“I didn't mean to wake you up, did I?” I asked, tugging my jacket a little closer to me. “Shoot, you were probably asleep, and here I am, waking you up at 4 AM like some crazy person – ”

“Micah.”

I loved how he said my name.

“What's going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm good. I just...” I take in a breath. “I missed you.”

“...I missed you, too.”

“Is this what normal people are supposed to feel? We spent all freaking day together.” God, what I wouldn't have given to relive it. “Like, I feel like I'm going a little crazy, and please tell me if I'm going crazy, because I don't want to wreck things between us, but I just like you so much that – ”

The door opened, and Simon's stared at me from behind the screen door. He smirked and hung up the phone. “How did I know?” he asked, stepping out onto the apartment stoop with me. “Hi.”

“...hi,” I giggled.

“Are you stalking me now?”

“Not stalking if you've invited me over, like, 20 times already.”

Simon raised a brow at that.

“To my credit, I didn't ask to come in.” I glanced down the empty street. “Doesn't really help, either, that I live 2 blocks away from you.”

“I should've closed the door and gone back to bed.”

“You wouldn't,” I shouted. “I wouldn't do that to you!”

“You wouldn't,” he said, and his voice felt so light. He leaned back against the iron railing of the stoop. “So? What do I owe the pleasure tonight?”

My heart did somersaults, and I leaned over to put my head on his shoulder. He smells like Simon, and I didn't know the words to describe how amazing it is. His skin was cool against my face, and I pressed him against the railing. I took in a breath and held him a little closer.

He held me back.

“I'm so sorry if I woke you, Simon.”

He held me a little tighter. “I was already awake. Couldn't sleep.”

I was breathless. Floating. If I died now, I would've been so happy but so extremely angry that I died before I could grow old with him.

I pulled back. “Can I come in?”

“Do Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds know you're here?”

I nodded. I wasn't going to wake them at 4 AM because I wanted to see him.

I still messaged them that I was going to Simon's place.

“They don't really care. They like you.”

Simon closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against mine. “Want to come in?”

“Okay.”

His comfy studio calls to me like a freaking siren's song. I know the art prints official names and artists' names – Simon told me about them one afternoon. It's like I've memorized the grooves of his kitchen table, where the scratches are, how the mattress moves when we jump down on it, every groan of the building as the neighbors moved around. A dusty candle rediscovered from one of his boxes – rose and sea salt – sits lit on the kitchen table. It was Simon's little eclectic mess, his little curated world.

The moment he locked the door, I hugged him again. “Siiiiiiiiiiimon,” I groaned.

“You'll wake the neighbors,” he sighed. His arms trailed up around my back again.

“I'm going crazy.”

“You do that sometimes.”

“Siiiiiiiiiiimon,” I groaned again.

He held me a little tighter.

“What are you doing to me?” I moaned. I pulled back and cupped his face. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“You don't love me?”

“I didn't say that,” he said. He tipped his head against mine again. “I just choose to say it with less words and less cheese.”

“Meanie.”

Simon chuckled – breathless and beautiful – and looked me right in my eyes. His face softened while he lingered on me before he kissed me. He kissed me again. He kissed me again, slower, like every sensation, every minuscule second that passed when our lips were together, needed to be noted in his memories. His hands slid to my neck. My face. He kissed me again.

The air was suffocating, warm and sweet and tinted pink. I leaned in to kissed him back, slower, and nothing about it wasn't perfect. My breath was shaking. So were my hands. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He pressed me against the door. I kissed him harder. And his leg was between mine, and our hands were fumbling. I didn't want to stop.

 “M-Micah – ” he tried to say, silenced only by my kissing him again. He doesn't protest the motion. He leaned into it more. “D-don't...tease,” Simon whispered, his lips millimeters from mine. He sounded like he had to force himself to say it.

“N...not on this, Simon.”

“Y-you don't have to, to do – ”

“I want to.”

He sighed, and the sound made me shudder. He held my face a little tighter. “Are you sure?”

“With you, yes.”

 “Seriously, Micah. Think about this. Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Don't. Tease. Micah.” Simon pressed me harder against the front door, and I could feel how hard he was against my leg.

I remembered being so relieved that I was just as hard as him, and being freaking terrified, and slightly confused, at the exact same time.

I really, really, really needed to look up how the heck attraction worked.

“Are you sure?” he asked again. “B-because I don't want things to be awkward if you...don't want to, and I don't want to...push you.”

I didn't realize I was shaking. “S-start it slow,” I said, hands fumbling as I grabbed the collar of his shirt, “but it better get hard and fast.”

Simon's eyes widened. “F-fuck,” he whispered, breath shuddering, leaning into me and clawing at the back of my jacket. “Th...that's not fair.”

“N-no, it's not,” I hissed, slipping my hands under his shirt.

“Micah.” He stepped back, and I saw the dark patch on his pants.

I basically choked on my tongue. “I didn't even do anything!”

He laughed at that, and pulled off my jacket in one motion. “'Start slow and get it hard and fast' doesn't count?”

“I – no – ” I flushed red. “I-I didn't mean – ”

“Okay, we'll do it your way,” he said, and in the low light, his blue eyes glistened. His hands planted themselves on my face again. “Want me to take the lead?”

“Yes,” I whispered, tracing the outline of his body with my fingers. They were still shaking. “But, but skip the slow part. We already did that.”

“You – !” Simon scoffed. “God, I fucking love you, Micah.”

I grinned.

“Tell me, i-if it gets – ”

“I will. Just kiss me, and make it fast.”

He didn't have to be asked again. He tipped me back, his hands pressed against my spine, as he followed what I asked to a T. We barely made it to his mattress on the floor before we were basically ripping each other's clothes off. It was awkward and fun and exhilarating and perfect. So freaking perfect.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice a raspy, soft sound in my ears. His fingertips traced across the wrinkles in my palm. Simon had me close, an arm wrapped around my shoulders, our heads pressed into his pillows. His eyes were on me, and I had never felt so at peace with something before. Like even though the sun was rising, the world had stopped to breathe with us. “How was...uh...” He cleared his throat, turning a little red. “Was that...are you okay?”

I suppressed a yawn, drumming my fingers along his chest. “That wasn't fast enough.”

Simon scoffed. “Wow.”

“Yes, I'm okay.”

“I was only asking.”

“I know.”

He cocked his head back to really look at me. “You're pretty calm for someone who just slept with a guy for the first time.”

“You're not just 'a guy'.” And I grinned when he turned red and started rolling away. “Nooo,” I laughed, “come back.”

“I don't like you anymore.”

“You don't mean that,” I giggled.

“I do,” he said, trying not to smirk, and it was so freaking cute I leaned down to kiss him. “I don't,” he whispered, tracing my jaw with his thumb. He yawned, and even that was cute.

I flopped down on him. “And if you're going to ask me if I'm reeling from having had sex with a guy, the answer is 'Abso-freaking-lutely'.” I couldn't keep a straight face with him watching me. “I came prepared, though. I watched 3 porn videos and took copious notes – ”

“Oh my God,” he laughed.

“Of course I'm not in shock, you dummy. I – ” I shuffled across his chest until our noses were almost touching again. I clasped my hands on the sides of his neck. “I loved it. It was...well, wasn't what I was expecting.”

“In a good way or bad way?”

“That's saying some of it wasn't good,” I pointed out, “but I can assure you, my love, that all of it was good.” I took in a breath. “Just...not fast enough.”

“Hard enough?”

I yawned again. “...for my first time, yes.” I smirked and looked at him. “Next time, probably not.”

Simon smirked. He pressed his cheek into the top of my head. “Noted.” He stroked his thumb over my shoulder, and pulled me a little closer.

We stayed like that for what felt like the longest while, our little pocket of warmth in the otherwise autumn world, just as the sun started shining through the windows of his studio. I reached over him and shook out my phone of my pants pocket. “Happy 6:49.”

“God,” he groaned, pressing his hands into his eyes. “I have work.”

“Me, too.” I looked at him. “You can't call out, can you?”

“That's not how freelancing generally works, especially with the guys who commissioned me.” He ran his fingers over his messy, sexy hair. “I'm already on thin ice with them.”

I frowned, grumbling, and tossed my phone onto the pile of our clothes. “So, boyfriend,” I asked, watching Simon frown in embarrassment, “what do you normally do post-sex?”

“Work.”

I smirked. “And as admirable as your work ethic is...I don't think it'd suit the mood, if I'm honest.”

“Micah, I'm sorry. I'm too tired. I've got work I have to do. I have a deadline.”

I grumbled again, inhaling slowly.

He got out, and I got to watch his cute butt strut its stuff towards the bathroom.

“Can I stay here until work?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Can I shower with you?”

“No. It isn't big enough, and I don't – ” He grunted, running his hands over his face. “I'm sorry, Micah, I'm behind with this project. I need to finish it by Friday.”

“Okay,” I sigh. I smile. “I'll be here when you get back, okay?”

Simon hummed his response, wiping his face again and walking into the bathroom.

I sank back under the covers and curled up in everything that I could wrap around me. Simon's smell. His apartment. I wanted to remember all of it, though the sentiment was cut short when I pulled a stray pube from my tongue.