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typical-simplelove · 5 months

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Hidden Words (R. Spiers)

Summary: Ron comes home from the war, wanting quiet and solitude, but when a friend from his childhood saves him when he needs it, a new friendship is formed. What happens when the lines are blurred and demands are made? Can Ron recognize he can have peace and quiet amidst the noise?

Author's Note: This is my Secret Santa fic for @latibvles. Thank you for bearing with me, and I'm sorry this took a moment. Between the end of the semester and the jump right into the family and holiday stuff, I've barely had time to breathe. Nonetheless, here it is, and I hope you like it!

Warnings: implied!female reader; mentions of the war (canon typical); mentions of having/wanting children in the future;

Word Count: 6.9k

Ever since he returned home, his mother continuously tried to step him up on a date. She didn’t understand that he didn’t want that; no part of him was ready to date. For starters, how could he explain the things he’d seen—done—in the war to anyone, especially someone he should be spending the rest of his life with?

Besides, he doesn’t think it’s worth it to spend all this time working on opening himself up and getting to know someone only for the relationship not to work out. There’s no point in trying to make something work when he knows it won’t.

But his mother wants grandkids, so he can’t say that to her.

Since he came home from the war, it’s as if the entire world is dead-set on producing the next generation. While Ron sees no flaws in that, he doesn’t want to partake. It’s not that he doesn’t want kids; it’s the process of finding someone to have children with. The time and effort weren’t worth it to him if it could fall apart—either by war or personal faults.

But his mother wants this for him, and he can never say no to his mother.

Presently, Ron and his family are on their way to a block party, hosted by a couple of families down the road. He remembers the names—some of the people he grew up with.

As they get closer, he starts to feel the anxiety building up. Everywhere he goes where people remember him from his childhood, they immediately begin to thank him for his service and want him to tell his stories. While he knows they have good intentions, he’s not always in the mood to talk about his experiences overseas, and sometimes, he would prefer to pretend they never happened.

As expected, once they arrive at the small corner of the neighborhood where the party is being hosted, he’s surrounded by people who want to hear his stories and tales. There are so many voices, making different requests, that he isn’t able to pipe in and ask to have this conversation another time.

He looks around for his mother, but she’s nowhere to be found. First, she drags him to this gathering; then, she leaves him alone. He shakes his head, frustrated.

“Excuse me,” a voice pipes in from being Ron. “I need to borrow him for a moment.”

Their hand intertwines with Ron and begins to pull him towards one of the houses. The moment is so hurried that he doesn’t have a chance to look at the person who’s dragging him away—his savior.

He’s so shocked and confused that he doesn’t register to which house they’re heading towards. He doesn’t register the familiar steps of stairs or the familiar room he’s in or the recognizable bed he’s sat on.

“Hi,” Ron says when he finally recognizes that you’re his savior, and you brought him up to your childhood room. “Long time no see.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, there was this war in Europe; did you know about that?”

“Vaguely,” he replies, a small smile begging to be released. He can’t remember the last time he smiled. “Thanks for saving me.”

You nod. “You look horrified, and as much as that amuses me, I figured today wasn’t the day to be bombarded.”

Living just down the street from each other, your family and his family often interacted. For a while, your lives orbited around each other. There was nowhere you went where Ron didn’t follow closely behind. He was your shadow, just being happy to be around you, soaking in your aura and liveliness.

He would spend hours of his days with you, and if he wasn’t with you, he was thinking about you or talking about you to anyone who would listen.

By the time you both reached high school, your friendship wasn’t socially acceptable anymore, so you and Ron drifted. Anyone who knew Ron before high school would say that a part of him died or drifted away when you both stopped being friends. A chunk of his soul, personality, and heart was chiseled out, waiting to be put back when you returned.

By the time Ron went off to war, you were pretty much strangers to each other. But, even if he didn’t know it, there were still parts of him that longed for you.

Sitting on your childhood bed, looking at you as you organize all the guests’ belongings that were scattered around your room, small parts of the missing pieces of himself started to be pieced back together.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, a curious and amused look in your eyes.

He nods.

Deep down, he knew he wasn’t letting the friendship go again.

. . .

“I didn’t have the chance to make anything, so I just went to the store,” Ron apologizes as he begins to take out food containers and lays them out on the picnic blanket.

“You were going to cook? Wait, actually, you know how to cook?”

He gives you a faint eye roll. “Yes, I’m not entirely helpless, by the way. But also, my mom has been trying to domesticate me in the event I decide to settle down. That’s been her post-war plan for me.”

You nod, ignoring the small pitter-patter of your heart. What would it be like to live with a domesticated Ron?

Whoa, you’re not sure where those thoughts stem from, but as he opens up the containers and begins to make you a plate of your favorites, you couldn’t help but wonder. He took the initiative in planning this. He was never late, and if he was going to be late, he made sure to communicate it. He was always conscientious about your feelings and what you wanted to do. He was just—

Were your standards that low, or was Ron just genuinely that great?

“What was it like?”

“What was what like?” Ron inquires in between bites.

“The war, being overseas.”

In a matter of seconds, Ron’s entire body tenses up, and you see the muscles in his neck tighten. “I would rather not talk about that.”

You nod. “What about the people you served with?”

“Don’t,” Ron replies, sharp and pointed.

“I shouldn’t have asked, sorry.” You wanted to know, but you understood why he wouldn’t want to share this information with you. It wasn’t an easy experience or an easy topic to discuss. But did that give him the right to be that rude and abrasive with you?

“I shouldn’t have responded the way I did, though, and I apologize for that.”

“It’s okay,” you reply.

A few minutes of awkward and heavy silence follows. The only sounds are the other families laughing and talking as they take in the nice weather. Now, you feel incredibly bad for bringing it up, but a part of you feels almost rejected. He doesn’t feel comfortable enough around you to open up.

The only way you know to end this weirdness is to talk about stories from the people around you, so you dive into the stories of people in the neighborhood and work, throwing in little quips and jokes. It takes a minute for Ron’s icy exterior to melt, but soon, he’s laughing along with your jokes and making small comments here and there.

Despite the way he’s interacting in the conversation, you can’t help but feel that he’s holding back from you, still. It’s almost as if he doesn’t feel at ease with you right now.

But then he flashes you one of his brightest and rarest smiles and the way his eyes sparkle as he looks at you and the sunlight shrouding him in a glow sets your entire body on fire. He was always known for being guarded, so you shouldn’t be surprised he’s holding back from the difficult conversations with you. But he doesn’t smile like that for anyone, right? So that has to mean something.

He means something to you.

Yeah, you’re screwed.

. . .

All he said was to come to dinner. You didn’t know what to expect, but all he said was to come to dinner, and no, you shouldn’t bring anything, despite your insistence. Just yourself, he said.

Just yourself.

Those words echoed in your mind for the days and the hours that passed between him asking you to come and you arriving at his doorstep.

Just yourself.

You’re not someone who often reads into things, especially when it comes to things with romantic feelings involved. For the sake of self-preservation, you didn’t let yourself read into things, but with Ron, you couldn’t help yourself. With every interaction you have with him, you so badly want it to be more.

Does Ron asking you to go to his mom’s house for family dinner mean something, or are you supposed to go only as friends?

The spiraling and spinning thoughts don’t stop as Ron welcomes you into the house, takes your jacket, and you shrug off your shoes. Did his fingers linger on your shoulders for a brief moment? Did he hug you a little longer than necessary, than normal? Did he give you a small smile, his eyes twinkling with a purpose? Did he treat everyone else this way, or were you special?

You so badly wanted to be special.

As the night went on and you were reintroduced to Ron’s family that you remember from when you were growing up, you pretended not to recognize the curious and interesting looks they gave you and Ron. You ignored the way their eyes drifted to where his hand was guiding you on your back or the way his hands rested on your shoulders when he was introducing you to someone. You ignored their pointed looks as he whispered in your ears every now and then or the looks he gave you.

No one wanted to say it or ask it, fearing the glare Ron would send them.

As much as you wanted them to ask or say something, you didn’t want to know what he would say. You didn’t want your worst fears to be confirmed.

“No,” Ron says, interrupting your thoughts as you make your way to the dinner table, finding a seat on one end of the table, not near where Ron was sitting. He rests his hands on your waist and guides you toward the other end of the table where he’s sitting next to his mom.

“I can sit there.”

“No.”

“Ron—”

“Don’t make me carry you over there. I want to sit next to you.”

“Okay,” you reply softly, ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart with the meaning of his words.

As the meal progresses, you’re sitting, chatting with the people around you, and you nearly jump out of your chair when Ron’s arm goes to rest along your shoulders. No way you can’t read into that, right? Ron’s not known for being a touchy person. That’s how it was growing up, but recently, with you, you can’t help but wonder if that reputation no longer exists for him—at least not with you. He was constantly trying to have some part of his body against yours, but was that something you could read into?

Your thoughts are interrupted when one of Ron’s aunts calls your name from somewhere across from you. “Are you single?”

You nod, taken aback. “Waiting for the right person to come along.”

“Well, if Ron isn’t going to do anything and give you an honest life, I have a few children and nieces and nephews who can and will.”

“Um, thank you.” You’re not sure how to respond to Ron’s aunt, but you look toward the man in question, trying to see what his reaction will be.

He gives you a small, courteous smile, a smile he never uses with you, a smile he only reserves for those he doesn’t want to talk to. He never uses that smile on you, but tonight, he did. “You can do whatever you want with your romantic life. We’re friends, right?”

Oh.

“Right,” you reply, turning your head away from him and back to your plate.

There goes that.

The way you turned away from him made Ron’s heart drop. You’ve never turned away from him like that, so dejected. The normal fire and spirit you have with Ron disappeared. He watched the sparkle in your eyes die right there in from of him. But he doesn’t know where he went wrong. You’re allowed to do whatever you want; he will never try to control you. He was just telling his nosey aunt the truth. You’re friends, and you can date whomever you want—not that any of his cousins were good enough for you.

The rest of the night continued, but a nagging feeling pulled at his heart as a deep pit opened in his stomach, and he had no idea where it came from. All he knows is that as he watched you help his mother with the dishes, the string on his heart pulled against him, warming his body in places he never knew possible. As he watched you do puzzles with his younger cousins, he couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling that he felt to the tips of his fingers.

When you hugged him goodbye, he knew he never wanted to let you go. He wanted to hold you against his body forever—keeping you safe from the world.

Ron couldn’t explain the agony in his body as he watched you walk to your car and drive away.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with you. He wouldn’t mind making his life for you.

Well, what does that mean?

. . .

Ron’s mother was at her reading club for the night, so Ron invited you over for dinner. He promised a “home-cooked meal, don’t give me that face,” and it excited you. Despite your realized feelings for the man, you can’t help but want to spend your time with him. You know that nothing will ever come of your feelings for Ron, but you can’t stay away from your friend. The happiness it brings you is indescribable.

But you have an exit plan when you feel yourself getting too much in your head (and delusional) around Ron.

Setting boundaries, you promised yourself. That was the only way you’d be able to spend time around him and not go crazy, breaking your heart.

As Ron welcomes you into his mother’s home, the smells from the kitchen hit your nose, and you’re instantly warm and fuzzy as if you’ve been wrapped in a warm blanket. Once your coat and shoes are off, Ron takes your hand and guides you toward the kitchen, giving you a soft smile as he watches you walk through his childhood home.

You’ve been down this hallway, seeing all the pictures of little Ron, many, many times, but there’s something different about it now for Ron. There’s a new meaning and feeling to it for him.

But he just chalks it up to being happy that it’s finally peacetime. That he can enjoy moments like these without the fear of being bombed or killed. The people and things most important to him are safe.

“Penne-vodka,” Ron answers when you inquire about what you’re making.

Your favorite, you think to yourself, trying to hide the toothy smile begging to be released.

“Your favorite, right?” he asks, a small twinkle in the corner of his eyes. You give him a small nod, and Ron can’t help the triumphant, happy feeling deep in his chest.

Ron turns back to the stove, stirring the pot, and you take the time to watch him cook. He’s different than high school, and as your eyes roam over his body, you’re appreciative of the changes his body has undertaken since graduating. The very good changes.

“Have you talked to anyone from our graduating class since being back?” you ask after a few minutes of silence.

“Not really,” he replies, short and to the point. “It’s not something I’m too keen on.”

“Why’s that?” you question in between bites of bread.

He shrugs, ending the conversation there.

Right, that’s Ron’s new thing. If he doesn’t want to talk about something, he’ll shut down. These conversations only happen on his time—which means never. While you understand that some topics may be too difficult for him to talk about, you wish it wasn’t so hard to talk with him. Often, you were the one who was starting the conversation, pretty much begging for Ron to say something. You knew he was engaged in the conversation because he maintained constant eye contact, laughed at your jokes, smiled at the appropriate times, and nodded when needed. But it felt like you were the only one who made an effort to talk. Sure, Ron was a quiet person, but there’s a difference between being a quiet person and letting the conversation be one-sided.

Besides, it was you. If Ron couldn’t talk to you, then he couldn’t talk to anyone. Or was it that he wouldn’t talk?

Why did it hurt you that Ron kept his words hidden and tucked away from you? You were supposed to be one of the people he trusted the most, so why couldn’t he untuck those words with you?

As you help Ron set the table to eat, you recall the time a few weeks back when you went to Ron’s for a family dinner. You remember that he didn’t say anything really to his relatives. While that made you feel slightly better, it didn’t fully appease your feelings. At least you knew that it wasn’t just you that he held back with, but then again, it was you, and there was no change.

As the meal continues, you put your confusion and doubts to the side. It didn’t matter his lack of talking or conversation because the safety, comfort, and warmth you felt around Ron significantly outweighed the talking issue. Even if you only got friendship out of him, you knew that you couldn’t go the rest of your life without the way he made you feel.

He made you feel safe and loved (even if platonically), and that by far was one of the most important things to you about finding a partner—romantically or platonically.

The rest of the night passed in quiet moments and short conversations, but it was never awkward. That’s how Ron was. There was no need to compensate for the lack of conversation because the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was secure and calm. It was the kind of quiet that came from years and years of learning and growing around the person you loved.

Well, shit, you chose to ignore that.

When it was about time for you to head home, you began to voice a goodbye, and Ron led you towards the front door where he helped you put on your coat.

“Wait, hold on,” Ron says as you’re putting on your shoes. “I have something for you.”

He quickly makes his back to the kitchen and comes back with a tray of food. You already had a large container filled with leftover Penne vodka, so you’re confused about what he was now handing you.

“I made you mac and cheese,” he tells you softly, the cheeks and the tips of his ears tinged red. “You can either put it all in the oven at once, or heat up chunks separately. I don’t know why I told you that because I’m sure you know how to cook for yourself. Anyway, I’ll help you take it out to your car.”

You can’t help the silly smile that takes over your face. You try to fight it, but the smile is there if Ron’s reddening face is any indication. You’ve wanted this boy to talk to you, and by the time you finally get him to say more than two sentences to you, he’s a stern, babbling, blushing mess. It was cute.

“Thank you, Ron,” you tell him, the smile heard in your voice. He nods and makes his way to put on his shoes and walk you to your car.

With the food and leftovers securely placed in your backseat, you and Ron linger at the driver’s side door. You’re leaning against the car as Ron stands close to you, towering over both you and the car. His eyes are searching your face for any indication of what to do next.

“Thank you for having me and cooking for me,” you finally say. You didn’t want to leave, but it was getting late, and his mother will be home soon.

“You’re always welcome here,” he tells you, his eyes sincere and honest. You nod. Without thinking, you lean forward and briefly kiss Ron on his cheek, your lips burning when you pull away, but it’s not any comparison to the way his cheek burns around where you kissed him. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way Ron’s hand stiffens into a fist as he processes what just happened. His breath is shaky and fast as you pull back, and his eyes are in a daze.

This time, you’re able to hide your smile as Ron’s face turns crimson red.

“I’ll see you soon,” you tell him, unlocking your car and getting ready to leave. “Good night.”

Ron stands there in a daze as you drive away, too confused to move. He’s standing there, unsure of what just happened and why his body reacts the way it did.

When his mother returns home almost twenty minutes later, Ron is still standing there.

“Is everything okay?” she asks as she walks over to Ron. That seems to mostly pull him out of his daze.

“She kissed me,” is all he says, and his mother smiles.

“You’re a lucky guy.”

He nods. “Very lucky.”

If only he could control his body temperature and heartbeat then maybe he’d be able to figure out what just happened.

. . .

“Do you remember Arden from middle school?” you prompt, your heart tugging at the meaning of your words.

Ron thinks for a moment, his thumb drawing circles around your ankle. You’re sitting on the couch in the living room of his mother’s home. She’s out, so you feel comfortable resting against one of the armrests, your feet in Ron’s lap. You’re reading a book. The minute your legs rested in Ron’s lap, he placed his arms on your ankles, tracing small patterns, leaving trails of fire in his fingertips’ wake.

“Yes,” Ron voices, his tone neutral. He doesn’t know where this is going, but if it’s going where he thinks it’s going, he’s not going to appreciate it.

“They asked me out,” you say after a few moments.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ron asks, terser than you expected. You’re taken aback by his response.

“Because you’re my friend—one of my best friends—and we tell each other things,” you reply. “Well, at least I tell you things.”

“What does that mean?” Ron asks, him now taken aback.

“It means you don’t tell me anything. I know nothing about your life since we finished high school, and what I do know, your parents have told me. It’s not fair for me to be the only one to share things! I don’t exist as a form of entertainment for you.”

“That’s not fair.”

You know it’s not entirely fair.

“I don’t have to share what the war was like for me,” Ron spits back. But that’s not what you’re referencing, and deep down, you know that he knows that, too.

“It’s not just that,” you reply. “I’m not talking about that. You’re not required to tell me anything about your time in the war, and that’s not what I’m asking for. There’s so much more to your life that you choose not to tell me about. It’s not fair or right that I’m an open book, and you take it all in, not giving anything back in return.”

“Don’t do that.”

“You know everything about me, and I know pretty much nothing about you, and I’m tired of that.” A deep sigh leaves your mouth. “You don’t need to tell me everything, but I shouldn’t be disappointed in the lack of open communication between us. It’s as if you don’t trust me.”

“How can you say that? I trust you more than anyone else in this world!” Ron hears the rise in the volume of his voice. He leans back on the couch, trying to stop himself from yelling because you’re right. He doesn’t share much with you. As much as he wants to share with you, he can never get himself to say anything, and it’s not just about the war. He’s holding back; he knows he is.

“I’m going to leave.”

“No, please, don’t,” Ron pleads. Despite this, he releases his hold on your ankles. He won’t hold you back despite how badly he wants to.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me, Ron.” It’s a thinly veiled confession of love, and you know Ron picks up on it, but you know he won’t say anything or give you a response.

“What makes you think I want that?” So, he was going to address it, but it still got you fuming.

“I don’t! That’s the whole point! You don’t talk to me, so I have no idea what’s going on in your mind! I don’t want to waste my time, but I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else but you!”

You’re staring at him, begging for him to say something, anything. If he told you it was all in your head, you’d believe him. All he needed to say was anything, but you know he won’t. That’s not the kind of person Ron is. He has his walls up; he always has. The war only reinforced them, and while you can’t blame him for keeping things to himself, you can’t help but feel that your worth in his eyes diminished because of his lack of want to share. It’s almost as if you don’t mean as much to him as he means to you. It’s as if you’re more invested than he is in this relationship—platonic or romantic.

It’s not fair to think those thoughts, but he’s not saying anything to you. He’s not making you feel any better. If he really cared for you in any way, he would say something, right? Ron’s perceptive. He very likely has a clue to what you’re feeling, but you also know he won’t say anything. He stays away from uncomfortable conversations because he isn’t comfortable having them.

“I’m going to leave, now,” you finally decide. “It’s not fair for me to keep hanging around when I clearly don’t mean that much to you.”

“You’re wrong,” Ron spills, reaching out to gently grab your hand. You know that he could have held you tighter, but he didn’t. That makes your heart melt, despite the conclusions you’re gathering tonight. He’s giving you the ability to walk away.

“Tell me why.” You’re looking deep into his eyes, and you want to read into all the looks he’s giving you, but you won’t. Not anymore.

A few minutes pass where you’re looking at him, silently begging him to say something.

“I’m leaving now. Please don’t contact me unless you genuinely understand where I’m coming from or why I’m doing this.” With that, you shake your hand out of Ron’s hold, walking away from him, your heart breaking with every step you take.

As he watches you walk out the door, fuming in anger, confusion, and frustration, Ron can’t help but wonder if he let the best love of his life walk away forever.

. . .

A few days pass, and Ron feels a deep aching in his soul. He watches the phone for hours, begging and hoping you’ll call. He knows you won’t call. He knows the cards are in his hands. That doesn’t mean he knows what to do.

Well, he knows what to do, but he doesn’t know if he’s capable of carrying it out.

Ron doesn’t know where to start.

There’s so much of what you said that’s bothering him, but he can’t tell why it’s bothering him. Maybe it’s because of the way your words pierced a hole through his heart, but then again, there are so many other feelings and things that only came out in his heart, mind, stomach, and body whenever you were around. Are those things connected?

The first thing that made his blood boil and had Ron seeing red was the idea of you going on a date with someone. In theory, the person who asked you out (they who shall not be named) isn’t objectively a bad person, but Ron just doesn’t want you with them. Why would you spend your time with they who shall not be named when you can spend your time with Ron? He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling this angry about you spending your time with someone else.

It’s a date, Ron tries to reason with himself. I can’t give that to her.

But could he?

Those thoughts ran through his mind one night at 2 am when Ron couldn’t fall asleep. Could he give you all of your wants and desires romantically? Could he find it in himself to give you a life with more than just friendship? Objectively, Ron knows that out of all the people in the world, you’re the best option to build a life with, and you’re the only person Ron knows he can handle. But that’s not fair to you, to be the last resort (or is it the best resort? Ron hasn’t gotten there, yet.) or someone to “handle.”

The thought of spending the rest of his life with you freaks him, but it also comforts him. Who knew someone could feel both at the same time? Is this what it means to love someone?

Once he has that singular thought, your other comments spring up in his mind, pushing away any thoughts of love.

It’s not fair or right that I’m an open book, and you take it all in, not giving anything back in return.

The war broke Ron. He was already broken, but the war broke him in ways that he never knew he could break. He’s so broken that he couldn’t imagine subjecting you to that. But that’s my decision to make, Ron, he could hear you saying if he voiced those words to you. And imaginary-you is right. It’s intimately clear that you know what you’d be getting when it comes to Ron, and it would be your choice to choose to make a life with him, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He knows he can prevent that pain if he keeps you at arm’s length.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Ron doesn’t want that. He wants you as close to him as molecularly possible. He wants to stay away, but he can’t. That’s the effect you have on him.

He thinks he has it all figured out, and then he remembers the pain in your eyes as you walked away, and when you said,

It’s not fair for me to keep hanging around when I clearly don’t mean that much to you.

He’s already hurt you. By not having the capacity or the ability to tell you just how much you mean to him, he hurt you. You think you mean nothing to him when the truth is the exact opposite. You are his entire world, the reason his heart keeps beating, and the reason he takes a breath. But it’s gone.

He’s never going to be able to tell you how much you mean to him. He’s never going to tell you how much he loves you.

That thought scares him but also excites him. He’s always been so afraid to think that of himself, but when it’s connected to you, it’s okay. He loves you and knows he’s not good at loving, but somehow, loving you is much better than anything else. He knows that because it’s you, he’ll find a way to fix his shit and be the best possible person for you. But he knows that you won’t let him go and you won’t let him fall. Loving you is the best thing he can do because he found someone who will hold on with their entire being, and Ron knows that he’ll hold onto you with his entire being.

Loving you means that he takes those scary steps in opening up and being vulnerable. For so long, it was ingrained in Ron’s mind and survival that he couldn’t be vulnerable. Now, he’s learned that in some instances, it’s important not to be vulnerable, and in other circumstances, it’s okay to be vulnerable and open. Being vulnerable is okay because there’s someone there who will take your vulnerability and build a wall around you to the point that you’re safe and comfortable.

And Ron knows that person is you.

You’ll take his fragility, emotions, and vulnerability and make it your own. You’ll protect him and love him, and you won’t hurt him because he chose to be fully himself around you.

Because that’s what love does.

Love cures. Love protects. Love endures. But most importantly, love loves.

Ron loves you.

He loves you.

He loves you so wholly that he wants to spill his entire world right at your feet. He wants to lay everything at your feet, but he knows it will take time and patience. He knows that you’re that person who will let him get there, and he knows that he’ll love you for it and make it worth your while to give him the time and the way to be vulnerable.

For a moment, Ron’s scared that maybe he lost his chance with you, but then he remembers something you said that struck him deep in his heart, not knowing the effect it had:

I don’t want to waste my time, but I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else but you!

He knows it’s not guaranteed that you’ll let him back in your life, but he knows he has a small chance. He knows he has a small chance to tell you how much he loves you and to show you that he’s worth it. He’s worth taking a risk for because you’re worth taking a risk for.

You’re worth everything to Ron, and it’s about time he finds the words to tell you.

Maybe all he needs to start with is three little words.

. . .

“You’re right,” Ron blurts out, barely letting you open your door.

“I mean, yeah, but why do you say that?” you say, a small smile on your face despite the conversation you both had a few nights ago.

“That it’s not fair of you to be the only one to share things. I’m not ready to tell you everything, and I don’t know if I ever will be able to tell you some parts of what happened to me, but I want to try. But you’re right, there’s so much more to that than just the war, and it’s not fair of me to have made you feel lesser because I’m not emotionally capable of telling you things or being the person you needed me to be. ”

“Ron—”

This was everything you wanted him to say to you, but does it change anything?

He shakes his head. “If I want to be with you and make a life with you, I shouldn’t be a ghost to you. I shouldn’t be someone you know nothing about.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable with,” you attempt to reassure. “That wasn’t the point.” And that was the truth.

Ron nods, and a small smile tugs at his lips. If only he knew the things he could make you do with just that small smile. “I’ve always been afraid of people knowing too much about me, but I guess the part of falling in love is learning to trust the most important person in your life, and I trust you. I trust you. I want to tell you all the words that are building up in my mind because you’re the only person I want to share them with. I have so many words built up in my mind that it feels like my body will explode. I never wanted to try with anyone else, but you make me want to do better and be better. Even if this goodbye, I’m still going to make an effort for all the people that matter in my life.”

“If it feels like your body is going to explode, maybe you should go to the doctor. That can’t be a good sign.”

A chuckle of disbelief leaves Ron’s mouth as he shakes his head.

“What?” you question. No response follows. Ron gently grabs your upper arm and pushes you into your home as he lets himself inside. Gently and with reluctance, he lets go of your arms and shoves off his shoes.

“I tell you I’m in love with you and I trust you, and the only thing you got from that was maybe I should go to the doctor?”

“Oh, oops.”

“Yeah, oops,” Ron mocks, one of the widest smiles you’ve ever seen stripes his face. “I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, and you never were going to lose me.”

He shakes his head. “You really know how to make a man’s heart weaken and emasculate him. But I guess I deserve this bit of agony and anguish.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“I’m telling you I love you, and you keeping skipping over that part.”

“Because you keep saying things that warrant my more imminent response!” you defend.

“You’re doing it again,” Ron points, stepping towards you.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m going to try something,” Ron teases. He’s never teased you before. That was new; it was a new tone to his voice that you wouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of your life.

“What’s that?” your voice shaky. You can’t tell if he can hear you over the rattling of your heart, but by the twinkling in his eyes, you know that he’s in complete control, hoping to elicit a response from you.

“I love you.”

It takes a few seconds for you to register what he’s saying. A few blinks help your visual field clear up. Those three little words wipe the air out of your lungs. The ringing in your ears matches the beat of your heart as you process those three little words. For so long, you’ve been waiting for Ron to utter those three words. You didn’t want to be the first one to say those words. He’s so incredibly guarded that you weren’t sure if you were making up how you felt or how he felt, but now you know. You’ve been waiting so long to hear him finally tell you those three little words, and you have no idea what to do next.

“Hey,” Ron whispers, gently lifting your chin to match his eyeline, taking you out of your thoughts. “What’s going on in your mind? Did I say the wrong thing?”

“What—what did you say?” Your breath is shaky, words finally leaving your lips.

“Do you promise that if I say it again, you promise not to silently spiral?”

“No.”

Ron chuckles. “Fair enough.”

A few seconds pass. You’re looking deep into his eyes. You want to say it to him, but you’re unsure if you dreamed it. But also, the way he said those words, his voice deep and husky did so many things to your body that you needed to hear it again.

“I love you.” A small, nervous smile tugs at his lips as he looks at you expectantly. It takes you a few seconds to get your bearings straight, but when you do, a wide smile overcomes your face, and instantly, Ron knows you’re on the same page as him. In a matter of milliseconds, Ron pulls you against his chest, nuzzling his face against your neck, taking in deep breaths, laced with your calming scent. He’s whispering small “I love you”s into your neck as your arms find their way around his shoulders, your fingers creeping into his hair.

Despite wanting to be in his embrace for the rest of your life, you pull back slightly, your nose resting against his. “I love you,’ you whisper, wanting so badly to close the gap between your lips and kiss him.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” Ron replies, his lips brushing against yours. It doesn’t take much for you both to lean in, closing the gap, resting your lips on each other’s. It’s a soft kiss, hesitant and scary. There are still things that need to be sorted out, but right now, things are alright. Things are okay. The basis and the foundation are there.

You love each other. Without that, nothing else matters. With that, you and Ron can build and develop things from there. With love, all the hidden words will no longer be tucked away, slowly finding their way to the surface.

The future is uncertain, and there’s no telling if this will work out. But because you and Ron love each other, everything and anything is possible. With love, the future is endless.

Fin.

Likes are appreciated; reblogs are better

#hbowarsanta23 #claudia writes #ronald spiers #ron spiers #ronald spiers x reader #ron spiers x reader #ronald spiers imagine #ronald spiers fic #ron spiers imagine #ron spiers fic #hbo war #op: 2023

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typical-simplelove · 10 months

Text

Summer Baby (M. Rantanen)

Summary: Throughout one summer, you're reminded why you fell in love with Mikko all those years ago.

Author's Note: This is my submission for the 2023 Summer Fic Exchange, put on by @wyattjohnston. This is written for the ever-lovely @buttercupjosh. I truly hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: implied!female reader; LOTS of pining; kind of stupid idiots in love; mentions of alcohol; a few curse words

Word Count: 11.7k

When an internship brought you to Denver, Colorado in the summer of 2016, you never thought you’d fall in love. It was supposed to be ten weeks of learning more about the industry you’re working to get your undergraduate degree in. It was supposed to be ten weeks of exploring Denver during the weeknights and exploring the state's beautiful landscapes on the weekend. You weren’t expecting to fall in love, but then you bumped into him on that one trail on your second weekend in the city and everything changed.

He wasn’t a native; his accent made that clear. You couldn’t figure out exactly where he was from, but it seemed to be European. It was his second summer in the city, and he chose to stay in the US instead of returning home. Something about training, he said. Turns out that “training” was preparing for the next hockey season.

Mikko Rantanen, a player for the Colorado Avalanche, stole your heart in ten short weeks, and you never managed to recreate that same love ever again.

In those ten weeks, you got to know him, and he seemed to insert himself into your life, into the crevices that no one else seemed to seep into. He managed to pull out of you emotions, reactions, secrets, and more that no one else in the world seemed to see. He opened up your walls and gates and managed to make himself a permanent mark in your heart, life, mind, and soul.

There was no doubt that you were going to fall in love with him, and halfway through the summer, you knew you did. Your heart burst whenever you had dinner with him, hiked one of the local trails, took a trip to some small town a few hours away on the weekends, talked to him, and watched him train on the ice. Every hug, call, smile, word, and touch had you falling in love with Mikko, piece by piece.

You couldn’t tell if he fell in love with you, but it didn’t matter. You knew that once the internship was over, you’d be heading back to your hometown for a few weeks before moving back to your off-campus apartment. It was never going to work out with Mikko in the long run, so you opted to fall in love with this beautiful, funny, caring, talented, and handsome man who seemed to get you and understand you in a way that no one else on this planet seemed to.

You fell in love, and that final goodbye at the airport was the worst. He kissed your cheek and held you as tightly as he possibly could. He held your hand tightly all the way through the line to check in, and he held on tightly as you walked to the security line. He wrapped an arm tightly around your waist as you waited to get to that first checkpoint where only ticketed passengers could enter. He kissed your forehead and held you tightly when you were second in line. When it was you next in line, he whispered, “thank you for giving me one of the best summers of my life.”

That’s when you realized he fell in love with you just as much as you fell in love with him. Your heart broke right there as he let go of you for the last time and exited the line so that you could go through security. The realization that he loved you was lodged deep in your throat as you mindlessly went through security, towards your gate, and onto the plane. You thought of all the things you could have been doing over the past ten weeks if just one of you was strong and brave enough to tell the other your feelings. But then, you thought about it, and you knew that ten weeks (less, really) wouldn’t have ever been enough with Mikko. As much as you wanted to hold him, taste him, feel him, and do so much more than friendship with him, you knew that once you had a taste of Mikko, you’d only want more. You wanted everything with Mikko, so never getting to experience more than friendship with him was a gift because if you had to say goodbye after knowing him more intimately than possible, then you wouldn’t be able to find the courage to keep going.

Mikko was your greatest love story, and that wasn’t ever going to change, even when you both eventually lost contact due to his hectic travel schedule and your busy schedule with school and work. You didn’t ever forget him. When things got tough, you thought about that one summer with Mikko, all the sunsets and pool days and hikes and shared water bottles. There wasn’t a day when you didn’t think about him. You wanted to search for him online (you unfollowed him a few months after the conversations stopped), but you knew your heart couldn’t take it. It would have been so easy to Google his name, but it took so long for you to come to terms with the ache in your heart; you couldn’t do that to yourself again.

Your heart would always ache for Mikko, that wasn’t going to change.

When you returned to Denver seven years later for relocation for work, the ache in your heart grew. It’s as if your heart and soul knew you were returning to the place where you met Mikko. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see him again. What would it even be like to see Mikko again after seven years? Would your heart still burn for him? Would he still light up the room and the world—your world? Would he still manage to seamlessly seep into your crevices and walls and gates and make you feel safe?

Did you still love Mikko with your entire heart?

A few weeks after you moved to Denver and settled into your new apartment, you were off to a friend’s wedding—the first wedding to mark the start of the summer wedding season. Late June weddings were always your favorite (maybe because at that point they were still fun).

You weren’t sure what to expect as you didn’t know anyone. This was one of the friends you made during that internship all those years ago who you managed to stay in touch with. She was born and raised in Colorado and still lived there, and she was really one of the only people outside of work that you knew (besides Mikko, but did he count?)

As you took a seat at the reception in the middle back of the venue, you took in the beautiful scenery. The heat was starting to get you, so you began to fan yourself with your program. You were looking down at your phone, reading a book, when something deep in your stomach urged you to look up at the group of men walking up the aisle to find a seat together. At first, you were confused because you didn’t recognize them. You almost looked down, but then a familiar mop of hair and shoulders sauntered up the aisle and slipped into the last empty seat in that row. It looked like him, but it had been so long that you couldn’t be sure if it even was him.

You keep glancing at him, your eyes darting between him and the arch at the head of the aisle. He needed to turn his head to the side, but he kept leaning forward to talk to someone in front of him. You tried to see if you could hear him (you’d recognize his accent and voice anywhere), but it was too loud.

Thankfully, your stressing over him came to an end when the wedding song began to play and the bridal party began to make their walk down the aisle. Your eyes were trained on the bridesmaids and flower girls when you felt a familiar pair of eyes on the side of your head. The warmth that rose on your face at the feel of his eyes looking at you warmed every blood vessel and nerve in your body. You never knew that you were so cold until his eyes landed on you at exactly that moment. You wanted to look over at him because you knew it was him, but you didn’t know what that would do to your sanity, so your eyes remained trained on the bridal party.

When the warmth slowly faded from your body, you knew that he looked away and retrained his focus on the wedding party. That’s when you finally looked at him. Of course, it was him. If the warmth that spread through your body was any indication, it was him. Of course, he managed to still elicit this reaction out of you.

Mikko Rantanen always had a special effect on you that you couldn’t understand.

You kept wanting to look at him throughout the rest of the ceremony, but you kept your eyes firmly trained at the front of the venue where the ceremony was taking place. From the corner of your eyes, you could see him looking back at you throughout the program. You so desperately wanted to look at him and stare deep into his eyes; however, you knew that the minute you did, you’d become still and your body will light on fire. You wouldn’t be able to function, so you kept your eyes strictly fastened on the bride and groom or down on your lap at the program.

He was right there, after seven years, and you were without a doubt still hopelessly in love with him. You thought that after all these years his effect on you would have diminished, but it hadn’t.

As the wedding ceremony ended, you remembered cheering and clapping loudly, but it was all a haze. Mikko was sitting a few rows up, and it took everything in your willpower not to jump over all these people and launch into your arms (that and the fact it would be very embarrassing).

Slowly, you made your way toward where the cocktail party was taking place. You did your best to blend into the crowd and be as inconspicuous as possible. You wanted to see your friend and her new husband, so you joined in the line to greet them. You prayed to whatever deity existed in the world that Mikko wouldn’t see you and wouldn’t walk up to you. You weren’t sure if you could handle talking to him or seeing his stupidly, beautiful face.

Thankfully, after glancing behind you briefly, he and his friends were in line and talking amongst themselves. He was nursing a drink and his back was to you. If things went well, then hopefully you’d be able to make it through the night without talking to him or seeing him. As much as you wanted to return to the center of gravity in the world (him), you worked so hard to heal your heart and soul after having to leave him.

By the time you reached the bride and groom, you were mostly out of your head in stress, anxiety, and overthinking. You hugged her tightly and congratulated her before heading over to the bar and getting a drink. With a drink in hand, you entered the reception area and found your table. You took longer than normal to find your place card because you wanted to see where Mikko was sitting. Thankfully, he wasn’t at your table, and he was at table 11 while you were at 15. Hopefully, that means he’s quite a ways away from you.

You took a seat and introduced yourself to everyone else sitting at your table. As the guests lingered inside, you managed to strike up a conversation with a few of the bride and groom’s coworkers. If this kept up, then you’d be able to make it through the night.

It was forty or so minutes into the reception when you felt that same warmth. This time, it spread from your back to your front. It took you a few moments to collect yourself. You wanted to turn around, but from the sounds of it, the people behind you were chatting away and hadn’t sat down. If he was standing right there, then you couldn’t turn around to look at him. You weren’t ready for that.

He was laughing and talking with someone, and just hearing his velvety voice was enough to send your heart into overdrive. Mikko was right there (right behind you!), and you were just about to die from your heart beating too fast and overheating.

You’re saved, though, by the DJ announcing the entrance of the bride and groom, and you heard the chairs against the marble floor of the people behind you. As much as you wanted to look at him behind you, the way the bride and groom were entering was facing you perfectly, so that meant that if you turned around, you’d see Mikko perfectly and he’d see you perfectly, too.

Someone has to give your willpower a raise because it’s working overtime right now to keep you from turning to look Mikko in the eyes for the first time in seven years because it knows the minute you do, you will be captivated and hypnotized by him, erasing all the work it took for you to continue on with your life.

The rest of the evening carried on, with speeches, dinner, the first/final dances, and the eventual migration of everyone to the dance floor. From the sounds of it, Mikko and his table were on the dance floor, so you felt it was safe to turn and watch. As you suspected, he was right there. You couldn’t help but break out into a wide smile as you watched him dance with the flower girl and twirl her around. He was so vibrant and happy. That’s why you fell in love with him, you remind yourself. He always lit up a room and a life, and right now, he was lighting up the life of that little girl.

You needed a drink, fast, to manage the emotions you felt, so you walked over to the bar, not even thinking that you had to walk right past Mikko. As you were maneuvering through the drunk dancers, you had to slow down, and you heard him call your name. It was loud in the ballroom, but you could hear him perfectly. It sent a wave of ice through your bones before a warm sigh settled. The line at the bar was long, and you could hear him catching up to you, so you took a detour to the washroom.

Just as you opened the door to the washroom, you felt a few fingers on your arm, beckoning you to turn around, but you walked into the washroom, shutting the door as fast as you can. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you were so clearly flushed and overwhelmed. Your body was radiating heat like wildfires; you were afraid the heat would melt the ornate decorations in the washroom.

Wanting to calm yourself down, you washed your hands in cold water. You didn’t know how long you were going to wait in that washroom. How long would he wait for you? Thankfully, though, there were some couches, so you took a seat and scrolled through the phone you remembered to grab.

Five minutes went by, and you wondered if Mikko was still out there. You wanted to go back to enjoy the wedding, but you couldn’t in good faith run into Mikko. Just as you were ready to leave the washroom, a woman walks in.

“Excuse me,” you interrupt. She looks at you, slightly startled. “Would you mind telling me if there are any men waiting outside the bathroom?”

“Are you in trouble?” she ardently asks, worried.

Shaking your head, you reply, “I just don’t want to run into an ex.” That was kind of the truth, right?

“Just my husband, I believe, but I wasn’t looking at hard,” she replies. You thank her before she walks into a stall. Taking a deep breath, you walk out of the washroom, your hand still firmly on the handle just in case Mikko is out there, and you need a quick escape.

He isn’t, just that woman’s husband, so you make your way down the corridor. Just as you’re about to think you’re in the clear, a clear, Finnish-accented voice called your name. On instinct, you turned around and tried to make your way back to the washroom, but his hand lightly grasped your wrist. It wasn’t too tight. You could have easily slipped your hand out and walked away, and your heart gleamed at the thought that Mikko gave you an easy and quick escape if you weren’t comfortable.

“Please,” he whispered, taking a step closer to you. The familiar notes to a slow song echoed through the ballroom. “Dance with me?”

You nodded. “Let me just put my phone down on my table.”

“No,” Mikko says, taking your phone out of your hand and slipping it into his pocket. He guided you toward the dance floor, and you bet your entire life savings on him muttering, “I’m not letting you go again.”

At the dance floor, Mikko guided you into a slow sway with one hand on your waist—his thumb stroking small circles on the thin fabric of your back—and another gripping your hand, holding it close to his heart. He was looking down at you, but you were looking at everything except for him. You felt his eyes on you as you mimicked a middle schooler who was too afraid to stare at their crush during the slow song.

“I didn’t know you were going to be in town,” he whispers, his mouth close to your ear.

“Yeah, I moved here a few weeks ago,” you tell him, softly, angling your head towards his, slowly. You closed your eyes, not ready to look at him yet. Mikko moves his head, slightly, so his cheek is resting against yours. You both dance like that for a few beats before Mikko slips his hand out of yours and wraps it around your waist and pulls you flush against his body. On instinct, your hand joins your other around his neck, and you pull him close to you.

You. Love. Him. So. Much.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers, his breath tickling you and the vibrations ricocheting off his chest to yours. “That you moved here?”

“I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me,” you reply, your thumbs playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Mikko moves his head back so quickly that it feels violent. You know he’s looking at you, trying to search your face, but you’ve angled your face away from him, staring off at someone or something else—anything that’s not him. He shifts his head so it's right in front of your line of sight, but you’re quick to look away. That game continues a few times before Mikko sighs and rests his hand beneath your chin, angling his head towards yours. Again, his touch is soft, so you can quickly pull away.

Your fact is angled in a way that he can look you directly in your eyes, but you close them, not ready to look at him.

“Why won’t you look at me?” he asks, his voice strained and hurt.

“I can’t let my heart break again,” you reply, putting all your force into keeping your eyes again.

Mikko’s grip on your waist tightens as he says, “please look at me. Please.”

That second please is what gets you, so you open your eyes. Your eyes are met with his piercing blue ones, and your breathing and heart rate dramatically increase.

“Mikko—”

You’re not sure what you’re trying to say or what you want to say, but you’re just looking at him. He’s blinking fast, and you know that’s his tell that he’s nervous and scared. He takes his hands off your chin and briefly brushes some of your hair to the side before his hand returns to your waist. You do the same, brushing some of his curls further up his forehead, before leaning closer. You wanted to feel his heat and warmth. You never wanted this cocoon he wrapped you in to end.

“You gave me one of the best summers of my life,” he says out of nowhere. “Of course I’d want you to call.” His voice is low, quiet, rough, and dangerous. You know that if you kissed him right now, he’d kiss you back, but can you do it? Can you let yourself fall into him again knowing how long it took you to fall out of him again? Would the cages and locks and chains on your heart open up again, even though it’s Mikko?

His eyes flicker down to your lips before he stares intently into your eyes again before leaning closer. You’re going to let him kiss you, but thankfully, you’re saved when the DJ says the groom wants to make a small speech. You pull back, and your hands go from around his neck to sliding over his shoulders, down his chest, where they rest on the shirt covering his upper chest.

When the groom starts to talk, you take your hands off him and slowly slip from his hold on you. You slowly reach into his pants pocket and pull out your phone. Mikko’s fingers are lingering on your skin as you look up at him one more time before you slip out of his orbit entirely and back to your table. You grab your clutch and wrap before making your way out of the ballroom and towards your car.

You once let yourself fall into Mikko’s orbit and gravity, and it was one of the best experiences of your life, but it hurt when that orbit and gravity floated away.

You loved him still without a doubt, but would your heart let you open back up and slip back into his orbit?

Mikko was already back in your orbit if tonight was any indication, but could you let yourself fall back into his?

It was a few weeks after the wedding, and you were still reeling from seeing Mikko. You tried your best to forget about him and the feel of his arms wrapped around you, but you couldn’t. When you went to bed each night, you fell asleep, dreaming about his warm body from that one dance at the wedding, and you woke up each morning, sad that your bed was cold because his large, warm body wasn’t right next to yours.

Did you make the right decision to leave? Should you have stayed and talked to him? What more was there to say? (So much more, actually).

Ultimately, though, you weren’t ready to delve into all those emotions with Mikko when you weren’t even sure what you were feeling. Mikko was going to kiss you; it was without a doubt, and you were going to let him. Once he kissed you, though, what came next? For you, that kiss should be the start of something with him. It should be a healing of the ache over the past seven years, and it should tie a bow to the story from seven years ago and start the sequel right now. But you weren’t sure what Mikko wanted. Was it just going to be a kiss because he had someone pretty in his arms? Was it going to mean as much to him as it did to you?

All this overthinking made you realize that maybe it was better that you didn’t kiss him and left. Until you could exactly articulate in words, out loud what you wanted from Mikko, you shouldn’t make any contact with him. It was already so hard to even see him, so going in confused and unsure wasn’t going to solve anything.

That seemed mature, right?

Or were you just running away because you were scared?

One night, you were laying on your couch, one of your favorite sitcoms playing in the background, as you were scrolling through Instagram. You swiped to check a message that one of your friends sent you in response to something you posted on your story. The little (1) next to the requests tab surprised you, so you clicked on the tab and threw your phone across the room when you saw who it was.

Of course, Mikko was acting maturely and reached out to you.

After taking several deep breaths, you got up to retrieve your phone and opened Mikko’s message. From the looks of it, he messaged you a few days after the wedding. He wrote:

Hey. It was really great to see you, and I’d love to see you again to catch up. I have a day off on Saturday and planning on walking and hiking at Cherry Creek Trail. Feel free to join me. I’ll meet you at ten? I’ll wait for you for half an hour. See you soon, hopefully!

He wanted to see you, and he wanted to do it at one of your favorite hiking locations, and he sent this to you three weeks ago. You can’t imagine the emotions he must have been going through to both send this message and wait those three days for Saturday to come. Then, the emotions during that half-hour, waiting for you, and then his heart shattering when you didn’t show up.

You had to text him back. What would you say? How do you apologize to a man who has been nothing but amazing and understanding to you?

After typing, deleting, and overanalyzing your message, you finally sent:

Hey. It was great to see you, too, and I’m sorry that I didn’t see this until now. Your message wasn’t on my main screen, so I didn’t see it. If it makes you feel better, I would have been at the Trail. If you’re free, I’d like to have a raincheck. Let me know!

Once you sent it, you turned off your phone and went to bed. You didn’t know if he was going to make you wait a few weeks like you did. You went to bed that night fearful and excited. You were scared he was going to turn you down, but you were so excited about what could happen.

Turns out, he didn’t make you wait a few weeks. When you turned on your phone the next morning, Mikko responded only a few minutes after you sent your message.

Does this Sunday at 10 work?

After staring at the message for a few moments, you replied, confirming the time worked, and got ready to go to work.

Sunday was only three days away, and if he still hiked and walked like he did seven years ago, then you know your heart was going to go into overdrive.

By the time Sunday rolled around, you parked your car outside the Trail at 9:30 and got out to sit on a bench. You wanted to wait in your car, but you wanted to make up for a few weeks ago when you completely missed Mikko. By the time you sat down, you could see Mikko’s figure jogging over to you from the corner of your eye.

“Hey,” he says, taking a seat next to you. He was in sunglasses, a white T-shirt (you were totally acting normally about this), and black shorts that really only covered his ass. He hands you a bottle of water and says, “this is for you.”

You hold up your own bottle. “I have one.”

“Yeah, but I know you don’t use electrolytes in your water as I recommend,” he replies, a smirk on his face. “I’ll even hold it for you.”

“If you insist,” you tease, shocked that you actually have the power to tease him right now. Your entire body was in overdrive because Mikko looked stupidly handsome right now. Would there ever be a time when he didn’t?

Mikko holds the two bottles in one hand and extends the other to you to take. With a deep breath, you put your hand in his and grasp it tightly. You let yourself soak in the feel of his large hand wrapped around your hand. You can’t look into Mikko’s eyes because you know you’ll see an emotion you’re not ready to address.

“Ready to go?” Mikko asks, breathlessly, as if the hike was finished and not in its current state of not even being started.

“Yeah,” you murmur, taking your hand out of Mikko’s. You still feel the ghost of his hand in yours.

The first half-hour of the walk is awkward as both of you can’t find the right words to say. What would you even talk about? Do you address the elephant in the room? Do you pretend you haven’t talked to him in seven years? It used to be so easy talking to him, and now, it’s as if it’s a blind date. You wanted to get back to that point with Mikko, but would you ever be able to?

Thankfully, Mikko breaks the silence first. “It was really nice seeing you at the wedding.”

“Even though I left immediately after we danced?” you ask, putting out a laugh in an attempt at a joke.

“I’d rather you ran away from me than me not seeing you at all,” Mikko says, dead serious, his eyes locked on your walking frame. You look at him, and the intensity of his look on you is enough to make you trip and lose your balance. In true Mikko fashion, he wraps an arm around you in time to help catch you before you fall. Your breathing rate picks up as he keeps his arm wrapped around your waist as you both continue to walk. Mikko must think it’s because you’re dehydrated, so he hands you the water bottle (already opened) he brought for you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, before taking a sip.

“Anyway,” he says, clearly as off-kilter as you are. “Tell me what brings you back to Denver.”

So you told him, and that opened up the floodgates of conversation between you and Mikko that you remembered. You told him all about finishing school, work these past few years, your family, and your life, and he tells you about the hockey season, winning the Stanley Cup, and the recent disappointment in the post-season. You both noticeably leave out any mentions of romantic partners.

In your defense, though, you’re not sure if you’re ready to say that the reason you haven’t been in a true relationship in the past seven years is that you’ve been trying to find someone who made you feel the same way that Mikko made you feel.

When you’ve come up to a peak on the trail, you and Mikko stop and take in the sights. Seeing a big boulder, Mikko pulls you over to sit. He sits first and pats the empty side of the boulder for you to fit. Taking a deep breath, you sit next to him—your entire right side is up against and aligned with Mikko’s left side. The feel of his sweaty arms should repulse you, but he smells amazing. You always knew he smelled amazing, but sweaty, Mikko smells like a Greek god.

Just the feel of Mikko up against you makes you wobbly, and you almost fall off the side of the boulder. Mikko wraps an arm around you and holds you tightly against him so that you don’t fall again. You both sit there, breathing in sync, as you stare out at the sight before you.

“Did you miss me as much as I missed you?” Mikko asks, not looking at you.

“How much did you miss me?” you reply, meekly.

“I missed you so much that I could barely breath,” he confesses. “My entire heart has ached for you over these past seven years, and not a day went by where I didn’t think about you.”

You blink a few times before turning your head to look at him to find him already looking at you. “I definitely missed you as much as you missed me.”

He smiles his smile, and it’s enough to almost make you fall backward, but Mikko’s arm tightens around you, almost knowing the influence he has on you. You lean into his side, content with the feel of your body against his and just his body overall.

“We could have been doing this for years,” you whisper, not sure if you want Mikko to hear you.

“Then let’s make up for it now,” he replies, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. His hand around your waist is stroking soft patterns on your left side as you let yourself sink into Mikko’s hold. He has a way of making you feel safe and comfortable and loved.

If this hike has shown you anything, it’s that Mikko was your future. His gravitational pull was always going to pull you in and keep you close and secure no matter what. You loved him with your entire soul and being, and maybe one day, you’d be ready to tell him.

“Ready to go back down?” Mikko asks, his breath tickling your forehead.

“Yeah,” you say, reluctantly, and get up. When was the next time you were going to be this close to him?

Once Mikko gets up, he peels off his shirt, and your mouth goes agape at the sight of his chest. His chest was magnificent when he was just twenty, but now, it looks like it’s been sculpted by the heavens. How could someone’s chest be that beautiful? You knew he was going to take off his shirt when he got too sweaty, and you thought you had prepared yourself for it, but you never suspected that he would grow into himself so handsomely.

Mikko smirks at you, knowing exactly what he was doing. He needed all the extra points from you if he was going to convince you he was enough to spend the rest of your life with.

“I’m going to start,” he says, turning around. “Catch up when you’ve caught your breath.”

When he turned and revealed his back to you, your knees wobbled. This man was going to be the actual death of you.

Mikko had opted not to return to Finland for the summer to try to work on his training in Denver, so he proudly said that he was all yours for the summer. You weren’t sure if you wanted all this undivided Mikko attention, but then when he texted you on a random Wednesday asking if you wanted to meet him for lunch during your lunch break, you realized it was a good thing, all this attention.

He met you at a restaurant down the street from you and was waiting outside for you. When you walked up to him, he opened his arms and pulled you in for a hug. You breathed in his scent and realized that he hasn’t changed his cologne in all these years. The fact that it hasn’t changed somehow made your throat tighten up. It took everything in you not to cry. He was still the Mikko you loved seven years ago.

“Ready?” he asks, a smile wide on his face as he linked in hand to yours. You nodded and allowed him to lead you inside the restaurant.

Once seated, you and Mikko didn’t say anything as you both peered over the menu, but every now and then, you both would look up at the same and catch each other’s eyes before guiltily looking back at the menu, your faces warm with embarrassment. Finally, though, you decided what you wanted to order, so you closed your menu and decided to observe him as he poured over the menu. He was wearing a white button-down shirt that was tight in all the right places. He had a few of his top buttons undone, giving you a sneak peek at that perfect chest. When he thinks, he always sticks out his tongue, slightly, and he was doing just that. You wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and taste him. How was it possible someone was so pretty?

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” he teases, not looking up from his menu.

“Great idea,” you reply, pulling out your phone and taking a perfect picture of him. If he put on a pair of dark glasses, then he could look like a handsome college professor.

Mikko just shakes his head and laughs softly. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Buy me lunch?” you suggest, playfully.

“Always was the plan,” he answers, closing his menu. He opens his mouth to say something, but the waiter comes over to take your order. From the corner of your eye, you watch him deflate a little at not being able to say what he wanted to say. You wonder what he was going to say to you.

After the waiter walks away, Mikko pulls in his chair to get a smidge closer to you. In the process of doing so, he manages to knock his legs with yours, but you don’t jump or move at the touch. Instead, you let his lower legs rest against yours as he sits. You and Mikko always were heavy on the physical touch.

“Tell me about your current project at work,” Mikko says. As you explain to him about your current work project, he can’t help but love the way you get animated about work and talk with your hands. The features on your face are lit up by both your emotions and the lighting in the restaurant. And when you lean forward to talk to him as if you’re telling him a secret, Mikko is pretty sure that you can hear his heartbeat—it’s racing. He leans forward, too, creating a cone of isolation from the rest of the restaurant as he listens to you talk. You always could captivate him more than anyone else in the world could.

It’s no wonder he fell in love with you all those years ago and never fell out of love.

You’re so close to him that he could kiss you. He’s still listening, but he’s also thinking about how much he wants to kiss you. He could just lean forward an inch or two and rest his lips on yours. He could finally settle the question about what you taste like, and he can finally convey to you how he feels.

He never was good at words, especially when it came to English, but with you, it was even harder. He had all these things he wanted to say, both in English and Finnish, but he could never get them out. His mother suggested writing them out and giving you a letter, but where would he start? Would he start with how you were his entire world? Would he continue with how your magnetic force always pulled him in regardless of how far away you were? Would he mention that he’d give up everything to be by your side forever? Will he write about how he wanted to take you home with him to Finland and recreate all his memories there with you because he wanted everything with you?

There were so many things he wanted to say to you, but he never had the courage to do so.

You were still talking, and he desperately wanted to kiss you, and he was going to. He was really, really close to your lips, but then the fucking waiter shows up and ruins the moment again.

You both pull away, and you clear your throat to clear your head from how you were pretty sure Mikko was going to kiss you.

As you both start to eat, it’s difficult to get back into that cone of isolation that you were both in, but you’re still drawn to him like opposite sides of a magnet.

The rest of lunch goes normally as you both catch up more and talk. Still, you're yearning for that cocoon of isolation and intimacy from before. You know you've always had Mikko's undivided attention, but the way it was a few minutes ago made your heart burst. He paid attention only to you, and he wanted to make sure that you knew that.

The only comfort from leaving that cone was the fact that Mikko's leg was still resting against yours. That warmth was enough to keep a smile on your face. That's why I loved him, you remind yourself. He always knew what to do to keep you smiling.

At the end of lunch and a brief argument over who's paying the bill (Mikko won), he's walking you back to your building.

"Hey, when you have a free weekend, do you want to drive out to Aspen?" he suggests. "We can go hiking or just hang around the downtown area. We could rent a small cabin and just hang out."

"That sounds perfect," you reply. "I'll call you one day this week, and we can plan it?"

"Yeah," he replies, a wide smile on his face.

When you got back to your building, Mikko kissed your cheek and whispered goodbye before he stepped away and watched you walk back into the building.

You were going to be the end of him.

After planning and discussing and filing for PTO, you and Mikko were off to Aspen for a four-day weekend late on a Thursday night. You managed to get Friday and Monday off, so you and Mikko were going to spend four days hanging out and relaxing in the Aspen mountains. As you were packing, you couldn’t help but wonder what this weekend was going to do for your emotions and feelings for him. Often rather than not, you spent your free time with him, taking walks around the city, going for hikes, having movie nights, or going out for dinner and/or drinks. None of that was helping. Four days in the mountains with Mikko? Your heart was going to be working in overdrive.

It was roughly one hour into the drive when your GPS alerted you that there was a slow down up ahead, causing delays of up to sixty to ninety minutes. As Mikko’s car came to a standstill and the automatic shut-off came on, you and Mikko glanced at each other and laughed. You thought that leaving on a Thursday night after work would allow you to miss any traffic, but clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“Good thing we have snacks,” you mention, reaching into the back seat to grab the cooler of snacks you packed.

“Hopefully, we make it before the office that’s holding our keys closes,” Mikko muses when you hand him a bottle of water.

The office closed at nine. There was going to be a chance that you and Mikko wouldn’t make it in time. As if sensing your anxiety, Mikko takes your hand in his and says, “don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

His warm and large hand in yours was all you needed to calm you down. It always was your cure for any bouts of anxiety you’d feel.

For about half an hour, no one in traffic was moving. Everyone was still at a standstill, and as the night sky turned into a golden haze of sunset, there was no doubt in your or Mikko’s minds that you weren’t going to make it in time.

“It looks like everyone’s turning off their cars to conserve gas,” you say, noticing the lights of many cars turning off. “Thankfully, it’s not too hot.”

“Yeah,” Mikko responds, turning off his car right after opening some windows for a breeze. “This wasn’t how I thought this weekend would go.”

“We’ll still find a way to make it fun.”

Mikko looks over at you with a soft smile on his face. Your heart nearly stopped at seeing him looking at you with all the love in his eyes. His stupid, beautiful face was looking at you as if you were the queen of the world. He was looking at you as if he wanted to devour you and longingly love you for the rest of his life. And with the sun setting behind him and all the colors creating a beautiful backdrop, your entire body warmed and clenched at the idea that you got so lucky as to know him and his stupidly, beautiful features. How did you get so lucky not only to meet him but have him as a friend and fall in love with him?

Well, falling in love with Mikko wasn’t luck. Mikko was easy to fall in love with. It took no effort. With one look, it was fated that your heart would always be his. Even if you went to the far ends of the universe and saw and met some of the most beautiful and amazing people in the universe, your heart would always beat and return to Mikko. That was the hold he had on you.

Your heart and soul were always his. That’s what was written in the stars at their first moment of creation.

“Are you okay?” Mikko whispers, not wanting to disrupt you. He could tell you were deep in your thoughts, but you were staring and observing him, so he wanted to know what you were thinking. His head was blocking any of the sunlight from reaching your face. His dark shadow was on your face, causing a cascade of light to halo around your form. You were sitting there, in his car, like a dream.

There were so many times over the past seven years when he’d get in the car and look over and hope and beg the universe that you would be sitting there next to him. He wanted to drive you around and show you off, and he wanted you to be right there next to him for all of his adventures in life, and he wanted to be right there next to you in all your adventures in life.

You were sitting there, looking so stunning and a replica of his dreams, and the sun was shining around you, enshrining you in a halo, looking like someone sent from up above.

You are the love of Mikko’s life, and his heart aches to know you’re right there but also so far out of reach.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say, your voice sounding dry and hoarse. “You just look really fucking beautiful with the way the sun is shining around you.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” he replies. He tries feeling around his (super short, in your opinion) shorts pockets to find his phone, but he can’t, so he reaches across your lap for your phone to take a picture of you. He readjusts his head so that he can illuminate you in that same glow before he snaps a few photos of you. You give him a soft smile for the pictures, and he knows right then and there that every centimeter of his heart is yours. All the blood that courses through his veins and heart, all the nerve endings throughout his body, and all his bodily metabolic processes are yours. His body beats and moves and functions and acts for you. It’s always been for you.

“Please send it to me,” Mikko requests, his throat suddenly dry.

“Of course,” you reply, swiping through the photos before you pick your favorite to send to him.

“All of them,” he growls.

You look at him and give him a funny look. “But some of them I don’t look good in.”

“That’s your opinion, not mine. I want them all. Please.”

You scrunch your eyebrows and forehead in laughter and send them all to him. Once you do, you begin, “Your turn for photos, Mr. Always-Beautiful Man.”

His heart sings for your praise and words of calling him beautiful. That was the highest compliment anyone has ever given him. All of his hockey awards and praises combined do not compare to you complimenting him in any shape or form.

You turn in your seat to get a better angle of Mikko. Not satisfied, you place your phone on the center console before you reach over to place your hands on his face to readjust the angle and shape of his face. You brush your hands over the hair on his forehead before softly stroking his cheekbones and settling back in your seat.

Yes, Mikko’s heart is beating so fast that the force could launch his heart through his sternum into your lap.

As you’re snapping photos, Mikko hopes that you can’t tell how much he loves you. Is it possible to see, in his eyes, that he wants you in every single possible way but he’ll wait until you say the word? With one word, you could build up his world and universes, and with one word, you could make him yours. Then again, he always was at your will, and that truly never will change. He was fully yours seven years ago, and now, he’s completely yours, just heightened.

“I hate how photogenic you are,” you comment, swiping through the photos, taking Mikko out of his thoughts. “It’s not fair.”

“Sorry,” Mikko says, looking at his phone and setting one of the photos of you as his home screen.

“Sure you are,” you reply, turning to face the front of the car and rolling your eyes as you begin to munch on a snack.

He really wasn’t. He wasn’t going to apologize for captivating you with his looks when you do the same every damn time he looks at you.

Five hours later, well after the 9 pm deadline to pick up the keys, and close to midnight, you and Mikko reached the rental cabin in Aspen. You called ahead, trying to see if they would leave your keys under the welcome mat, but they replied, saying it wasn’t safe.

“Should we find a motel?” you suggest, sitting in the car trying to figure out what to do.

“We could always just sleep in the car,” Mikko counters. “I’m not sure if there will be any rooms open.”

“So, we just roll back the seats and sleep?”

“Yeah,” he replies, getting out of the car to find his pajamas in his overnight bag in the trunk. You quickly follow and do the same. “You can change in the car, and I’ll change out here.”

“Okay,” you reply, breathlessly. You were going to be changing into pajamas with Mikko just a few feet away from you. You’ve done that before, but normally, there are walls blocking his view, but this time, he can look right through the windows and watch you. Did you want him to watch you and see parts of your body he’s never seen before? Just the idea of him getting to see more of you sets your body on fire.

When you’ve pulled out your pajamas and sweatshirt, you move to the driver’s seat, knowing he has more legroom because he’s taller. You close the door but don’t start changing. You can see, through the driver’s side mirror, Mikko has pulled his shirt over his head and is folding it up before putting on his pajama shirt. Oh, that back. Yeah, you’re waiting until he’s done changing before you do anything. When he pulls down his shorts and is standing there in only a sweatshirt and boxers, your heart begins palpitating. You knew he had massive thighs and ass that can win a competition but in only boxers? It was no wonder your brain was malfunctioning. This man was beautiful and handsome in every single possible way.

This kind, compassionate, caring, talented man had a body that can win first place in any beauty competition. It wasn’t fair that he was the most amazing person you’ve ever met and ridiculously, stupidly, handsome.

Of course, you fell for him.

When he was done changing, he looked over his shoulder to see if you were done changing, and you were quick to turn your eyes away from the mirror. It was dark, so he probably couldn’t see that you were staring at him as he changed (like a stalker), but still.

As you began to change, Mikko turned his back to you and waited until you opened the car door to signal you were done. It took everything in his willpower not to turn and see you change. What would it do to him to see even more of you? He knew you inside and out, and he knew everything there was to know about you, and he loved it all. To see more parts of you that you’ve never shown him? His entire body would fall in on itself.

He’s twiddling with his thumbs when the horn of the car makes him jump. He turns his head to see what the matter is. When he sees your bare shoulder, he knows it was an accident, but he’s frozen in place. All he’s getting is your bare shoulders and an inch of your upper back, but it’s enough to put his entire body in a haze. He never knew shoulders could be so perfect, but yours were incredibly fucking perfect. He wanted to rest his hands on your shoulders in support, he wanted to kiss your shoulders as he held you against his body during movie nights, and he wanted to brush away hair from your shoulders and back as he helped you put on a necklace.

Mikko quickly looks away, but he knows that during this weekend, he’s going to fall more and more in love with you.

When you get out of the car after changing, you and Mikko are both warm and exhilarated from seeing bits of the other changing that you both get ready to sleep in silence. The only sounds are the crickets outside and you and Mikko lowering the seats. When you both lay down, you finally look over at Mikko to find him already looking at you. The moon was illuminating his skin and figure perfectly; it made you burst with love.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs in reply. My love

You’re quick to get into a comfortable position; however, a chill racks through your body, so you scrunch into a ball to make you warm.

“Cold?” Mikko asks. You can hear the concern in his voice.

“A little,” you lie, not wanting to make him worry.

“Come over here,” he suggests, opening up his arms for you. He takes the sweatshirt he was going to use as a pillow and dangles it as a reward.

Slowly, you maneuver yourself over the center console and onto Mikko’s seat. It’s not big, so you’re entirely wedged up against him. You take the sweatshirt from him and put it on; you let the warmth engulf you. You knew that Mikko was kind and caring, but to provide you with everything you needed at that moment was a new level of kindness and heart to Mikko you never knew possible.

He pulls you flush against him and wraps an arm around you. You wrap your arms comfortably against your chest and let yourself soak in his warmth.

“Are your hands still cold? Your legs?” he asks.

You nod, letting your forehead fall to the space between his collarbones. In one swift motion, Mikko wraps a leg around your legs, letting the warmth from his sweatpants-clothed leg send warm sensations through your body, and takes your arms and moves them beneath his sweatshirt, allowing his sturdy chest to warm you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, feeling the sleep induced by his warmth coming.

“Whatever you need,” he replied, resting an arm tightly around your waist. “I’ll give you whatever you need.”

You’re half asleep when you hear the last sentence, but it warms you nonetheless. Here was this man who was willing to give you the shirt off his back. How were you ever supposed to love another man when Mikko set the standard?

Since the Aspen trip, the rest of the summer went by in a haze. The remaining weeks were spent hanging out in Mikko's backyard, picnics in local parks, movie nights on your couch, and dinners in the local restaurants. Before you knew it, training camp was around the corner, and more of Mikko's time was spent in the gym, getting ready for the upcoming season. While it hurt to spend less time with him, you understood, and this time around, you went and watched him on the ice. You knew Mikko was an excellent hockey player, but you never once watched him in person. It was so enchanting watching him set up plays and glide across the ice. Who knew the love of your life was so incredibly talented?

The weekend before training camp started, Mikko planned on hosting a barbecue to welcome the team and their families back to Denver. He invited you. At first, you were going to say no because you didn't feel like you belonged at the event, but you knew that Mikko would pout and sulk until you said yes. You didn't want him to know the kind of power he held over you.

The day before the barbecue, Mikko called you frantically. He had no idea what he was doing and asked you to come over early to help.

"What makes you think that I know anything about hosting?" you asked, taking a little jubilation at knowing there was something that Mikko wasn't good at (because he seemed good at everything!).

"I don't. I just know you calm me down."

Well, then.

You showed up the next day, a bag of groceries in hand, ready to help Mikko host. You weren’t quite sure how you were going to help him in any way he asked (you’d do this, even if he wasn’t in a crisis).

Carefully, you used the spare key he gave you and unlocked his house. You didn’t want to scare him, so when you entered and took off your shoes, you announced your presence quietly. He wasn’t in the kitchen, you noticed, so you placed the groceries you purchased in the fridge. Upon further listening, you could hear him singing along to a song in the washroom. He must be cleaning it.

“Hey,” you said, poking your head into the bathroom. He was playing his music, loudly, as he scrubbed the toilet.

“Hey,” he replied, looking at you, a smile wide on his face. “When did you get here?”

“Maybe five minutes ago. I bought you potato salad and hotdog and hamburger buns.”

“You’re the best,” Mikko replies, giving you a sweaty hug. “I’m almost done here, and then we can start preparing the food.”

As he finished cleaning the rest of the washroom, you leaned against the door frame, watching him and talking to him. You tried your hardest to listen to what he was saying, but your eyes couldn’t help but drift to his arms as they flexed as he scrubbed the toilet. You knew he had large and attractive arms, but you weren’t ever aware he had such attractive veins. Finally, you understood what your nursing friends meant when they called veins “delicious.” All you wanted to do was run your fingers along his veins.

When he finished, you followed him to his kitchen where he washed his hands and discussed with you what the plan for preparing was. The event was a potluck event with individual families bringing sides while Mikko supplied the grilled foods.

“We’ll start with the grilling once people start to arrive,” he tells you, looking through the fridge.

“What did you pick up?”

“Hotdogs, hamburgers, turkey hotdogs, some bean hamburger that someone requested, corn, and zucchini,” he lists off.

“So, should we just put out drinks and cutlery and set things up for people to get drinks and snacks?”

Mikko nods his head, his heart warming at the idea that he was hosting a barbecue with you. It was the domesticity of it all that was setting his heart aflame.

By the time you and Mikko had set out snacks and drinks with small paper plates and napkins, the doorbell rang, alerting that the first couple of people had arrived. Mikko opened the door and welcomed guests while you opened up the sliding door towards the backyard to facilitate easy movement from the backyard to the inside of the house.

The next hour passed as more guests arrived. Mikko fired up the grill while you helped in the kitchen, topping off drinks and organizing the dishes people brought. You didn’t get a chance to see Mikko or hang around him, but every now and then, you’d get a look at him, outside grilling, and your heart would pick up seeing how happy and in his element he looked. It also didn’t help that the sun was hitting his skin perfectly.

A few times, Mikko would search through the crowd, looking for you, whether you were inside or in the backyard. He’d catch your eye and smile widely at you. Sometimes, he’d wink at you before giving you his signature grin. Some of the spouses around you picked up what Mikko was doing and made sure to tease you every time he did.

They were convinced that he had feelings for you, but you kept denying it. Sure, maybe seven years ago he did, but you really weren’t sure where he was on the feelings-for-you spectrum right now. He was your best friend, that’s all.

When he called out that the grilled foods were ready, a buffet line started with people starting at the grill, getting their choice of food before going inside for sides and topping off their drinks. Mikko stayed at the grill to help serve while you went inside to facilitate easy movement around the kitchen island and helped top off drinks. By the time the last people had gotten their food and were seated at the tables and chairs outside, you were about to make your way to the grill to start your own plate, but Mikko walked in first, holding two plates. He handed one to you and said,

“I got you your favorites.”

Taking the plate out of his hands, your fingers lightly brushed his as you thanked him. He placed his empty hand on the small of your bag and guided you into the kitchen to fill your plates on the sides.

When you and Mikko got outside, you started to walk toward one end of the table with some of the people you’d been talking to throughout the day, but Mikko had other plans.

“Nope,” he said, a hint of jealousy and possession in his voice. He wrapped an arm around your waist and took you to an area of the table that had two empty seats. He’s never used that tone with you before, and it made the deepest parts of your body and soul come alive with fire.

Throughout the meal, Mikko had his hand on your thigh the entire time. When he first rested his hand there, you nearly choked on your food. Sure, Mikko was touchy with you, but it was usually an arm hanging around the top of whatever chair you were sitting in or an elbow resting on your shoulder. He never put his hand on your thigh before, and he knew exactly what it did to you because as he watched you drink some water to clear your throat after a coughing fit brought on by his touch, he leaned down and whispered in your ear, his breath hot and exhilarating against your cheek,

“Are you okay?”

Without looking at him, you knew he had a smug grin on his face.

“Peachy,” you replied, not giving him any look. He chuckled in your ear in response and pulled back to continue eating, but his hand didn’t leave your thigh.

When you were both done eating, Mikko leaned back in his seat. Deeming it wasn’t close enough to you, he scooted his chair closer to you and changed the position of his hands. The hand that was previously resting on your thigh migrated to rest against the back of your chair, parallel to your shoulders. His thumb was tracing soft circles on the soft skin between your neck and the point of your shoulder. His other hand took one of your hands and place it in his laugh. He intertwined his hands with yours as his thumb traced small circles along the pulse point of your wrist.

This time, you weren’t shocked at the touch and leaned into his body.

You and Mikko sat like that for the next half-hour as conversation filled his backyard and everyone got more food and caught up after a summer away from each other.

Noticing that most people were done with their food and had thrown their plates and utensils into the trash, you asked, “Should we bring out the dessert?”

“Sure,” Mikko said, mentally preparing himself to let go of you. As if seeing you both unwillingly moving from your seats, Gabe piped up saying he and a few other people can grab the dessert.

“You two have done so much already,” Gabe comments. “You two relax.”

After giving him directions about where to find everything, you and Mikko relaxed back into each other, a breath you both didn’t know you were holding breathed out.

A few minutes later, Mikko nudges you with his knee, and you look at him to find him already looking at you. He had a soft smile on his face as his eyes roamed across your face. You weren’t sure what he was searching for, but with a small smile, you knew he found what he was looking for.

“Thank you for helping me, today,” he says, his voice quiet amongst the loud atmosphere in the backyard. With those six words, all the other voices faded away, even as cheers went up when the dessert was brought out.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, an earnest look in your eyes. “What else are friends for?”

“I’d say we put on a good event, no?”

“I’d say you’re right.”

After that, neither of you says anything, but you’re both still looking at each other, searching over each other’s features for that secret message that neither of you truly knows what it is. It’s not until Mikko leans closer and his eyes go down to your lips does your heart stop and you get breathless. You and Mikko have been practically sitting on top of each other for the past hour, but it’s not until he leans less than a centimeter closer to you do you get breathless.

The hand that was wrapped in your hand goes to cup your cheek. In a matter of seconds, he leans down and gently places his lips on yours. His thigh is bouncing up and down in nerves, and on instinct, one of your hands goes to cover his gargantuan thighs as your other hand goes to the back of his head to pull him closer to you.

This, this is what you’ve been waiting for.

His lips are soft against yours as he deepens the kiss, both his hands now resting softly against your face. Slowly and breathlessly, Mikko pulls away, his nose resting against yours.

“I hope you know how much I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“I hope you know how much I love you,” you echo, still not quite believing that this was happening.

“I fell in love with you seven years ago and never stopped. When I saw you at that wedding, it was like the universe gave me another chance. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you.”

You shake your head before placing a soft peck on the tip of his nose. “I could have told you how I felt, too.”

“I love you,” he whispers, a wide smile lighting up his face.

“I love you, too,” you murmur, closing the space between his lips and yours. When his lips touch yours again, it feels like the universe is perfectly aligned. Everything is perfect because finally, finally, you and Mikko are on the same page.

Kissing him feels like summer, and you will always be catching feelings for him.

When you first landed in Denver at the start of the summer, running into Mikko was the last thing you wanted to do. You didn’t want to think about the feelings you had for him that one summer seven years ago, and you didn’t want to think about how hard it was to live your life in conjunction with those feelings after you returned home.

You always knew that Mikko was the one for you. It was always going to be him.

As you tape up your final box, four years later, you can’t imagine what your life would have been like if you didn’t have that dance with him at the wedding. It’s hard to imagine what your life would turn out to be if you didn’t see that text from him. It’s especially hard to see what your life would be like if he wasn’t the first one to confess.

“Ready to go?” Mikko asks, holding a box, leaning against the door frame of your apartment. “If you’re not ready to move in with me, I—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you interrupt. “I’m just reflecting.”

Mikko smiles. “Then reflect all you want. I’ll be waiting for you. Always.”

And with that, a new chapter in your life began. With Mikko at your side and you at Mikko’s side.

The End

~~~

I hope you enjoyed this! Please let me know what you thought; any form of feedback is greatly appreciated!

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