Confess what you crave...
Everyone hugs, but Ville embraces.
Ape? She wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me so that I have to rest on her ample bosom. She pets my hair and shushes me if I’m sad, kisses my cheek and murmurs how proud she is if I’m happy.
Phil? He lets me wrap my arms as far about his waist as they’ll go and claps me on the back while my face gets pressed into his immense stomach.
Jess? He wraps his arm around my neck and noogies me until my hair is a rat’s nest and I’m laughing and trying to sock him in the arm.
Ryan? He wraps his arms around me and places one arm around my neck, one hand on the small of my back. He murmurs, “Love you, man,” and I feel it in his hug.
Novak? He claps my back three times, and I check his pockets for pills. Lately, he’s smiled at me happily when I pull away with nothing in hand.
Johnny? He wraps his arms around my sides and pinches my ass, ever the joker. He usually winks at me. I’m starting to wonder if he’s joking or not, actually.
Jenn? She used to slide her hands into my back pockets, holding me close as she lay lips to my neck. It’s only now that I realize she was searching for my wallet rather than wanting to feel close to me.
Missy? The only hug I remember is the one she gave me before we parted for the last time. She squeezed all the oxygen out of me, and when she pulled away there were tears in her eyes. “Bye, Brandon,” she whispered, and then she was gone.
But Ville...
Ville doesn’t hug. He embraces.
Whenever Ville and I see each other, he slides his arms slowly around my back and clutches the back of my head to press my face into his chest, pulling me as close as he possibly could without pulling me inside him. He whispers, “I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” or “I love you, Bammie,” or “I can’t wait to see you again, darling,” in my ear, and then he refuses to let go for long periods of time.
I can’t possibly call that a hug. It feels deeper, more meaningful and loving than a hug.
So I call it an embrace.
And truthfully? He’s the only one I embrace as well.
*
Lately, his embraces have been longer and closer than usual. And that’s quite a feat.
He doesn’t let go of me for hours at a time. Sometimes, he comes down in the middle of the night when I’m staving off sleep with some television and just grabs me into his embrace until the sun comes up.
I can’t figure it out. I’ve done nothing especially nice for him recently, and despite feeling lonely and insecure after Missy left me, I haven’t acted like it in front of him…so what’s his reason?
He insists it’s just ‘cause life has been cruel to me lately and that we haven’t seen each other for months before now. But the looks he gives me when he lets go-those wistful, longing looks-prove him false.
*
Today is the last day we’ll see each other for six months to a year. He’s got numerous tours this summer, and the fall is filled with album recordings.
He’s standing in my doorway, and I’m leaning on the door. His bags are packed and in the car. I’m making Ryan drive him to the airport because I don’t want him to see me start bawling when I see the terminal.
He gives me another of those looks. Another of those sad, hopelessly devoted looks. Then he opens his arms and beckons me with his hands into his embrace.
I walk into his arms and feel them close around me with a long, content sigh. His fingers tangle in my curls and he plays with them a bit, his other hand resting in the center of my back and clutching me tight to him.
“It’s going to kill me to leave you again, sweetheart,” he says, and I can hear the pain in his voice.
I pull away from him a bit and blink at him wonderingly. “You’ve never said anything like that before…why now? What’s different?”
He bites his lip, looks down away from my eyes, looks back up to meet my eyes, and then, before I know it, his lips are on mine, pressing gently and parting my two.
One swipe of the tongue later, it’s over, and he’s backing out of the door with his head down and focused strides toward the car where Ryan waits.
While I watch, stunned, from the doorway, my lips still burning from where they touched his.
*
“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me, Bam. He is up in the guest bathroom, and there’s a mirror in the dining room.” Ryan snaps at me.
I glare harder. “You drove too fast for me to catch up.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “You’re full of shit, Bam. I waited five minutes after the light turned green for you to show up, and you never did. Admit it. You were too damn chicken to leave the doorway after he kissed you.”
I keep my eyes on the floor, burning red on my cheeks. “Shut up, Ry. I can’t help it if it scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry, Bammie,” the soft, sad whisper reaches my ears, and I look up in time to see him back out of the doorway, jade eyes burning with fear and shame.
“Ville, wait,” I call out, standing from the couch and going after him, hitting Ryan with one last glare before I go.
He’s halfway up the stairs, and running faster. My guess is that he’s going to go pack.
And since I never went after him in all those months we were apart, something tells me that I’m not getting an embrace this time.
*
“Stupid,” he mutters angrily as he shoves another shirt back into his bag. I was right. He’s packing.
“So stupid,” he growls again, whipping his toiletry bag into his bag so hard that it falls off the bed.
Three things spill out onto the floor: a picture frame, his Rolling Stones shirt, and his iPod. He makes a noise of annoyance, getting on his knees to pick everything up from the floor.
He throws the iPod and the tee into the bag, but something stops him when he picks up the picture frame. Leaning against the bed, he polishes the glass with his sleeve and stares at it for a long time.
His finger traces something in the picture over and over again, tenderly and reverently like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
And then, without warning, he starts crying. Huge tears fall down his cheeks and make little pinging noises as they hit the metal of the picture frame, and after a minute or so, he sets the frame on the floor and drops his face into his hands, still sobbing quietly.
That’s it. Crying’s my limit. I can’t watch him in such misery and say nothing.
I take a silent step toward him, biting my lip as I see the picture in the frame is of us, and it’s my face that he’s been tracing over and over like that.
“You don’t have to leave, Ville,” I say softly, kneeling in front of him.
He shakes his head where it’s still buried in his hands. “But I do, Bam. I do. I have to leave because I’m scaring you with how I feel.”
I swallow down a wave of my own tears. Guilt like this never sits well with me.
“Vil, look at me.”
He refuses, keeping his head in his hands.
“Please, Ville, look at me. I want you to see my eyes when I say this.”
Finally, his eyes come up to mine, and I have to gulp at the look in his green gaze.
“Ville, it scared me because I liked it. I liked everything about it, and I like you. Much more than I ever should.”
His eyes never move from mine and he sees my sincerity in my eyes. He nods slowly.
“I more than like you,” he says quietly.
I have to blink at that. I’m confused. Could he really mean…?
He nods even before I ask. “Yeah, Bam. We’ve been best friends for almost ten years. I already love you; it wasn’t a huge leap to get to this kind of love.”
He unfolds his knees, and he opens his arms, smiling as I stutter, “I…I do too. I love you.”
And this embrace is the best of them all. It ends with a kiss and the sweetest, happiest smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
And a matching one on my own.
***
Fuck. I did fluff. Really, really fluffy, cliche fluff. And it's the first of many. Damn you for making me post this, Nessa!
...So kidding. I love you Nessa. And I love the rest of you as much. Leave me some?
Ape? She wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me so that I have to rest on her ample bosom. She pets my hair and shushes me if I’m sad, kisses my cheek and murmurs how proud she is if I’m happy.
Phil? He lets me wrap my arms as far about his waist as they’ll go and claps me on the back while my face gets pressed into his immense stomach.
Jess? He wraps his arm around my neck and noogies me until my hair is a rat’s nest and I’m laughing and trying to sock him in the arm.
Ryan? He wraps his arms around me and places one arm around my neck, one hand on the small of my back. He murmurs, “Love you, man,” and I feel it in his hug.
Novak? He claps my back three times, and I check his pockets for pills. Lately, he’s smiled at me happily when I pull away with nothing in hand.
Johnny? He wraps his arms around my sides and pinches my ass, ever the joker. He usually winks at me. I’m starting to wonder if he’s joking or not, actually.
Jenn? She used to slide her hands into my back pockets, holding me close as she lay lips to my neck. It’s only now that I realize she was searching for my wallet rather than wanting to feel close to me.
Missy? The only hug I remember is the one she gave me before we parted for the last time. She squeezed all the oxygen out of me, and when she pulled away there were tears in her eyes. “Bye, Brandon,” she whispered, and then she was gone.
But Ville...
Ville doesn’t hug. He embraces.
Whenever Ville and I see each other, he slides his arms slowly around my back and clutches the back of my head to press my face into his chest, pulling me as close as he possibly could without pulling me inside him. He whispers, “I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” or “I love you, Bammie,” or “I can’t wait to see you again, darling,” in my ear, and then he refuses to let go for long periods of time.
I can’t possibly call that a hug. It feels deeper, more meaningful and loving than a hug.
So I call it an embrace.
And truthfully? He’s the only one I embrace as well.
*
Lately, his embraces have been longer and closer than usual. And that’s quite a feat.
He doesn’t let go of me for hours at a time. Sometimes, he comes down in the middle of the night when I’m staving off sleep with some television and just grabs me into his embrace until the sun comes up.
I can’t figure it out. I’ve done nothing especially nice for him recently, and despite feeling lonely and insecure after Missy left me, I haven’t acted like it in front of him…so what’s his reason?
He insists it’s just ‘cause life has been cruel to me lately and that we haven’t seen each other for months before now. But the looks he gives me when he lets go-those wistful, longing looks-prove him false.
*
Today is the last day we’ll see each other for six months to a year. He’s got numerous tours this summer, and the fall is filled with album recordings.
He’s standing in my doorway, and I’m leaning on the door. His bags are packed and in the car. I’m making Ryan drive him to the airport because I don’t want him to see me start bawling when I see the terminal.
He gives me another of those looks. Another of those sad, hopelessly devoted looks. Then he opens his arms and beckons me with his hands into his embrace.
I walk into his arms and feel them close around me with a long, content sigh. His fingers tangle in my curls and he plays with them a bit, his other hand resting in the center of my back and clutching me tight to him.
“It’s going to kill me to leave you again, sweetheart,” he says, and I can hear the pain in his voice.
I pull away from him a bit and blink at him wonderingly. “You’ve never said anything like that before…why now? What’s different?”
He bites his lip, looks down away from my eyes, looks back up to meet my eyes, and then, before I know it, his lips are on mine, pressing gently and parting my two.
One swipe of the tongue later, it’s over, and he’s backing out of the door with his head down and focused strides toward the car where Ryan waits.
While I watch, stunned, from the doorway, my lips still burning from where they touched his.
*
“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me, Bam. He is up in the guest bathroom, and there’s a mirror in the dining room.” Ryan snaps at me.
I glare harder. “You drove too fast for me to catch up.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “You’re full of shit, Bam. I waited five minutes after the light turned green for you to show up, and you never did. Admit it. You were too damn chicken to leave the doorway after he kissed you.”
I keep my eyes on the floor, burning red on my cheeks. “Shut up, Ry. I can’t help it if it scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry, Bammie,” the soft, sad whisper reaches my ears, and I look up in time to see him back out of the doorway, jade eyes burning with fear and shame.
“Ville, wait,” I call out, standing from the couch and going after him, hitting Ryan with one last glare before I go.
He’s halfway up the stairs, and running faster. My guess is that he’s going to go pack.
And since I never went after him in all those months we were apart, something tells me that I’m not getting an embrace this time.
*
“Stupid,” he mutters angrily as he shoves another shirt back into his bag. I was right. He’s packing.
“So stupid,” he growls again, whipping his toiletry bag into his bag so hard that it falls off the bed.
Three things spill out onto the floor: a picture frame, his Rolling Stones shirt, and his iPod. He makes a noise of annoyance, getting on his knees to pick everything up from the floor.
He throws the iPod and the tee into the bag, but something stops him when he picks up the picture frame. Leaning against the bed, he polishes the glass with his sleeve and stares at it for a long time.
His finger traces something in the picture over and over again, tenderly and reverently like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
And then, without warning, he starts crying. Huge tears fall down his cheeks and make little pinging noises as they hit the metal of the picture frame, and after a minute or so, he sets the frame on the floor and drops his face into his hands, still sobbing quietly.
That’s it. Crying’s my limit. I can’t watch him in such misery and say nothing.
I take a silent step toward him, biting my lip as I see the picture in the frame is of us, and it’s my face that he’s been tracing over and over like that.
“You don’t have to leave, Ville,” I say softly, kneeling in front of him.
He shakes his head where it’s still buried in his hands. “But I do, Bam. I do. I have to leave because I’m scaring you with how I feel.”
I swallow down a wave of my own tears. Guilt like this never sits well with me.
“Vil, look at me.”
He refuses, keeping his head in his hands.
“Please, Ville, look at me. I want you to see my eyes when I say this.”
Finally, his eyes come up to mine, and I have to gulp at the look in his green gaze.
“Ville, it scared me because I liked it. I liked everything about it, and I like you. Much more than I ever should.”
His eyes never move from mine and he sees my sincerity in my eyes. He nods slowly.
“I more than like you,” he says quietly.
I have to blink at that. I’m confused. Could he really mean…?
He nods even before I ask. “Yeah, Bam. We’ve been best friends for almost ten years. I already love you; it wasn’t a huge leap to get to this kind of love.”
He unfolds his knees, and he opens his arms, smiling as I stutter, “I…I do too. I love you.”
And this embrace is the best of them all. It ends with a kiss and the sweetest, happiest smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
And a matching one on my own.
***
Fuck. I did fluff. Really, really fluffy, cliche fluff. And it's the first of many. Damn you for making me post this, Nessa!
...So kidding. I love you Nessa. And I love the rest of you as much. Leave me some?