by Cheryl Chen
A bubble of laughter trickles its way out of my open mouth, rounded, loud, hearty, and heartfelt, as I watch him and his antics, running ahead of me, bags clutched in his hands, a jolliness in his bouncing step, and grinning like a madman. He looks back at me, as if challenging me to a race, eyebrow cocked as always and wearing a smirk that widens as a devious little sparkle floats into his slightly narrowed eyes. Before I know it, he’s barreling down the street, howling and hooting all the way in a mad burst of glee, and I chase after him, making half-hearted, joking threats all the way about what’ll happen when I catch him. It doesn’t take long to do just that, with the traffic and the multitude of bags weighing him down. I find him waiting just a few seconds too many for the light to turn at a street corner. I grab him.
It’s backward somehow, this picture, and yet, it fits. For us.
He turns in my embrace, gazing down upon my face. He looks so damn euphoric, his eyes lighting up and his chest rising and falling quickly, as he huffs out breath after breath. He is so beautiful. I open my mouth to tell him as much, but he beats me to it. Behind my back, he transfers all the bags to one hand before lifting the other to my face, his roughened fingertips brushing my cheek as he comments on the redness he finds there, his hand cupping it in the end. My face warms as my blush becomes more than a product of the cold and sudden exercise but also one of pleasure and embarrassment despite him having done this before. He laughs at the crimson color of my face, and I pout, mock-complaining about his attitude toward me, but I make no move to remove his hand from its place against my cheek. We stand for another moment or two before he starts to pull his hand back, but I grab it to press it back into place. For once, he is the one with a startled look in his eyes, surprise painting a brief look of shock on his face. Then, he smiles again, mouth opening to unsurprisingly make another little quip at my expense, but I tell him exactly what I thought earlier.
Where we are is far from ideal, just a simple street corner, but there are only a few people to bear witness, and the sky, though clouded, is a pretty and delicate kind of clouded that comes with the fall or winter. Before even I fully realize where I’m going, I start rambling.
“I love you.
“I love the way your eyebrow quirks when you ask, “Do you know what I mean?” or when you want to tease me or when you are set in concentration, serious at least in your work if not when you’re with me.
“I love how expressive your eyes are, how they held this joyful light earlier, and how they can be as clear and light blue as tropical water or as striking and stunning as electricity. They’re beautiful.
“I love your lips that you constantly bite and lick until they are red. I love the way they purse while your eyes narrow as you prepare to tell a joke with “Well…” or how they pull into smiles I want to keep forever.
“I love your voice. I love the depth of it, the lilt in it, everything. I love the way you pronounce things, even when I don’t understand some of it. I love the voices you take on while reading aloud children’s books. I love the little squint in your eyes and the funny little child’s voice you make. I love your sincerity. It’s entirely too endearing for my heart to take at times.
“I love how your hair is two different colors, brown up top and red in your beard. I mean, how does that even work?”
I chuckle a little, shaking my head slightly, looking away to collect myself, and when I look at him again, my train of thought nearly comes to a stop when I notice that he’s blushing. When our eyes meet, he averts them almost immediately, clearly feeling rather bashful. I can feel my gaze soften, and I know to continue.
“I love when it’s long, as it tempts me to get a handful and pull you in. I love when it’s short too. Whatever it may be, as long as it’s you, I think I might always love it.
“I love the figure a suit cuts on you. I also love you in a t-shirt and jeans.
“I love the feeling of your arms around me. Sometimes, I think you could save me even from myself, and sometimes, I think you already have.
“I love your fearlessness and how supportive you are. I love how crazy you can get and how unabashed you are about it; I love how you embrace it with grace. I love how you can get me to come out of my shell. I love how you make me feel like I’m invincible, like there’s no need to fear.
“I love you so fucking much, and I didn’t think I’d tell you that today, much less now of all times, but I guess, now you know.”
I finish with the feeling of fear that comes with knowing that nothing I said could ever be taken back, and he’s no longer the only one avoiding the other’s direct gaze. There’s a silence that falls between us. The distant beeps, conversations, footsteps, and everything else that comes with urban life become more and more deafening until he breaks the quiet, dropping the paper bags at our feet. He tucks my hair behind my ear, enticing me to look at him, and I catch a glimpse of something heartbreaking (in the best of ways) before he dips down to capture my lips, piecing my once shattered heart back together again, stronger than ever before. When we finally break apart, he whispers it at first, repeating it again and again, louder and louder, before, true to his nature, he yells it into the emptiness around us, ending in a peal of crazed laughter that I most certainly follow suit in. I half expect someone to come out and yell at us, but to match the oddly perfect conclusion of this moment, no one does, and when we’ve come down from our high, we gather our bags again. This time, I surprise him with a race back to our apartment, and I can hear his heatless curses behind me as I giggle, happier than I’ve ever been.
