Love In Seasons (Chapter One)

A Story by Emere

Two people fall in love. Cheesefest with a real original title.

Winter was not a good time to fall in love. I cursed the poor timing of my heart as I tore off my jacket and wrapped it around her slight frame, lightly caressing her arm before pulling away. She turned back around to face me, and a smile washed over her as sun shines on water. We said nothing, and the wind almost drowned out my inward monologue of “f**k f**k f**k f**k,” a result of both the freezing temperatures and the undeniable nearness of her body.

I briefly contemplated saying something like: “Wow, man. The only warmth here is in your eyes,” but I chalked up that sort of thought to the pure intoxication of bitten red lips and dark curls.

Faint music played below us, the electric blur of muffled conversation pulsing beneath the floor. We had abandoned our champagne just moments before, racing up the stairs with a couple bewildered gazes at our backs. Her and I shared this weird fixation concerning roofs, and we silently decided that the LA skyline was a far better background for a love story than the ugly mauve wallpaper downstairs.

I had not factored in the below-freezing temperatures. Oops.

Nonetheless, I had to congratulate myself on my approach. There is nothing more terrifying to me than a beautiful woman, but Alice was different. She was neither shy nor exactly sure, and I felt some kind of kinship to her entirely outside of attraction. Everyone there was old money, well versed in small talk, making comments about the libation of the evening, and all I could do was try to suss out what “libation” could possibly mean.

So naturally, when at last I saw her standing alone, I awkwardly clambered out of my chair, my limbs suddenly struck with the gravity of what I was about to do. I stood there for a for a second, and it felt as though my wretched heart might fall out of my chest when she turned and looked at me. Her smile was a clear invitation, even for a clueless a*s like me. I returned it, and walked up to her.

That was it. A greeting, a laugh teased from those lips. I could have left there and then and lived a completely happy life, subsisting only on that laugh.

But where’s the fun in that, I thought, as we walked over to the railing edging the roof. Her mouth dropped open slightly as the buildings filled our vision, crowned by starlight and drowning in darkness. I caught myself staring at her, and clutched the freezing railing, hoping that the cold would bring me back to my senses.

It did. M**********r.

I shoved my hands back in my pockets after suppressing what would have been a very manly whimper. She let out a breathy sigh, and grudgingly pulled her eyes away from the view to look at me.
Her voice came out rather hoarse from disuse as she said:

“I think our obsession with roofs is totally justified. This is cool as s**t.”

I let out a laugh, suddenly aware that I had been holding my breath.

“Rooftops really deserve more recognition, don’t they?”

“That’s the issue with modern society. We need a “Rooftops Matter” movement to hit the streets.” she laughed.

I smiled, but said nothing. She met my eyes.

“What?”

“I can’t articulate it,” I stuttered. “There’s just...something here. With us, I-,”

And then I stopped. I could tell by the look on her face that I needn’t allow another stupid, inarticulate word to fall from my tongue.

Because she knew. For once in my life, someone had an idea of what the f**k I was trying to say. And even then, I loved her for it. Maybe not consciously, but as I look back in my life, I can match what I felt then to what I feel now. As silent and sure as the blood in my veins and the marrow in my bones.

She inhaled, as if she was going to say something, but the breath was followed with a hand at my neck and a closeness so palpable and intoxicating that I was at once suffocating and breathing more clearly than I ever had. My body hummed to life at her touch, and for once I knew exactly what to do. I pulled her in slowly, making sure to turn my head in the correct direction, making sure she wanted this as much as I did. Her eyes fluttered shut like the wings of a moth, and we were kissing.

I had been kissed before, and had held the notion for quite some time that the action was highly overrated. It had always been a bit too rushed, merely serving as a prerequisite for other things.

This was no prerequisite.

It was the beginning of a universe, the death of a star, the desolate roaring of the ocean. It was everything wonderful and everything painful, poured into a mason jar and drunk up like spring wine. It was not light, but it wasn’t heavy either. All the misery we held, all the love we had to share, twisted together and it was like I understood pure emotion for the first time.

She pulled away first, and the warmth from her lips was washed away by the cold wind. Her eyes looked black under the dim lights, her mouth parted in a smile, and then she was gone. I blankly looked down at the jacket, which had been pushed into my numb fingers, and I began to shiver like a man on a frozen tundra whose fire had just gone out.

“Winter blows,” I muttered, before breaking out into laughter that, if heard by a medical professional, would have had me committed instantly.