#space girlfriend

With your head well rested on the cold ceramic of your stand-alone shower, you let the warm water travel down your body, flushing away the sting of disappointment. Disappointment that, you’ve convinced yourself, holds a lot more meaning than simply being left giftless on your birthday. Salty tears are washed away; gut shivers have seized their attack on your poor nerves. Once the handle of the shower deprives you of warmer water, you settle to give him the rest of the day, while absentmindedly patting yourself dry and heading out to the patio for some fresh air.

The faint buzz of your phone on the wooden chair startles you out of a daydream.

“Hello?”

“Hey, kid! How’s it going?” A familiar voice echoes through the speaker with a spark of joy.

“Seen better. How about you, Mackie?” You know he can tell exactly how bad you feel, but he’s learned not to bother people with too many questions. Mostly you.

“T’sall good,” he adds, still bashful. “Hey, do you think you can do me a solid?”

A small sigh escapes your lips. It’s faint enough so he doesn’t feel guilty for asking, but quite effective to relieve a bit of tension in your heart.

“Sure. Seems like I have the day to myself anyway...” You know he can deal with your sarcasm - being a fluent speaker himself.

An hour later and a bottle of milk down, you’re sitting on the couch with his youngest in arm, watching that one scene in Moana on repeat. The floor has become the most hazardous place to walk, but the smell of fresh cookies, and the sweet snoring of the toddler seem to have cheered you up after the frustrating morning. The location of his house on a hill makes for the most beautiful sunset view. The rays bounce on the pool outside and heat up the room wonderfully. Soon the moon would take its place and begin another day, and the thought of having spent it alone brings back a small headache.

You’re setting the baby in his bed when a knock at the door startles you. You tiptoe through the dark house out of habit, which comes in handy for the situation. Not bothered to look out the small window by the door, you spring it open in one swift movement, and your knees practically give in when your eyes meet his baby blues. Before you can put a word in, a series of giggles comes from somewhere on his left; not only indicating that he has company, but that this company is female and apparently trying too hard to impress him. He’s wearing a black shirt, neatly tucked into some clean jeans; just the way you had recently suggested he tried. Hair slicked back and glimmer in his eyes. Dreamy, as usual. Clearly he wasn’t here to help babysit Mackie’s kids.

Another minute goes on before their laughter dims down and Chris seems to acknowledge your existence. 

“Um, listen,” he begins through choked laughs. “I’m gonna need you to put this on.”

You look down at the black strip of fabric in his hand.

“Why should I?” The young girl hisses at your answer and bro-punches him on the arm.

“You said she was feisty. But man, she got you there.” You assume that your eyes dart through her soul because her sparkly smile immediately disappears. She glances quickly at Chris, and waves her hands in front of her before proceeding. “Oh, god. Look, I’m...” Her eyes shut close as she realises what you might have been insinuating. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m just here to take your place. I’m Anthony’s usual babysitter. Chris called me because he wants to ta-”

Her story is punctuated with Chris’ hand on her mouth. His brows rise up as a warning, and the poor girl snakes around you and into the house, taking the hint.

“I don’t know what you want, Chris but I’ve had a long day and I just-”

“Hold on, hold on!” His hand circles your wrist when you try to walk past him. “Y/N, okay look. I don’t want to break the surprise but please, put the blindfolds on and come with me.”

A small laugh comes out in a sigh, and your head shamefully drops down. So there is a surprise.

His finger carefully tips your chin up so he can look at you again.

“You thought I had forgotten?” His accusation is nothing but a friendly remark. Shivers run up your spine at the grin he offers next. “I could never,” he whispers a bit too close to your cheek. The last cloud dissipates and the stars begin to shine brighter. All of a sudden the air is a lot easier to breathe, although your heart seems to run faster.

His hands stretch the fabric in front of you, and you comply to the invitation. With your back towards him so he can secure it properly over your eyes, careful not to tangle your hair into it, you feel like a little kid waiting to unwrap their presents - albeit you’re the one being wrapped up. You curse yourself for doubting him. The ‘I could never’ replays in your mind, oddly pulling new sensations out of you - added to the fact that his breath tickles your neck with his proximity.

The ride is quite short and only makes his intentions much more mysterious. The only option to be ticked off the hypothetical list is him taking you out downtown, which would have taken twice the time. And you’re relieved to have a more casual night, considering the not-so-glamorous sundress covering your body. One thing Chris hadn’t thought of was to keep you from hearing your surroundings. As you stepped out of the car, the splashing of water gave up the first clue. 

“Chris, if you want to throw me down the river this wasn’t-”

“Oh, just shhh.” 

You walk down a small path, small branches snap under your feet, a faint cackling waits in the distance. The humming of the city seems to fade with each stomp, allowing you to relax for the first time today. Once you’re a few more minutes away, the grip on your shoulders tightens, bringing you to a stop. You hear him take a deep breath.

“Alright,” he adds in a soft tone. He steps behind you, and after a little warning takes the blindfold off.

It takes a few blinks before your mind catches onto the scene before you. 

An off-white drape dangles from a few trees, looping around poles and creating an inviting tent - the ones so popular in fancy home renovation magazines. A picnic cloth sits underneath it, and everything is beautifully lit with a generous amount of fairy lights, tiki lamps and a slow burning campfire along the water line. The sight is mesmerizing, something out of a children’s book, and it has you wanting to shout “I do believe in fairies!” 

The moonlight dances on the lake and glistens back into your watery eyes. With your hands over your mouth you turn around to him. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth and his look is to die for. He’s soft and proud and his eyes are full of something new. Something you can’t quite figure out yet.

“This is just…” Your eyes dart back to the secluded area. Something he bothered his siblings with, you’re sure of, until they agreed to lend a hand after their mom insisted Chris’ intentions were founded. But you know he came up with the idea himself. Had it not been for his money, you think, this would’ve been a home-made fort in his living room, and you wouldn’t have complained - although the extra attention does make you feel warm and loved.

Loved. There’s the feeling.

In a rush, you tiptoe towards him, anchoring your arms around his neck and in a heap of passion, your lips come to his. Surprise suddenly takes him victim, until he responds and starts moving his lips, then tongue, against yours. You part with a huff, looking for your breath - which seems to be the theme for the night. His mouth rests on your forehead as he keeps your bodies connected. Hands roam the other in search for meaning. Answers. It’s with drips on your cheeks and a childish giggle that you dip your head back.

“Was about time,” he teases. You puffs in fake annoyance before stealing a couple more pecks. 

“I didn’t see you make the first move...”

“I threw you all sorts of hints! Why did it have to be me?” You laugh at his remark.

“Alright, touché. But still. Thought you were old-school about this kind of stuff,” you clarify.

“I’m old-school as in I like to make sure that she’s the one, you know. All those years I planned things and bought some random stuff and you never asked for more. I could shit in a cup and you’d be hap-”

“Christopher! Fucking mood killer!” You pat him on the chest with your comical accusation, earning a deep laugh - minus the boob grab because he wasn’t about to take his hands from you.

“You get what I mean. You never made a big deal out of this,” he adds as he waves behind you. “You never made a big deal out of me. You let me buy things without always making me feel guilty for having this luxury. And then when I want to watch football with beer, wings and ribs stuck in my teeth you join in with a huge smile of excitement. I love the contrast...”

He closes his eyes for a second, trailing the last words in a shy whisper. Your hand comes to his cheek and your heart melts when he leans into it, water now overflowing under his long lashes.

“And I think I love you,” you say. His sparkly baby blues shot open, volleying between yours and analysing your expression. Looking for a hint of doubt, maybe. But then again, wasn’t this what he had always hoped for?

“I think I fucking love you too,” he answers. He kisses you, as if to seal a deal.