Wanting More

I stare up at the dark sky; it’s a bit cloudy, but I see a few stars peeking through, and I can see where the moon hides behind a thin cloud, full and bright. I feel myself smile as I look beside me at him. He’s looking at the sky, and I can see that he’s smiling as well. I wonder what he’s thinking about, what’s making him smile. Is it me? Is it the beautiful sky? Is it something else entirely?

I don’t notice at first that he’s looking at me now, the smile still there, clearly aimed at me. ‘Only for me’, I think. He has stars in his eyes, more stars than the sky itself holds. The small light from the hanging lamp is lighting half of his face, the other darkened with shade, but I can still see him clearly. He’s beautiful. I’ve never been more happy than I am now, laying with him.

I look back at the sky as I wonder what will happen tomorrow. Will we go back to two people who don’t know each other, who come from two separate worlds? I don’t want that. I want to be able to walk around with him, let people know that they can’t have him. But they can have him. I don’t own him. We aren’t even officially dating. We just hang out at night sometimes, when we’re lonely and need someone to hold. I want more, but I would never tell him that. I don’t want him to leave me, to think I’m overbearing and asking for too much. Part of me wonders if he feels the same. If he likes me in the way I like him. The way I may even love him. But that’s a big deal, and I can’t just tell him that I fell in love with him. I’d scare him off. He’d run and never look back.

That part of me that wonders if he feels the same can see the way he looks at me; the way he smiles at me, the way he looks at me and holds me in his arms. That part of me tells me, ‘he loves you, too,’ but I can’t listen to that part of me. That part of me is a lovesick idiot that simply wants to believe he loves me, but I know I can’t trust myself. I know that just because someone looks at you a certain way doesn’t mean they love you. Just because they hold you like their life depends on it, like if they let you go they’ll never get you back, that doesn't mean they love you.

I hear him shift, but I don’t look. I can feel his hand barely touching mine, almost as if asking permission. I move my hand atop his, and we lace our fingers together. I’m barely able to suppress my smile. I keep staring at the sky, watching the clouds move ever so slowly across the sky, the moon becoming fully visible. I can just see the pattern on it, the crates on the surface. It’s always been so beautiful, everyone thinks so. Even with its indents, what would be considered imperfections on a person, are beautiful. Perfect imperfections.

He says my name quietly, so quiet I barely hear it; it’s getting windy now. I hum in response, waiting for him to talk. He doesn’t, at first. He simply sighs and shifts again; I can tell he’s facing me again, because I can feel him looking at me. “What should we do on Saturday night?”

He asks the same question every night we’re together. I hate it. I wish he’d say, ‘We should go on a date.’ That’s all I want.

I get a sudden burst of confidence; I sit up and face him, staring right into his eyes. "Nothing. I don't want to do anything on Saturday night. What I want is to go out to dinner during the day."

He raises his eyebrows as I talk, looking shocked, but I keep talking. "I can't stand only being with you at night. I'm tired of seeing people flirting with you, and seeing you flirt back. I want to be with you. I am with you, at least for the night, but I want to always be with you."

He's silent for a moment, just staring at me. I suddenly feel much less confident, laying back down and facing the sky to avoid his gaze. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, careful in a way. "Why didn't you say this before?"

"I was scared," I tell him. "I didn't want to ruin anything."

"You could've told me," he says. "I," he pauses, taking a deep breath. "I want to be with you, too. I didn't know how to tell you. When I flirt back with those people, it's to avoid questions, but I always wish it's you I'm flirting with. I really, really want to take you to dinner."

I don't know what to say; I expected him to shut me down, tell me he doesn't want anyone to know, or at least tell me he wasn't ready for people to know. But this- this is better.

"Really?" I say it so quietly I'm not even sure he hears it, but he does.

"Yes, really," he says. "I want it more than anything."

And just like that, everything has changed; we're no longer two people who only hang out at night, and act like they don't know each other during the day. Now, we can be more, we can be exactly what I've wanted for so long, and I couldn't be happier.