#norettepamphlet

  you two weren’t together. he wanted more, but you kept your distance, not quite ready to cross the bridge between friendship and something more, more delicate, before you were sure you knew all of his sides. 

  you spent so much time with him in hopes of doing so. definitely not because you didn’t want anyone better in your space. definitely not because his presence was the most comforting you’ve ever had before. you were just careful. or at least that’s what you told yourself.

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  it was a dark, gloomy day. the leaves and branches thrashed against the wind’s scrutiny. the sky, once blue and so bright, was covered with a long, thick blanket made out of clouds. the river by your side reflected the light above, the dark waters seeming like a blueberry pie with glitter on top. a tall, almost imposing if it weren’t for the familiarity of his presence, figure walked with you. 

  silence befallen both of you. boredom was growing in your chest, rapidly. 

  what was just a nice, quiet hangout—or date, since that’s what Hugo had dared to call it—turned into something more when you let your impulsiveness get the upper hand. your shoes switched from the pavement to the parapet with one jump. 

  at first, your balance was askew, and your arms instinctively raised so you wouldn’t accidentally fall to your death right in front of the most gorgeous Frenchman you’ve ever had the privilege of meeting. that would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it?

  “Careful, chéri,” Vivien said, his quick feet leading him by your side again. his hands hovered over your sides, not quite touching you yet, but ready to catch you if anything happened. though, his fingers trembled with barely contained need.

  when you regained your footing, you smiled down at him. “It’s fine. I’m good!” 

  he was hesitant to leave your side. so he lingered. his eyes never left your figure, as intense and earnest as always. he watched the way you placed one foot before the other, the way your arms remained in the air, and how your fingers shifted with every step. your concentrated face, with the slight twist of amusement at the corner of your lips, tugged dangerously at his heart. 

  you looked so carefree. so beautiful in this weak light. 

  he almost didn’t realize he had stopped walking until you said his name, pulling him out of his trance state. “Vivien, give me a hand,” you had said, and his feet moved before his mind could register the meaning behind those words. his hand slid under yours, and he could feel your grip as you jumped off the parapet. the contrast between the hot and cold of your hands didn’t go unnoticed by him.

  for some reason, your hands remained pressed against each other even after you no longer needed his help. he was unbelievably close, and you could count each of his eyelashes, while he could spot all the colors in your eyes. both of you looked down at the same time, observing just how well your palms fitted, before you both pulled away.

  “Ah, I’m sorry,” he said, the back of his neck and the tip of his ears burning up.

  you shook your head, your heart racing. “No, it’s fine.”

  you were just taken aback, you wanted to say. he didn’t have to pull away, you wanted to add. but your tongue twisted against the concept of taking your relationship to a new level, and you managed to say none of it. 

  the epiphany wasn’t mind-blowing. you always knew you wanted it as much as he did. you were just afraid of screwing it up, of realizing that the sight before you was just a facade. 

  eyes glided to the corners. you glimpsed at him, hoping it was just your mind being pessimistic and not letting you enjoy one sweet, romantic moment with another human being. hoping you’d see just how much you affected him. how much he wanted you.

  you saw him slowly turning his head toward you, with that same deadpan, but his eyes never once lied to you. his soft lips parted when he spoke, “Though, I doubt I would have minded if we stayed like that a bit longer…” just a wishful voice, his gaze lowered to your hand again before returning to your eyes, seeking the same validation you were.

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” you retorted, but it lacked a bite. instead of giving him your whole hand, you held out your pinkie. Vivien’s own pinkie curled against yours without delay, happy with everything you’d give him. as long as there was contact, he didn’t care. 

  to the passersby, you were just two idiots holding each other’s pinkies. but to each other, this was a step into crossing the bridge, from friends to lovers. 

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  you opened the warm bag of freshly popped popcorn and poured the contents into a bowl, filling it to the brim. from the other room, you could hear the distant sound of an Italian man’s words, overflowing with whimsy and adoration, declared to a woman who was yet to fall in love—or perhaps just holding back. Life is Beautiful was a movie Vivien wouldn’t stop recommending, and his oddly persuasive style tempted you into watching it with him. something about “It’s your destiny,” which you most likely teased him about due to its level of absurdity. so that’s how you found yourself here, with him in the other room, characters’ dialogue bouncing off the walls.

  returning to the living room with the bowl of popcorn, you set it on the coffee table before plopping next to him on the couch. there was a small space between your bodies that was big enough for you to notice. but you didn’t say anything, didn’t even dare glance down. only watching the Italian man now confess his undying desire to make love to the Italian woman right in that moment, a heartwarming dialogue followed by his wet hat being switched with a dry one upon the woman’s pleas to Mary—an inside joke that would only manage to make the ending more tragic. 

  just as you were beginning to catch on with the movie, you felt the man next to you shift. not closer, but on the ground. your attention swerved to him. then the confusion within you was replaced by surprise.

  in the end, Vivien moved closer until his arm was pressed against the side of your calf. then he leaned his head against your knee. the boldness took your breath away, and you bit your bottom lip in an inefficient attempt to slow down your excited heart. god, you felt like a pathetic virgin.

  you decided it would be better to brush it off. leaning into it would encourage Vivien to do more, all at once. and while that sounded more than amazing, you wanted to take it slow. even if you wanted nothing more than to caress those gorgeous, wavy strands of burgundy. ugh…

  but then his stupid ass nudged your knee with his temple, pressed his cheek against the fabric of your pants as an invitation and assurance that it was okay to do more. clearly, the pinkie-holding had given him the confidence to think this was okay. or maybe it was the speech from yesterday, where he poured his heart out in multiple messages, and you heart-reacted to all of them. either way, he was pushing it…

  “You’re so needy,” you mumbled.

  …but you weren’t complaining. 

  your hand found his burgundy locks, feeling the softness, the hours of effort and care put into perfecting them. Vivien exhaled appreciatively, his shoulders relaxing immediately, a small smile on his lips.

  and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to sink into the depths of his being until you learned how to breathe in it. 

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  knife glided through the shallots, each piece identical to the last. butter hissed softly as it melted into the pan, before the fresh thyme was stripped from its stems and thrown in as well, shallots coming right after, confidence flashing with each step. the duck breast settled onto the metal skin-side down. you didn't touch it until the skin caramelized, but you did spoon the rendered fat over the meat. next to it, potatoes were placed and cooked through the foaming butter until every corner gleamed with a golden sheen.

  a few seconds later, you dazzled the pan with splashes of white wine, sending a steam curling through the air and hitting the ceiling. then, you brought the sauce to the wall of the pan, tasting it with the tip of your finger. you added a pinch of salt and a twist of pepper before agreeing it was your best piece so far. he had no reason to send it back now, you laughed at the thought while you neatly and carefully placed each corner of the duck breast and every potato on a plate.

 you slid your work of art across the island, the plate stopping right before him. it was as clear as day that this was your expertise, that no other job fit your aesthetic or nature, solely based on how well you situated each ingredient.

  Vivien clapped at the performance. “Incroyable, chéri,” he said, though his face was devoid of much emotion. 

  “Ah, what can I say? I was born for this,” you winked, a cocky grin unapologetically forming on your lips.

  at the sound of your inability to resist a tease, a reminder of your conversation back at the restaurant about your character and destiny, he looked up from the culinary art, a small smile present on his lips. nothing made him happier than seeing someone embrace their destiny. and you were, quite precisely, the embodiment of that.

  with a small chuckle, he grabbed a fork and a knife, and cut through the duck breast. piercing a small piece, he dragged it in the sauce and brought it to his mouth. you watched him chew, patiently, waiting for his verdict.

  however, instead of the usual compliment you’d receive, Vivien pushed the plate away and said, “Send it back to the kitchen.”

  you rolled your eyes at him, feigning annoyance. “Very funny. Family’s little comedian.”

  “I can see you trying not to laugh.”

  “Bullshit.” you turned your head away to hide the stupid grin on your face, but it was already obvious in your voice. to bring your attention back to him, he threw a small, round potato at you, which hit your cheek, then the floor. 

  “Should’ve caught it with your mouth,” he mumbled nonchalantly before continuing to eat.

  unfortunately for you, his plan did work, and you turned your head to glare at him. “Hey! I don’t cook you food to throw it at me like a child!” you groaned, not planning to condone this sort of disrespect. you grabbed the potato from the ground and threw it at him. but he dodged it a little too easily.

  he stuck his tongue out right after, which filled you with the impulse to grab it, cut it, and cook it for your next dinner date. but you didn’t, because you needed that tongue to hear more of his voice.

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  the moon set its eyes upon you through the crooked blinds, stars flickering flamboyantly around it, like a performance worth cancelling plans over. the ac unit ran in the background, the lamp from the nightstand veiling the room in a warm, orange hue. blanket was half on the bed, half on the floor, shifting alongside the movement of your legs. his side was pressed against yours, a warmth that replaced the blanket and brought more benefits to your throbbing heart. both of your hands were in the air, playing gently with each other’s fingers and trailing the lines of your palms as if to memorize them. to capture this moment through touch alone. 

  his fingertips grazed the accidental cuts that were healing, the mole between your fingers that you had no clue about, and trailed the shape of your nails. then, he interlocked his fingers with yours, slowly at first, but more desperately towards the end. as if he were afraid you’d pull away. 

  he caressed the back of your palm with his thumb, your skin soft and so addictive. Vivien didn’t want to leave, ever. he wanted to stay here, where he could touch you as much as he wanted, where he could feel you, breathe you in, keep you a part of him forever. he was exactly where he wanted. 

  and yet… you two weren’t together. you had stopped the fear of falling in love with a version that wasn’t real—his feelings were as real as they could get—and you had allowed yourself to bridge the gap, to blur the boundaries friends would set. yet, you didn’t make it official.

  you touched each other with starvation, you held on to each other as if one of you were planning to slip away, you spoke to each other as if your ears were made of glass, and even the slightest high-pitched sound could break them. in moments like these, specifically. just you and him, and the felt absence of a name for your relationship.

  as he kept playing with your fingers, you shifted your gaze toward him, taking in his side profile, softly touched by the warm, orange light from the lamp, the subtle determination he put into having your hand explored by his. but it quickly melted when his eyes met yours. they softened, and you could have sworn that those scribbled pupils dilated. so full of love, adoration, and desire, into two small orbs.

  your breath almost hitched.

  instead, you let out a soft sigh through your nose. “Vivien…” you whispered his name like a prayer.

  “Chéri…” he murmured back. his eyes trailed your face as well, learning every single one of your features by heart—if he hadn’t already.

  “I think I’m going to kiss you.” your eyes dropped to his lips.

  his eyes lowered to yours. “I won’t stop you.”

  you didn’t wait another second, lifting yourself and leaning into his personal space until your lips were pressed tightly against his. you felt him take a sharp breath through his nose, one hand trailing the back of your head to pull you as inhumanely close as possible. the other one was pinned against the mattress by yours, grip tightening as need traveled to the pits of his stomach. 

  at first, the kiss was just a collision before Vivien sought entrance with his tongue, which you accepted far too eagerly. he responded to the rhythm of your lips, to the hunger, tilting his head to deepen the sensation until he was drowning in it. you could feel the beginning of his arousal pressed against your thigh. from just a kiss…?

  you pulled away with a gasp, lips coated with saliva. your breaths mingled, erratic hearts beating in sync. but then, you brought your face down to his throat, your lips brushing his Adam’s apple. you felt it bob when he swallowed dryly.

  “please, mon amour…” he breathed out. you knew exactly what he was begging for, and you loved it. “please…?”

  and who were you to deny him?