[It's not the first time they've kissed since they ended up on this island. Far from it, frankly. But it sparks in her like the first time; not the first time here, but the first time ever. A flickering echo of warmth and newness. She knows the steps a lot better than the first time, though, and it's so automatic that she knows she learned them with him. She shapes to him by instinct — softly, easily.
Her cheeks heat in a way that's sort of overwhelmed. Layers upon layers of familiarity, feelings and memories that come along with kissing him like this. She remembers other instances, and they're like the points of a constellation: nothing between them, but it's easy enough to imagine how the lines would connect it all.
And a picture of the two of them, somewhere in the shape those lines make. Together. Safe.
He holds her to him the way one might hold a treasure. It makes the idea of separating from him almost impossible. There's a part of her that just wants to sink into this and get carried away wherever it leads, but — there's so much in her heart, too many questions and answers both. Still, she lets herself feel the pull of the current as her mouth closes over his bottom lip and the tip of her tongue brushes against it, one slow second before she pulls back.
Not far. Just giving herself enough space to talk, still close enough to feel his breath. So close that her lips still faintly brush his as she speaks, murmured into the air between them like a secret.] You showed me this poem on our first date. And when I showed you mine was our first kiss. My first kiss.
[Do you remember? she doesn't ask. It's okay if he doesn't yet. Even if his mind can't remember, his heart does; she can feel it.]
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Her cheeks heat in a way that's sort of overwhelmed. Layers upon layers of familiarity, feelings and memories that come along with kissing him like this. She remembers other instances, and they're like the points of a constellation: nothing between them, but it's easy enough to imagine how the lines would connect it all.
And a picture of the two of them, somewhere in the shape those lines make. Together. Safe.
He holds her to him the way one might hold a treasure. It makes the idea of separating from him almost impossible. There's a part of her that just wants to sink into this and get carried away wherever it leads, but — there's so much in her heart, too many questions and answers both. Still, she lets herself feel the pull of the current as her mouth closes over his bottom lip and the tip of her tongue brushes against it, one slow second before she pulls back.
Not far. Just giving herself enough space to talk, still close enough to feel his breath. So close that her lips still faintly brush his as she speaks, murmured into the air between them like a secret.] You showed me this poem on our first date. And when I showed you mine was our first kiss. My first kiss.
[Do you remember? she doesn't ask. It's okay if he doesn't yet. Even if his mind can't remember, his heart does; she can feel it.]