dekukaze

She was supposed to be at a friend's house, so far away from this, but her friend got sick. So instead of doing something more responsible, and against your advice, Holland decided to bring her along on your investigation. 

You were sure he was regretting that now. 

Holly screamed as a bottle right above her head exploded, hands over her ears, and you pulled her in tighter. Both arms wrapped around her now as you curled in as tight as possible. Minimize the surface area that could be shot. But then, the gunfire ceased. The bar was eerily quiet as the last bit of tinkling glass faded into nothing. You released a shaky breath as you unfurled only slightly.

“Is — Is it over?” Holly asked quietly, still trembling in your arms. 

“I don’t know,” you replied, moving to sit back on your haunches. “Let me look.”

Once you were barely peeking over the top of the counter, she questioned, “Can you see my dad?”

“Not yet.”

And that was the truth. All you saw were dead mobsters and broken furniture. The open bar door and glass everywhere. You had written about this kind of crime scene before. In some short story when you were young. You didn’t realize that you would be able to see that some of them died slowly. But, there was no sign of Holland or Healy anywhere. Also no sign of an alive mobster that could still shoot you, so you stood up to your full height.

That was a huge mistake. 

One of the mobsters on the floor, bleeding out, sat up as much as he could. Gun raised. You barely had time to react before a shot rang out. The bullet splintered the bar top into chips, but still had enough momentum to hit you. Holly screamed your name as you ducked back down behind the counter, something hot and wet blooming in your side. 

“Oh, my God, are you okay?” Holly asked, clutching at your arm frantically.

“Um, y-yeah. I’m alright. Just hit the wood I think.”

You didn’t want to tell her the truth this time. Didn’t want to worry her. You staggered into a seated position beside her, back hitting the bar hard as a kind of numbness set in with the heat. It was like when your foot fell asleep after sitting for too long, only it was in your side. A deep staticy feeling that certainly wasn’t good. Holly cuddled into your uninjured side, arms wrapped around your bicep, as you waited out that mobsters death so you could leave.

A few minutes later, when the numbness was beginning to fade into a sharp sting that had your jaw clenched, the bell above the door to the bar dinged loudly. You flinched at the sound.

“Holly!” Holland called out, followed by your name and the crunching of boots through broken glass.

“Last I saw them they were behind the bar,” Healy said, sounding so calm in comparison to Holland’s panic.

The mustacheoed man appeared around the corner of the bar not a second later, fear blurring into relief at the sight of the both of you alive. Stupidly, your first thought when you saw him was that he looked good. Tan suit and bright green shirt. He was freshly trimmed and shaven for once. His shirt unbuttoned enough so that you could see his wife beater and the chain that held his wedding ring.

He looked pretty. 

Or maybe that was just delirium setting in. 

Holly instantly left your side, flinging herself into her father’s awaiting arms and crying in relief. Healy appeared at Holland’s right, a small smile on his face.

“Where did you guys go?” you asked, rooted to your spot on the floor, unwilling to move.

“Chased after the guy,” Healy explained, moving past the March reunion. “Didn’t catch him.”

“Shame,” you sighed, head thunking back into the wood.

Healy extended his hand out to you to help you up. From the persistent pain, so alike to the wasp sting you received in your youth but somehow ten times worse, in your side, you knew you couldn’t ignore this for much longer. You hadn’t even taken the time to look at it yet. The wound well hidden by your jacket. So, when you took Healy’s hand with a deep breath, you knew you were in for a world of hurt.

He pulled you up and you groaned, the hot pain in your side growing as you got to your feet uneasily. Once Healy’s grip was gone, you staggered back into the bar, tears already brimming in your eyes as your bit your lips hard.

“Woah, you okay?” Healy asked, hands outstretched in case he needed to catch you. 

“I…I think something happened…” you mumbled, not wanting to put a name to it because that would make it all the more real. “H-Hurts…”

“Holy shit, did you get shot?” Holly asked loudly.

Holland was in front of you before you could take your next slow blink, looking down at you with the most seriousness you had ever seen in his face. All hard lines and frowning lips and sweat on his brow. Your breaths were ragged, pain more intense and sharp, as you looked into his eyes. 

There was that something that you couldn’t quite name again.

“Show me where it hurts,” he whispered, hands twitching at his sides.

You glanced down at your left side, a shaking hand moving to push your jacket aside. But Holland beat you to it. He moved your jacket back and sucked in a sharp breath at what awaited him. Your shirt was soaked through with crimson blood, surrounding a small hole at your hips where he could see raw, angry flesh.

“Holy shit, you got shot!” Holland exclaimed. “You — You have a gunshot wound!”

“Jesus,” Healy groaned, pulling a hand down his face.

Without pausing to think, he pressed his hand into the wound to slow the bleeding. That was what they did in movies, right? To keep people from bleeding out? Blood squelched between his fingers and he gulped. You moaned in pain at the sudden pressure, leaning practically all your weight into Holland instead of the bar as your forehead fell against his shoulder. A weariness pulling at your very bones as your side throbbed. 

“Ow,” you whispered, tears fully streaming down your face now, as you peaked at Holland out of the corner of your eye. “At least I know what this really feels like now. Not what I expected.”

“That’s seriously what you’re taking away from this?” he questioned lightheartedly, nudging your head with his shoulder.

“What can I say,” you sighed, “Always a writer.”

Sires wailed in the distance and Healy cursed. “Cops are gonna be here soon. And we can’t be here when they do.”

“Why?” Holly asked.

“Let’s just say this job isn’t exactly legal,” Healy explained as he dug the keys out of Holland’s jacket pocket. “I’ll pull the car around. We can do some medicinal work at your place.”

“We? What do you mean we?” Holland called after him as Healy came out from behind the bar and towards the door.

“By we I mean, I’ll do all the work and you get to hold her hand like the hero you are!”

You smiled despite the situation. “That sounds nice.”

Holland’s head snapped down to look at you still perched on his shoulder, the weight of you pressed to him, your blood coating his palm. Guilt gnawed at the very center of him like some wild thing trying to break free. He was the reason you were here. If it weren’t for him, you would be in your cozy home in Maine at this very moment. Happy. And certainly not with a bullet in your hip. But it also ate him for a different reason.

It sounded nice to hold your hand too.

So he smiled, a small little thing, and mumbled. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go.”

He scooped you up into his arms after that, letting you dig your fingers into his shoulders and cry all you wanted, as he carried you to the car. Holly trailing behind you, a scheme to set the two of you up on a date already forming in her mind.

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“Okay,” Holland says, walking from his connected bathroom into his bedroom. His hair is mussed, sticking up in different directions. His fingers fiddle with the buttons of his button-up. “You’ve gotta go to Jenny’s—”

“Jessica’s.” Holly interrupts, looking over at him from her spot on his bed. She’s sitting criss-crossed with her hands clasped in her lap. 

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes, not even trying to remember the girls’ actual name. “You’re going there tonight.”

A frown captures her expression. “Why? It’s just—”

“Because I said so.” He grins, looking up at her. “Being a dad means I make the rules.” Holland pays no mind to the sour expression creeping onto his daughter's face. “And... I rule you go to Jessica’s.”

His brows raise, feeling completely triumphant in himself. 

You’re coming over tonight. It had been a week since you’d been in LA, off on a family trip and way too far from Holland for his liking. His happy medium had been thrown off. Between getting his house shot up, a court date finally settled on, and not being able to see you in the mornings, he felt like he’d been dropped in the Twilight Zone. He’s a creature of habit. Who could blame him?

The distance had cemented something, though. Being away from you for so long brought the same aching hole to his abdomen as when his house burned down. Each morning when he rolled into the office, when he left to speak with new clients, and when he came back to the empty office, he found himself missing you. The way you brewed coffee and made the whole office smell like a coffee shop, your laugh drifting around the room when you were on the phone. He missed everything about you. 

So, he invited you over tonight. He was gonna tell you how much he missed you. How he’d fallen head over heels in love with you. 

It seemed simple enough. 

But kids never make things simple. 

“I wanna see her too.” Holly protests, jumping down from her spot on his bed. 

Holland brings his wrist close to his face, using his free hand to tap at his watch. The hands displayed a scene he didn’t like one bit. You were supposed to be at the door in half an hour. 

“Holly.” He deadpans, taking a breath. “I’m telling her something—and that something is super important—tonight. No kids allowed.”

She huffs, stomping across the carpeted floor to the door. She dodges his dresser with her arms crossed over her chest. “Whatever.”

Holland normally would let her fester in whatever pre-teen angst she was in. But, something about tonight pulls at his heartstrings. A sigh leaves his lips and it deflates his shoulders. “Alright, kid. Wait a sec.”

Holly turns to find him with his hands on his hips, deflated, and looking like a tsunami of thoughts were crashing around in his mind. She stands firm. In her mind, she’d never allow herself to break first. 

“Look.” He quiets, trying to find the jumbled words in his mind. Maybe he can string them into something that makes sense. “I-I’m… ugh. You know when boys—no, that’s not..”

“Dad.” She finally says, relenting her stony glare. Her arms fall to her sides like she’s laying down her weapons. “You love her.”

Those words make the room quiet. It drowns the hum between Holland’s ears. Holly knew. Of course she knew. She’s one of the smartest people he knows—and he can never hide something from her. No matter how hard he tries. 

He feels a little guilty for admitting it out loud to her. He’d told her that no one could replace her mother. And that was true—she was one of a kind. But so are you. His conscience and heart had been at war with each other for almost a year now. Debating on admitting to his little girl he’d found someone else, which feels like a slap in the face, and following through with all the times he’s almost spat the confession out to you. 

But seeing her now, the way her mouth curls into a slight smile, it makes his chest warm. It’s not her throwing things at him or spitting out choice words. It’s an approval. Which is all he really wants from her.

“Yeah. I do.”

Holly sighs. “You’re really gonna tell her?”

Holland nods, sniffling slightly. “Yeah..”

“Alright.” She nods, glancing down at the floor for a moment. She looks back up at him. “I’ll call Jessica.”

When Holly leaves, Holland is hunched over his stove. There’s a pot of pasta cooking on the far right burner, steam wafting upwards. On the front left burner, he’s working on dumping ingredients into a pot for a homemade sauce. Well, kinda home made. The empty jar of Prego sits next to the sink. 

There’s an array of spices with the tops open scattered around his counter. Some of them he just assumed would work in the sauce. His mother used to smell the spices and decide if the scent alone would work if she dumped it in—but he didn’t have that skill set to use. So he relied on hope. And a bunch of italian seasoning. 

He sets the wooden spoon onto the counter, letting the red concoction simmer. With an absent mind, he checks his watch. Huh. You’re supposed to be here in a few minutes. His hands fall to his hips as he peers down at the sauce. 

It takes a second for his brain to lag. Somewhere along worrying about the taste of the sauce and the realization of the gravity of the words that were going to spill from his throat tonight, it all got jumbled in his neurons. But it clicks. Eventually. Which makes him cuss and scramble around the house. 

He finds nothing to pick up last minute, which eases his mind slightly. So he lights himself a cigarette, fingers shaking gently as he brings it to his lips. He takes a long drag. Just letting the smoke infiltrate down his throat and into his lungs. The smoke comes out in a plume, a sigh soon following the cloud. 

The front door opens. 

You’re here. 

“March! Where are you?” Your voice drifts through the house, a smile evident in your tone.

You were always such a positive person. Even when things went to shit, you were always there saying, ‘we’ll figure it out’. He’d reckon you were the next closest thing to the sun. With all that sweetness bursting from your seams, he felt himself justified in his thoughts. 

He almost dropped his cigarette. His heart drops down through the floor, pulse stuttering in his veins. His throat works around a swallow before clearing his throat. “I–” He clears his throat once more. Just to chase away the cracked edges of his tone. “In the kitchen!”

“Okay!” You call back, heels clicking softly against the wooden floors. When you cross the threshold out of the living room, the smell of food piques your interest. “Something smells good.”

Holland forgets how to breathe when you walk into the kitchen. Your hair is thrown into a poofy style that falls perfectly around your face. His gaze slips down your face, eyes tracing every dip and curve to burn them into memory. 

The breath in his lungs seems to freeze up. Bright eyes with a gentle smile. The way you’re looking at him is almost enough to bring him to his knees. 

He’s been quiet for a while. 

And staring at you. 

“..Hey.”

You sling your bag from your shoulder, setting it onto the edge of the table. “Hey.”

Holland grins, taking a step towards you. There’s just something about you that makes him forget about the anxiety that’s chewing on him whole. “Uh, do you want a drink? Wine or something?”

You give him a sideways glance, grin curving the side of your mouth upwards. “Wine and dinner? My, my, March. Are you trying to seduce me?” There’s a humorous undertone in your voice, the grin cracking into a smile cementing it.

Holland stumbles over himself. “What? I wouldn’t—not that you’re—Jesus.” He lets his cigarette dangle out the side of his mouth. The way his eyes widen and throat gets tight makes him scramble for words. “I’m not, yeah, not seducing…” His voice quiets. “You.”

A breathy laugh bubbles in your throat. “Jeez, March. I’m joking. Don’t pass out.”

Holland’s knees lock up. His throat works around a swallow. The sound of his voice is low, gravelly, and smoother than he thinks. “Right… sorry.”

You’re not one to let him settle in awkward tension. You can see the way his eyes are darting around the room. Poor guy looked like he was about to faint. You’d have to figure out the ‘why’ at a different time. 

“I’m good, actually.” You offer a comforting smile. “How’s the office been?”

At your soft spoken question, Holland seems to visibly relax. The tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders seemed to fizzle out. They hunched for the first time that night. His breathing returned to something resembling normality. “The office?”

He takes the cigarette from his mouth, letting it live between his fingers. He walks over to where you are. He’d left the ashtray over there. His fingers fiddle with the cigarette, tapping it until the ashes fall. 

“It’s alright.” He shrugs. “Uh… not the same without you.” 

Holland has never been very good at playing something down. 

You nod at him. Your gaze stays on him, picking up the way his brows furrowed as he answered. 

“How was your trip?” He asks, looking down at you. The words tumble out a little faster than he’d wanted them to. 

You take a second to let his question sink in through your skin. Holland wasn’t normally so interested in your affairs—granted, you’d never been gone so long. Nor has he been left by himself for that long since you’ve started working together. 

“It was nice to see them. But..” You sigh, tucking some hair behind your ear. “I missed you guys. I missed working.”

Holland practically melts. You’d missed them. And him by proxy. 

He tries his best not to giggle like a little girl. But he wanted to. Instead, he turns and tries to busy himself with stirring the pot of sauce. “Uh—well—I can say for sure..” He trails off, picking up his spoon and stirring the simmering sauce. “We missed you too.”

He glances over his shoulder, trying to offer an almost flirty smile. But once his eyes were taken off the saucepan, his hand became a little heavier than he wanted it. A yelp leaves his throat as he realizes the pan is falling. Red sauce was going to go all over the floor. Oh, God.

The sound of his scream catches you off guard. Your head whips in his direction—just in time to catch the cinematic way he scrambles like a cat to unsuccessfully save the pasta sauce. Holland jumps out of the way as the pan clatters to the floor. 

His hands fall to his sides. The one time he tries to make dinner—this happens. He almost wants to laugh. Perhaps this was a foreshadowing event to show how the rest of the night would go. Confessing to you? Surely, it would go as well as the sauce. 

Your breath catches in your throat. Your hands come up to cup around your mouth in surprise. Holland still has his back to you. Just looking at the splattered sauce all over the floor. 

“Oh, shit, March.” You murmur, taking a few steps closer to him. 

Your hand pauses as your arm outstretches to touch his back. Your throat works around a swallow. The palm of your hand makes careful contact with his back as you step next to him. 

He stiffens. “My sauce.”

“I-I’m sure it’s fine..” The words falling from your lips are wrapped in apprehension, posing them as more of a question. 

“It’s—it’s floor sauce!” He stares at it in almost defeat. “Maybe if I—no. That’s not salvageable.”

“It looked like it was gonna be really good.” You offer, voice low.

His hands fall to his hips, a huff leaving his mouth. “I.. I tried. I’m sorry. I tried making this dinner—and now this—Jesus, I feel stupid.”

“Hey now.” You hum, patting his back. “It’s fine, March.”

His head turns to look at you over his shoulder. His eyes, big and sad, seem to ask you to rethink your answer. He doesn’t even need to say anything. Your lips press into a line.

“Pizza?” You ask after a moment, voice lilting to find a more positive tone.

March lets out a chuckle. “Pizza?”

“The spot downtown delivers.” You shrug, arm falling back to your side. “I’ll clean this up if you call.”

Holland instantly misses your touch. There’s an absence of warmth from where your hand was, and suddenly he feels cold. He’s not surprised that you’ve jumped into a way of fixing things. That was just.. Who you are. An ever-lovely jewel that just shines in even the darkest times. 

A laugh falls from his lips. The absurdity of it all brought the rising humor to his chest. He made dinner to confess his love to you—and it’s now on the floor. And you’re offering to clean it up and eat take out pizza. 

“We can get pizza, sweetheart.” He blurts through his laugh. The laugh halts immediately when he realizes the pet name had fallen into the space between you. 

You don’t miss a beat.

“Pizza sounds good.” 

The sauce gets cleaned up, and soon the pizza will be arriving. All that chaos was quelled with your quick thinking. Like always. You’d both made it into the living room to sit on the couch. Holland had declared he needed a drink, which turned into him getting a whiskey and a glass of wine for you. Laughter drifted between the two of you easily.

When the doorbell goes off, Holland debates telling whoever it is to go away. The interruption was at a terrible time—as most are. But your eyes had lit up at the promising sound of food. So, he’d stood up and fished around in his pockets for his wallet. 

He wouldn’t admit to it, but when he opened the door, he shoved the bills at the kid and snatched the pizza from him. Holland had been so caught up in it that he didn’t heed the warning of the box being hot. A breath gets sucked through his nose to keep the cuss at bay. The bottom of the box was like touching fire. Heat seeped into his palms and surely made them an angry shade of red. 

A forced grin captured his expression as he set it onto the coffee table. He waited for your eyes to avert away from him to flap his hands around. The pain, slowly, subsided. All that was left was the dull ache in the absence of pain.

That meant there was only one thing to do tonight—the hardest part.

The hardest thing he’s had to do in the past year of his life. Sit you down and… tell you that he loves you. He feels like he’s gonna puke.

“Hey, I–I’m gonna run to the bathroom.” He stutters over his words, his heartbeat starting to hammer in his chest. “Just, just gotta wash my hands—be right back!”

Holland almost trips over his own feet as he rushes out of the living room. His eyes don’t even register the passing furniture or other doors in his place. He’s got tunnel vision. Set on making it into the bathroom before he takes a nose dive into the floor. 

Thankfully, he does. His back thuds against the door, breathing faster than it should be. He needed to calm down. This was nothing. This was just telling his partner that he’s fallen madly in love with her and living a single day without her was torture—

A flick of his wrist turns on the faucet. He splashes water into his face. Droplets drip down his forehead. Holland grasps onto the sides of the sink, knuckles turning white from sheer force. 

“Alright, March.” He huffs, shaking his head like he’d be able to shake himself from the throws of anxiety. He looks up and peers into the mirror mounted on the wall. The face staring back at him looks too similar to that of one of a kid about to have his first kiss. “Pull yourself together.”

Jesus Christ.

He drums his fingers against the sink and takes a deep breath. Psyching yourself up is freakin’ hard, man. 

“March, March, he’s our man.” He mumbles under his breath, turning to pat his face dry with a towel. “If he can’t do it, no one can.”

His throat works around a swallow. He leaves the fluffyness of the towel behind to grasp onto the door knob. With one last hurrah, he mumbles under his breath, “Maaaarch!”

Then, he opens the bathroom door. Makes a point to walk a little slower back to the living room. Trying to appear like he wasn’t just psyching himself up. 

“I grabbed us plates.” Your voice is the first thing he registers when he enters the living room. It’s soft and sweet, like a gentle breeze. 

“Oh.” He hums, taking a seat on the couch. “Great.” 

There’s a visible gap between your bodies. He’s on an entirely different end of the sofa, instead of his usual place next to you. Your eyes squint as you take notice.

Holland plays with the fabric of his slacks, picking at it and keeping his head down. He only looks up when you extend him a plate with slices on it. 

“You alright?” Your words are wrapped in tender confusion, genuine as they fall from your lips like honeysuckle. 

He wishes he could just spit it out. 

No matter the consequences. 

Instead, he opts for shaking his head. Too quickly. Like a teenager trying to deflect something from a parent. “M’fine.”

You take a pause. The gaze you’re leveling him with turns analytical. Eyes tracing down his face, watching for the twitches of his micro-expressions. Damn you. And your detective brain that’s far too attractive to be normal. 

“Is it the sauce?” You question, voice softening. 

He wishes it was just the sauce. 

“Uh–no, I mean that was terrible but—no, it’s not the sauce.” He settles for a simple answer, avoiding the spiral of words that tried to spill from his mouth. A sigh rattles his chest. 

You place your half-eaten slice of pizza on your plate, turning your attention to him. “Seriously, March. You alright?”

He’s gonna puke. 

Yep. That’s what’s gonna happen.

His stomach churns. It twists itself into a knot so tight it physically pains him. His tongue has turned to stone, heavy in his mouth. 

Holland opens his mouth, but the words fail. For someone who never shuts up this was terrible. His throat works around a swallow. “No—okay? I’m not.”

His face contorts into something akin to anguish. His brows furrow, eyes wide and filled with urgency. Your chest pangs.

“Talk to me.” It’s not a command— more of a gentle plea. 

“I–I made dinner.” He huffs out, waving a hand in the direction of the kitchen. “I sent Holly to Jenny’s. You know?” 

You grow quiet. Holland was someone who needed to spew out words before the meat of his point shines through. So you give it to him. 

But he’s terrible at silence.

“There…There was a reason.” His hand runs through his dark blonde hair, mussing it up. “I don’t—I don’t do this.” His hands clasp in his lap. 

He dips his head downwards, not looking at you. He fiddles with his fingers for a second. 

“Holland—”

“I did this for you!” He finally spits out, the words falling in droves. 

That shocks you. Enough to stun you into silence, unsure of what he’d meant by it. Was he upset that the good thing he tried to do was ruined? It wasn’t easy to read him when he won’t look at you. 

His leg starts bouncing. In the same way that someone with anxiety would do it, bouncing on the ball of his foot. Even without seeing his eyes, you knew they were darting around. It was the kind of anxiety that had made a home in his mind all night, and it was finally coming to the surface. 

“Holland.” Your voice is quiet. Grounding. “What do you mean?”

Holland splutters. “I m—I mean… God.” He causes quiet, finally looking over at you. His eyes are glassy. 

Barely a second passes.

“I love you!”

The silence is heavy. It’s the same silence after a nuclear bomb goes off. The moments before everyone scrambles to check the radio for survivors. And casualties.

Your jaw has dropped. The shock your body had just gone through—hearing those words, seeing him so nervous, and his eyes shimmering—made it feel like it didn’t happen. You have to take a second. Maybe pinch yourself. Make sure it was all real. 

Holland inhales a sharp breath. 

Your silence felt like a knife to the side. 

This was the rejection he was waiting for. The silence as he poured out his entire heart on the floor. And it got splattered worse than his stupid sauce ever could have been. He should have seen it coming—you were always too good for him.

He felt like an idiot. 

“Holland.” Your voice is paper-thin, frayed around the edges. Horse like you hadn’t used it in a while. 

He blinks. 

“Are you serious?” 

He didn’t expect that. Maybe this was when you started standing up and laughing at him. That’s how it worked in those movies Holly watches on the TV. “Yeah..?”

Your knees turn toward him, giving him your full face. The ghost of a smile is curving the sides of your mouth. It’s a stupid, childish grin that’s barely being kept off your face. You’re sure your eyes had started sparkling. 

A warmth unfurls through your chest.

“I love you, too.”

Holland falls silent. Everything he’d thought was happening had just been turned on its head. He felt like the floor had been ripped out from beneath his feet. 

“You… love me, too?”

You grin. “That’s what I said.”

The words sink into Holland. You weren’t rejecting him. In fact, you were on the exact same page as him. You loved him too. And he was over here stressing like a dope for no reason. He has to laugh at his own absurdity. 

Jesus. You loved him. 

And you’re sitting across from him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen. It makes you look younger. Brighter. Like any woe life had tossed onto your shoulders and slipped off. Like you’d just taken in a breath of fresh air. Holland feels himself fall in love with you all over again. 

It’s his turn to smile back.

There’s almost a minute of silence. Just the two of you smiling, relishing in the revelation. There wasn’t a need to rush anything. The hard part was over—but now as he’s sitting on the couch, looking into the eyes he saw before he drifted off to sleep, it didn’t actually feel hard. It was one of the easiest things he’s ever done, actually. 

“I was so scared to do that.” He breathes, palm flattening against the sofa.

Your palms rests against the plush cushions, slowly migrating towards his. “I’m glad you did it.”

He nods. “Me too.”

His eyes drop his gaze towards your lips. He stiffens, unsure of what to do. If he could do anything. His eyes flicker back up to yours. There’s a heaviness weighing in them now. 

You do the same. But you let your gaze linger on his lips. It’s easy to fantasize about them—how they’d feel against yours. How he’d taste. 

“Can I–?”

He’s leaning closer to you, internally cursing himself for sitting so far away. He wanted to be closer. A thrumming need courses through his veins, and the only cure was to be close to you. Be as close as possible. 

You’re already crawling across the couch, giggling quietly, nodding fervently.

Your fingers are cool against his skin. Your thumb brushes against his cheekbone as you cup his cheek. Holland melts into the touch like it was his first time. The normal breathing flowing through his lungs hitches, caught up by his spiking pulse. 

His eyes are wide and bright. Like oceans beckoning you to drown in.

There’s a moment when you just breathe each other in. Letting your breath mingle, mere inches apart. It isn’t until you brush your lips against his does he make a move. 

Your lips fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Connecting in a way they always should have been connected. His hand sprawls over your hip, grasping onto you like you’d float away. 

He’s kissing you so softly it’s torture. It’s reverent. His touch isn’t scalding—it’s more gentle than anything. Like he’s trying to savor the moment he’s in. And he is.

A soft sound bubbles up in your throat, muffled by his mouth. 

Holland’s grasp on your hip tightens just a fraction. His kisses have more pressure now. His tongue gently runs along the seam of your lips. Asking for permission. You open up for him like a flower. 

He groans into your mouth. There’s something thready about the sound. It’s almost painful. Like he was holding something back—himself. 

“Shit, hold on.” He murmurs, pulling back from you. He doesn't move far. Can’t.

His gaze drops down to your kiss bitten lips. A breath gets sucked in between his teeth. He can’t even begin to believe the vision before him. You’re just perfect. 

“Something wrong?” You ask, breath coming out in short pants.

“No.” Holland says quickly, head shaking so fast you’re sure he’d get whiplash. “God, no. Just.. wanna look at ‘ya.”

A familiar warmth slides itself down your abdomen. His thumb is caressing your hip, warming the skin beneath your bellbottoms. It feels like your skin is on fire. 

“So pretty.” He whispers the words more to himself, eyes wide in awe. 

“Holland!” You grin, heart fluttering. 

His other hand comes to your hip, slowly drifting down to under your thigh. He gives you a questioning tilt of his head. Waiting for permission to bring you closer. A nod is all he needs. 

Holland is surprisingly strong. Just at a glance, you wouldn’t think so. But he’s able to bracket your knees around his hips easily. He chuckles lightly when a surprised squeak slips from your lips. 

“Sorry.. Sorry, just.. Need you closer.”

You settle against him, couch cushions dipping beneath your combined weight. He wasn’t lying. You can feel something pressing against your thigh. It takes a second for you to realize what it was—and it definitely was not a banna in his pocket. 

His hand travels up your side, touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brushes your hair from your face. Tucks it behind your ear with a soft smile.

“Holland.” His name falls from your lips in a way it never has before. Soft and breathy.

Holland thinks he’s gonna pass out. But he doesn’t. 

“I love you.” He says again, quiet. Reverent. 

He leans up, making you slump against him slightly, to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s feather light. Just enough pressure to make you feel like you’re spiraling. 

A cuss slips from your lips. Your body moves on instinct—pressing your hips closer to his. The stiffy in his pants had hardened fully, and the pressure of him makes you gasp. A moment like this has never played through your mind. There wasn’t even a fantasy that could have prepared you for this. 

“I love you, Holland.” The words fall in a lighter tone than you would have hoped, floating off your lips like fairy dust. 

His hand on your hip tightens. There’s an audible noise coming from him; the sound of his breath stuttering in his chest. It’s like he still hadn’t fully digested the words yet. Each time he heard it was a shock to his system. 

“I want you.” You breathe out, your own palms resting on his chest. “I need you.”

He’s the happiest man in the world. 

“O-okay..” He mutters, gaze flickering over your face. There’s a second where he looks to make sure this wasn’t a dream. That you’re serious. And you are. “Okay.”

The next few seconds happen in a blur. All you remember is straddling Holland’s lap, then suddenly his palms are holding under your thighs, and he’s lifting you up and laughing at your surprise. 

“My room?”

“Absolutely.”

flower divider by @hatoslay !

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