ray cringes. “Never use the word ‘normies’ again and we might just say yes.”
“But what about Emma?” Norman says. “We can’t just leave her here.”
Gods, let me be one with the floor now. He’s thinking of me! That means something! ... Right?
“I’ll just start folding my laundry or something,” I tell him. “You go out and have fun.”
“Yes, listen to Emma!” Don says, and I’ve already somewhat forgotten he’s listening. Sorry, Don.
“Are you sure?” Norman asks, looking very much like he’s thinking of my welfare first, and I sort of want to pull on his white shirt – which is deliciously tight on him – and kiss him for it. Not that I actually know how to kiss somebody. I’ll probably mess up or something.
... Why am I even thinking of this? Norman should be free go out with the boys, no questions asked. I shouldn’t keep him from having fun, especially since it’s his birthday. (Even though I sort of want him to go out with just me instead. Hey, maybe I can save it and suggest it for next year? I wish.)
“Why not?” I shrug. “You pay for my pizza and you go out. Win-win.”
“If you’re sure...”
It takes a little more coaxing from Don and slight approval from Ray, but I can see that Norman sort of wants to hang out with the guys, too. I don’t begrudge him that. It’s his birthday, after all – he should be able to hang out with our family! I know I’d like to have Gilda and Anna hang out with me for my birthday.
He leaves me a lot of money – more than enough for pizza – and then he and Ray go change for a night out. We frequent Norman’s apartment a lot because he has a gaming system and a stove (and, recently, a washing machine) and we’ve spent a lot of nights sleeping over. We have some extra clothes stored in a separate drawer in his closet, though mine have all been pulled out and used by now.
Stupid laundromat.
I wave Ray and Norman goodbye and I go about sorting my laundry while waiting for the pizza guy to arrive. I’m kind of worried because Norman’s never gone out before, and from what Don’s told us he’s planning to take them to a popular bar. I wouldn’t have pressured him to go out if it wasn’t with Ray and Don.
Briefly, I wonder what Norman would act like inebriated. I sort of wish I could have come now. I could pass for a guy. If I were there maybe Norman would loosen up a little and declare his undying love for me in drunken tangent.
... Nah. I’ve been watching too many rom-coms. I blame Gilda.
Incessant knocking on the door jolts me awake.
I sit up groggily, feeling my head spin cause I didn’t fall asleep right. There’s the half-eaten box of pizza on the coffee table in front of me, and I reach for my phone that’s lying underneath the pizza box cover. It’s 1 AM. Gods.
I force myself to get up when the knocking gets louder, and I wonder who it is. Norman and Ray would barge in without knocking because it’s Norman’s apartment after all.
I stifle a yawn and pull the door open.
Well, what do you know. It is Norman and Ray.
Wait, scratch that. It’s a severely irritated Ray holding up what looks like a heavily drunk Norman. His eye twitches when I just stand there. “Well? Take him.”
My sleepy mind interprets his words the wrong way and I go red. “How much did you give him to drink?” I admonish instead, just to direct any attention away from my lascivious thoughts.
“Not much, actually,” Ray grumbles. “He was already half-fuddled after the first glass. But that’s not why we’re here.”
I raise my brows. Ray’s only response is to bring a hand up to Norman’s chin and lift his sluggish head up. I gasp. Right there, on Norman’s normally pristine face, is an ugly black eye. “As you can see,” Ray drawls, “He got into his first barfight.”
“What the fuck.”
I don’t normally cuss, I swear. But seeing Norman in such a state makes me want to hunt down whoever hurt him and teach them a lesson they’d never forget. Punching the daylights out of his assailant can wait, though.
Norman is more important right now.
“Get him inside,” I tell Ray, “I’ll see if there’s an ice pack in the kitchen –”
“No can do,” Ray says, and he pushes Norman forward so that he’s stumbling into my arms. I hasten to catch him. “I still have to go look for Don. God knows where he went off to.”
“Wait, weren’t you three supposed to stick together?”
Ray rolls his eyes. “I was a little too busy trying to keep Norman from landing in the nearest hospital. Don slinked off somewhere. He’s probably pissing on the director’s door.”
“Please make sure he doesn’t do that,” I say, both for the sake of Don’s dignity and his standing in the school. The last thing we want is for him to be rusticated from college because of muddled decisions.
“Aye aye, chief.” Ray salutes, and it’s then that I realize Ray is probably drunk, too. But he obviously has more resistance than Norman. “I’m off. Call me if I’m not back in two hours.”
“Will you be okay?” I call after him as he saunters down the hallway.
He simply turns and smiles. “Just make sure Norman’s all right. He’s more banged up than he is drunk.”
I’m sort of frustrated that their so-called “guy’s night” is ending this way. It’s one in the goddamn morning. They should all be in their beds, sound asleep, not wandering around on campus blind stinking drunk! But Norman’s currently in my arms, half-awake and sporting a black-eye, so I can’t really go and make sure Ray doesn’t fall on his face while searching for Don.
I sigh and drag Norman to the sofa. He looks disoriented, peering up at me from heavy eyelids, and I notice his eyes are dark and muddy, which is a strange look on Norman, considering he’s always so bright and clear.
I head into the kitchen and am glad to find an ice pack in Norman’s fridge. I wrap it with a clean towel and fill up a glass of water. I head back into the living room and groan when I realize Norman’s still half-asleep. I can’t exactly be tending to him in that state.
I set the items in my hands down on the coffee table, next to the pizza, and I pinch him.
He yelps, springing back into complete consciousness with what I think is pain. He sits up, groggily, and I wave my hands in front of his face. He shakes his head. “What the hell, Emma?”
Ohoho. So Norman is drunk enough to cuss. Dammit – I should’ve recorded this! Ray would have a field day.
“You’ve got a black eye,” I tell him, and he grumbles what sounds like an ‘I know’. “I can’t believe you even got into a barfight. I thought you’d be smarter than that.”
He doesn’t seem to register my words. He just grouses in his place, mumbling a string of words that I can’t even begin to comprehend. “Stop talking for a moment, will you?” I say, handing him the ice pack. “Hold it up and keep it there.”
He obeys my command well enough, and he lifts my makeshift cold compress up to the side of his eye. I sit next to him. “You’re wearing the Pikachu shirt,” he says, and I glance down. It’s one of my favorites, so I wore it when I saw it was dry. “I can’t believe it still fits.”
“You bought it two sizes too big,” I remind him, then I give him the glass of water. The Pikachu shirt had been his seventeenth birthday gift to me. Pikachu is jumping on it. He said the pose reminded him of me.
“Ahh, my head hurts,” he groans, and then he’s leaning his head on my shoulder. “Everything is hot.”
Am I included in that everything? ... Probably not. A girl can dream.
He lifts his head away and I frown, but then he’s struggling to pull his jacket off. Oh. No wonder he’s hot. (Wow, what a fitting word.) I help him pull the garment off and he shoots me a grateful smile. I can’t bring myself to smile back because this is not how I imagine ever taking off Norman’s clothes. This sucks.
He sighs in relief when the jacket is off and presses the ice-pack back to his face. There’s a long silence for a while, then I venture, “Why’d you even get into a fight in the first place? It doesn’t sound like you.”
He seems to agree with me because he shrinks back, and he averts his gaze. “It’s nothing to be concerned with,” Norman says. “Just, you know, male hormones taking over and I was so in the moment, I wasn’t able to stop and think about what I was doing. Which is just as well. I may look pretty banged up,” he gestures to himself, “But let me tell you, the other guy’s doing much worse.”
I kind of doubt that. Norman has the strength of a three year old. There are days when he can’t even open a jar, for gods’ sake.
“I don’t believe you, but okay.” I shrug. “But it kinda sounds like you threw the first punch.”
At that observation, Norman blushes, and that’s how I know I’m right. I frown at him. “Why in the world would you try to punch a guy?” I pause. “Who did you try to punch?”
Because if I have to be honest, there are a couple of douchebags on campus. The way Norman looks in response to my question – self-satisfied, and not quite sorry at all – gives me a feeling that he’d encountered one such douchebag.
“It’s not important,” Norman says, and then he’s leaning his head back, looking up at the ceiling. I recognize it as a sign that he doesn’t want to talk anymore, but I don’t want to give up just yet.
“Yes it is,” I insist. “You might’ve put yourself on a blacklist or something. He might come after you again.”
“Let him try,” Norman responds, darkly, and his tone gives me chills. I’ve never seen Norman this upset before, and it worries me greatly. Whoever he’d fought – there must’ve been a good reason as to why.
I snort. Reason. Even when drunk Norman still has it.
“At least tell me why you tried to punch him?” I try to give him the most beguiling look in my arsenal, but I have no idea if it’s even effective. For one, I might be pulling my face all wrong, and for two, any sort of pleading look would be diluted by the ugly scar on my face.
“Like I said, not important.”
“Norman. Please.”
He sighs. He looks at me for a long moment, and then he lifts his hand up, to the left side of my face. “He was making fun of you.”
I furrow my brows, understanding that it had to do with my scar. “Seriously? It’s not like it’s the first time someone’s insulted me for it, Norman. If that was the case, you should’ve let it go.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. You weren’t there. You didn’t hear all the dumb things he was saying.”
“I can take a guess,” I say. “Who was it?”
Norman looks at me for a second, seeming torn, and then he says, “Lewis.”
At the name my heart sinks. Oh. I’m familiar with Lewis. He’s an ugly faced – but I’m biased – jock who’s supposedly going to lead the school’s football team to National victory this year. He’s particularly aggressive, but he’s not the stereotypical rock-for-brain jock, either.
I’d messed up his coffee order once because I was too busy shaking from all his lewd comments. Another time I’d outright dumped his drink on him because he’d insinuated he’d “try” to look past my scar if I was good in bed.
No thank you.
I sigh. “No wonder you tried to punch him.”
Norman’s brows raise. “You know him?”
I flush, slightly. “He’s the Coffee Incident Ray kept grumbling about two months ago.”
Out of Norman’s mouth comes a string of vexed curses. I never thought I’d hear him talk dirty before.
“Calm down,” I tell him, placing a soothing hand on his arm. “Either way, Lewis is still stronger than you. Ray said you would’ve ended up in a hospital if he hadn’t intervened.”
Norman frowns, sinking into his seat. “I am never going into a bar ever again.”
“Ah, I just wish it wasn’t on your birthday.”
Norman shrugs my comment away. “How do you do it?” he asks. “Just... ignore him like that?”
“Like I said, Norman,” I try to assure him, “It’s not the first time someone’s insulted me for my scar.”
He doesn’t respond after that, and I’m just content to sit by his side. The events of the night are keeping me from falling asleep, but that’s all right. I still have to stay up and wait for Ray to come back, or call to assure me he’s fine.
Where would these boys be without me, honestly?
“Hey, Emma?” Norman calls quietly.
I turn to him. “What is it?”
He looks at me and doesn’t seem so drunk. Just pained. “The people who insult you for it... do their words ever get to you?”
It’s such a personal question that I’m not sure how to respond at first. Norman patiently waits for me to answer and I struggle to find the words. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and feel so incomplete, but the hole in my physical looks has always been filled with the unconditional love of my childhood friends – of my family. Even Yuugo never thought twice about it.
“I mean, I guess,” I admit. “There are times where I hate having it on my face because it makes people say stupid things. But I’ve learned to ignore it.”
“Oh,” Norman intones, and we both fall quiet again.
“Norman,” I wonder self-consciously, “Do you think I’m uglier because of it?”
He looks at me incredulously, as though he can’t believe I’ve even considered the thought. I smile sheepishly, and just hope for an answer.
“Emma,” he says slowly, “When I look at you, I don’t see your scar. I only see your smile, and it’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.” He pauses, looking pensive. “In fact, I haven’t seen your scar for a long time now. I’ve only ever seen how beautiful you are.”
I feel heat rush up to my face, feel my entire body warm at his admission, and I curse how eloquent Norman can be even when he’s intoxicated.
“Is that the alcohol talking?” I joke, because I don’t know how to respond to his words.
Norman blinks. “I’m drunk?” he wonders, confused, and I laugh. “But I only had two glasses.”
... Wow. Okay. Definitely a lightweight.
“Seriously?” He doesn’t seem to understand why I’m so baffled. “Guess the ‘fight’ took more out of you than the drinks did.”
“Worth it, though,” Norman replies. “I’d rather he rot in hell but I suppose temporary suffering will have to do.”
“Norman!” I admonish, though I can’t keep the grin from spreading across my face. “Don’t talk like that.”
He returns my smile. “You’d have done the same. Even worse, if the Coffee Incident is anything to go by.”
I scoff, but am surprised when Norman sets the cold compress down on the couch in favor of placing his hands on my shoulders. His touch is soft, yet grounding at the same time. “Emma, you know I meant what I said right?”
“About how you’d like Lewis to rot in hell?”
He chuckles. “Well, yeah. But that isn’t what I meant.”
Oh. “So what did you mean?” I ask, because I don’t want to be the one to say it out loud.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and he lifts his hand up to brush his thumb across my cheek. I feel like a candle melting at the heat of his flame. The only hand that’s on my face is the one that’s right over my scar. “This has never obscured that.”
“Don’t say things like that,” I tell him, my heart threatening to explode from my chest.
He frowns. “Why not?”
“Because you’re making me fall in love with you even more.” It comes out before I can even think better of it, and soon after I say the words I’m quite sure I look like a tomato.
Norman’s mouth is hanging open, dumbfounded, and for a long while he just stares at me. Argh! This is why I shouldn’t go around telling him how I feel. In what universe would he ever feel the same way –
He kisses me.
For a moment I can’t think of anything. I just blink as he presses his mouth against mine, his hands curling into my hair. Oh, that feels nice...
…
Gods, wait a minute. Norman! Is! Kissing! Me!
My insides feel like they’re bursting and I panic for a millisecond. How am I supposed to respond to this? This is so very sudden... not that I’m not enjoying it.
I let myself submit to his kiss. His lips are kind of cold, and they taste like alcohol and pineapples, but his hands are warm and his body is warm and I want him to be closer, even though he tastes like a bar and smells like sweat.
He pulls away breathlessly, and I grin up at him, feeling quite silly.
“I’ve wanted to do that forever,” he murmurs, his forehead leaning against mine.
“What stopped you?” I ask.
He blushes, sheepish. “I thought you’d never feel the same.” He sighs. “My only wish is that I didn’t just come from a bar. I’d have wanted to take you sight-seeing, or maybe rent a boat. We’d look out at a spectacular view and the wind would blow through your hair in the way that makes you look gorgeous and not block your vision somehow. You’d laugh at jokes you’d make with Ray, and maybe I’d have led you to a railing where we can overlook a splendid sunset, then I’d confess my undying love for you and all would be well...”
“Norman,” I giggle, amused by his tangent. Norman is talkative when he’s intoxicated, even if he’s not so drunk he’ll get a stinking hangover tomorrow. “This is just fine.”
He pouts. “In my apartment at three AM right after I tried to teach a guy a lesson about talking shit about you?”
I shrug. “Why not?” I smile. “Besides,” I continue, tapping on his cheek then tapping on mine. “We sort of match, don’t we?”
He laughs at that. “Now if only this wouldn’t heal,” he teases, and I chuckle. His gaze softens and he squeezes my shoulder. “For the record, I think I’m falling in love with you even more right now.”
That... makes me the happiest woman in the world.
So I kiss him again.
(I later learn from Ray that, in an attempt to make up for his physical fragility, Norman had aimed for the most sensitive spot on Lewis’s body. He may not be strong, but he knows where to land a punch if ever.
Gods, I love that man.)