I wake up and reach for my phone before I’m even fully there. Your name sits where I left it last night, like something unfinished, something still quietly waiting.
I text you.
Not something heavy, not at first. Just enough to open the door again. But it doesn’t stay light. It never really does with you. It shifts, slowly, into honesty. The kind that isn’t loud, just… precise. We say things we usually circle around. Things that land a little deeper than intended.
And then it’s quiet again.
I get up anyway. I need to move. I told myself I would keep the routine, even if today is softer. Yesterday still lingers in my body, the ache in my legs, the reminder that I pushed too far, too hard. Like I was trying to outrun something instead of just… feeling it.
So today is different. Slower. Lighter.
I step outside, let the air meet me, let my body settle into something more forgiving. But the conversation doesn’t leave. It never really does. It stays under everything, threading through my thoughts, pulling at them, reshaping them.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, I stop.
Because the thought comes in so clearly it almost startles me.
Your hands.
Warm. Slow. Intentional.
The way they would move, not rushed, not asking, just knowing. The weight of them, the heat, the quiet control in something as simple as a touch. Oil against skin, the glide of it, the way it would make everything else fall away for a second.
I exhale, barely realizing I’ve been holding it in.
And before I can overthink it, I text you.
“I just had a thought…”
There’s a pause. Just long enough for me to feel it.
Then your reply comes in.
We start where we left off, like we never really stopped.
At first it’s just remembering, small things, details, the kind that shouldn’t matter but do. The way you looked at me. The way I reacted before I even had time to think. It’s almost casual, almost safe… until it isn’t.
Because we both know exactly what we’re doing.
We talk about it openly, like we always do. No guessing, no pretending. Just honesty. What we liked. What stayed with us. What we keep replaying without admitting it out loud, until now.
And then your message comes in.
Not long. Not dramatic.
Just you telling me how much you love it when I touch you a certain way.
It hits instantly.
Not just in my head, in my whole body. Like something switches on without asking permission. My steps slow down, then stop completely, like I’ve forgotten where I was even going.
I can feel it. That pull again.
That need.
And it’s not vague. It’s specific. Familiar. It remembers you before I even try to.
I swallow, try to keep walking, but it’s pointless. Because we keep talking. Keep feeding it. Matching each other in a way that feels almost unfair, like we’re tuned to the same frequency without trying.
You describe it so simply. So clearly. And I feel it.
Right there.
I press my lips together, exhale slowly, but it doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse.
Then the song starts.
Of course it does.
The one.
And it’s like everything lines up at once, your words, the memory, the feeling building under my skin. My fingers twitch slightly, like they know exactly what you’re talking about without me having to look.
I stop walking completely this time.
There’s no point pretending anymore.
I turn around.
Because suddenly going home isn’t a choice, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
My phone buzzes again as I start heading back, faster now, barely noticing anything around me.
Your message is waiting.
And I don’t even have to open it to know I’m already too far in.
My phone buzzes again before I even reach the door.
I already know it’s you.
I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t look, not out here, not with my pulse already too fast, my thoughts already too loud. But I do anyway.
And it’s a photo.
Not loud. Not staged. Just… honest.
A glimpse of you, and what this, we, have done to you.
It steals the air out of me for a second.
Because it’s not just what I see, it’s what I feel. The way it mirrors exactly what’s happening inside me. The way it confirms that this isn’t one-sided, not imagined, not exaggerated. It’s shared. Real. Immediate.
I press my lips together, exhale slowly, but it comes out uneven.
Yeah… I’m not going home for nothing.
I’m already unlocking the door before I even realize how fast I walked back.
Inside, everything feels quieter, but not calmer. If anything, it sharpens it. Strips away distractions. Leaves just me, my thoughts, and your words still unfolding on my screen.
I toss my jacket aside, barely paying attention, my focus completely elsewhere.
On you.
On what you said.
On how clearly we fit in this, how easy it is to talk, to admit, to be exactly what we are without hesitation. No awkwardness. No guessing. Just that shared understanding that keeps pulling us closer, even when we’re not in the same room.
My fingers hover over my phone for a second before I type back.
But there’s no real resistance in it.
Just truth.
Because I can still feel it, under my skin, in my chest, in the way my thoughts keep circling back to you. To your hands. To the way you described it. To the way I know it would feel.
I lean back for a moment, close my eyes, just breathing.
Letting myself sit in it.
Not rushing it. Not fighting it either.
Just… taking care of it, in my own way.
And your presence stays right there with me, through every word, every memory, every feeling we’ve already set in motion.
Like you never really left at all.