Implicit - Short Story Time

So after a couple of dreams involving a certain someone I might be seriously fancying, I decided to turn one of those dreams into a little short story. Yeah, girl in question is definitely me and my thought processes, be warned.

It was her first time in his room.

She hadn’t really thought about the implications of that all night - they’d been busy doing other things. Date things, like getting coffee and hitting a show. And it just ended up being more convenient that she spend the night at his place instead of being driven all the way home after midnight.

She hadn’t thought about it and now she was standing in the doorway, heart pounding, watching as he moved about his space. His space. It was like getting a deeper look at who this person was, a part of himself that maybe not many others got to see often. This was the place he spent his spare time in, the place he slept in, and hopefully, a place he felt comfortable in.

And she was there, on the threshold of invading that sanctuary.

It felt wrong, until he turned to look at her standing there. A silent invitation, and she accepted. Because it would have been rude not to.

Her bare feet padded across the carpet to plant her in the middle of the room. Curious eyes took in the array of “stuff” he had. Guitars - lots of them. They hung from the walls, and those on the floor leaned against posters for bands she’d never heard of. She wanted to, though. There were books on the floor too, stacks of them, on a variety of subjects.

She was reminded of a quote by John Waters she’d come across years ago and she had to snort when it entered her mind. The absurdity of it was too good - “If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ‘em!”

And suddenly the tension in the room took a whole new turn. This was his room!

It must have bothered him that she simply stood there looking about like a fly in a spiderweb, because he beckoned her to the bed, where he was casually sprawled and completely unaware of the turn her frantic thoughts had taken. To her credit, she swallowed down a bundle of nerves and perched on the edge of the small bed. Just big enough for one, really.

He stretched out, leaning back against the pillows. His eyes never left her. And she looked at everything but him, taking it all in and becoming more and more anxious. That he did pick up on.

“What’s wrong?”

“Dude…” she whined, finally glancing his way. “This is your room. I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“Why not?”

“How many people hang out in here, on average?”

He was caught off guard by the question and had to think about it. “No one, really.”

“That’s what I thought…” her tone was soft. “This room is so….you, and I don’t feel like I belong in here.”

He sat up, brow furrowed. “Yes, you do.”

“Sure,” a derisive snort.

Long, calloused fingers reached out and grabbed hers. “You do. I mean it.”

Her shoulders sagged, some of the tension leaving her body. “You’re really comfortable with me seeing all of ….this?” She glanced around.

“Yeah, feel free to poke around and play with stuff if you want.”

She shook her head. “No way, each item in this room is probably more important than I am.”

Her eyes landed on a particular guitar propped up across the room. Easily worth more than she’d ever amount to. He followed her gaze and grinned. “Wanna learn to play?”

She shook her head, like he knew she would, but he moved to reach it anyways. Eyes wide, she watched as he approached, the thing that cost more than her casually resting in his hands. Before she could make a mad dash for safety, he’d slid onto the bed behind her and dropped the thing in her lap.

“Hold it like this.” She held her breath as he moved her hands, closing the fingers of her left hand around the neck of the guitar. He pressed in closer and each nerve in her body came to life. He was close, too close, she could feel him! And then he dropped a kiss onto her shoulder.

A fired burned inside her rib cage, threatening to engulf her completely. Sure, they’d kissed a few times beforehand, but otherwise he’d mostly kept his distance. And she had kept hers - they hadn’t defined their relationship yet and didn’t really feel a need to.

Something about tonight was a little different though. He was deliberately casual all evening, and she suspected he might have been masking some serious anxieties.

And now he had her in his bedroom, a place where every piece of him was laid out for her to see, a look into a very foreign realm. That meant something. It was important. That he had her caged in his arms and his heart was beating erratically in his chest and she could feel it….

A smile lit her features. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

She turned to see him and her nose brushed against his jaw. His pulse jumped and he shook. The guitar was abandoned to the floor, a suddenly worthless thing, and that night she let herself get lost in everything that was him.