29 - You Always Have Been

29

You Always Have Been

T he simple things in life are often overlooked.

For example, no one told me that some of the things I would miss most about a person were the simple things. The everyday fundamental moments.

As Isaiah moves around the kitchen, singing wildly, it hits me.

Sure, I missed him. But I missed all these tiny moments, too. All the minute things that people wouldn't notice in passing about him showcase themselves in moments like this.

How no matter how quiet and reserved he may present himself, in the car or at home with his favorite songs, he is anything but. How beautiful he looks when he does because the left side of his mouth turns up in a crooked smile. How he purposely sings off key sometimes to make me laugh.

Or like earlier, at the drive-in theater, how I hate when other people talk during movies but when Isaiah quotes a line he loves, I think it's the most endearing thing in the world. Or that when he greets someone, if I'm there, his eyes often glance my way for just a second before he says hello. And now, as I lean over the arm of my couch, watching him dance through the kitchen pulling out all the ingredients for hot chocolate. There's such beauty in seeing this side of someone. The side usually reserved for the safety of an empty house.

I missed him with an ache like no other when he didn't show up to that first game. Missed him when I was sad and when I was happy. When I had something to share or needed him to lean on.

But I didn't realize how much I missed everything else.

Isaiah makes the mundane extraordinary. Makes everyday life exhilarating. I don't have to live for a single moment when I'm living life with him.

He turns, fixing me with a heated look. "Rora?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you staring at me?" he asks, placing his palms flat on the counter.

I shrug, heat thrumming over my skin. "I was thinking about how much I love this."

"Me making a fool of myself?" Isaiah puts the kettle—that he bought me—on the stove. I kick my legs down and pad over to the kitchen, pulling myself to sit on the counter.

"Well, yes, of course." I pull down the sleeves of his hoodie that he pulled over my head earlier at the drive in. "But I don't know, this—doing nothing, I guess." I reach out a hand, flexing my fingers until he steps toward me with a smile. My fingers wrap around his tattooed skin and pull him closer.

His hands land on my hips, fingers gently tapping the curve of my thighs, and my heartbeat accelerates like always whenever he touches me. With other people, the quiet can feel overwhelming to me. A living thing trying to suffocate me. Not with him. The nerves I had, the overthinking that was drowning me—they've dissipated with Isaiah's gentle care. I know he sees all of me and wouldn't run away from it.

More so, I don't feel I have to run away from myself.

With a steady hand, I cup his face, my thumb running over his jawline, and I pull him forward the rest of the way to press our lips together.

"I could do nothing with you forever," I murmur against his lips.

In the warm glow of my kitchen, Isaiah pulls back to fix those deep, winding, brown eyes on mine, a promise shining in them. That if that's what I want, that's what I'll get.

As I take him in, the strong, quiet, beautiful boy that is more of my world than I'd admit to anyone who asked. I'm overwhelmed with it. The possibility of the future. A future I thought no longer belonged to me.

Isaiah pushes my hair away from my face, tangling his fingers in my curls. "What's going on in that brain of yours?"

"How do you always know?"

"Because I know you."

I slip my hand in his back pocket. "It's really nothing. I'm just grateful that you're here. Back—with me again."

A moment of silence passes between us.

"I'm sorry it took me so long."

"You've apologized enough, Isaiah. Stop it."

He kisses me again, sweet and slow. But underneath it burns with passion, kindling for a fire we've yet to set.

I pull him in with the hand happily in his back pocket, my other hand tracking up his arm until I feel the slight stubble on his chin. Behind us, the kettle whistles, and Isaiah loudly groans.

A laugh bubbles past my lips, and I pat his butt. "You've got plenty of time."

His forehead rests against mine, hands sliding to my waist. "There is not enough time in the world to kiss you as much as I'd like."

Heat floods my cheeks, which he proceeds to place frantic, sweet kisses all over my face until he pushes himself back. I grab the whipped cream can beside me and shake it, shooting it onto my finger. Isaiah makes up the mugs, taking them over to the coffee table. When he returns, there's a curve to his lips.

"You missed," he says, eyes locked on my lips. As he stalks toward me, heat starts to bloom in the pit of my stomach, traveling over and in between my thighs. My nerve endings come alive like sparklers in the night time.

I tip my head back. "Better clean it up then."

He chuckles just as his lips touch my skin. Isaiah finds the stray whipped cream on the side of my mouth, and my breath catches in my throat. To my surprise, he doesn't stop there. A moment later, he moves to the other side, his tongue barely grazing my skin as he makes a soft hum. Every beat of my heart, I feel in my fingertips and the hot rush of my blood under my skin. Isaiah makes a slow, tortuous path over my jawline, over the sensitive skin of my throat, and presses a kiss to the hollow of my neck.

"I don't think there's any whipped cream there."

"No, there isn't." He flutters kisses around my neck until he's hovering above my lips. "Couldn't help myself."

With a firm hand on the back of my neck, Isaiah closes the distance. The flames burn hotter, heat growing with every breath, every movement of our lips. My mind turns into a hazy mess, where the only clear thought that remains is Isaiah. The pull and press of his lips against mine, the sheer need that exists between us. We are bodies full of want and need and desire, and we are only each other's. We were only ever meant to be this to each other. Isaiah pulls back instead of pressing further, and I can't help but whine.

He laughs, the sound settling in my heart. "Plenty of time for that."

I'm still a bit hazy, all love drunk and what not, and pull him back for a few more short kisses. When I sit back, I find those beautiful eyes looking at me. I could get lost in them forever—a labyrinth with every shade of the deepest browns. Isaiah slides his hands down my arms until they find purchase on my hips.

The smell of chocolate wafts in the air, and Isaiah taps underneath my chin. "Wanna ride?"

My brows furrow. "To the couch?"

He shrugs. I smile and lift my arms, whipped cream in hand. Isaiah chuckles and cradles me in his arms for the literal ten-foot walk. Who am I kidding? If he wanted to carry me a foot, I'd let him. Anything to feel the familiar touch that I went so long without. Intimacy I never would've found anywhere else.

"Down you go," Isaiah says, purposely sliding me down his body until my feet touch the floor. He begins to unwind his arms, but the song changes, and I tighten mine, keeping him against me. A pure warmth spreads over his features, and my lips curve into a gentle smile.

"Dance with me?" I ask, keeping my hands twined behind his neck.

"Always." Isaiah slips his hands under my sweatshirt to land on my skin and tug me close. Heat emits from his palms, creating pockets of warmth that spread out in waves around my skin.

The apartment is quiet aside from the music, twinkle lights illuminating the space and the city lights through the windows. From here, we can see the moon shining bright in the distant sky. I rest my head on his chest so I can hear his steady heartbeat in my ear.

"I couldn't listen to this song for a long time," I murmur. The last time I heard it was when we were at the bar together. Before then, it was on no playlist, and I never reached for it.

Memories flash in my mind of how often this was the soundtrack of our lives. A song both of our parents played on slow Sunday mornings became ours. In the quiet of our room, when we first learned to drive, road trips to the beach, and every moment in between. It is quintessentially us.

"Me either." Isaiah rests his head on top of mine. "I'm surprised it came on."

I tip my head up so I can look at him. "I added it. I've been making a playlist since you've been back."

"You have?"

To no surprise, I blush. He rubs his thumb over my cheek. "Yeah. I—I wanted to. Every time I would come home or we would do something, there'd be a song I couldn't stop listening to, so I just started adding them." I shrug. "I want to remember exactly how I felt with you."

"When did you add this one?"

"After the carnival."

He smiles. "The kiss, you mean."

"That took place at a carnival."

Isaiah raises a brow, playfully squeezing my waist, causing me to squeal. He kills the space between us, our lips so close, they brush against each other. "The only thing I need to know about that day is that it was the day you kissed me again." The pad of his thumb presses against my bottom lip. "I've kissed you more times than I can count since, yet that kiss, that moment, is embedded in my thoughts."

"It was just a kiss, Isaiah." I say the words, but I know it's not true.

Isaiah gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "No, it wasn't."

There's a knowing look in his eyes as we sway. In my chest, my heart beats a bit faster at his penetrating gaze. For a while now—most of my life if we're being honest—I've had a deep-seated fear of admitting that things might mean something more. If I give people those pieces, an inside look to how deeply I may feel about something, it's like I'm setting myself up for pain or embarrassment.

"You don't have to do that, you know. You never used to be scared with me. I don't want you to be now."

"I'm not scared."

Isaiah raises a brow, and I sigh. Being called out is unsettling. As much as I want him to know me (as he does) and every part of me, that doesn't take away from the sheer vastness that creates in my gut. It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with nothing but gray sky around me.

And it's not that Isaiah is the problem. I want to be fearless with him. But I've guarded myself so closely the past few years, I have to unlearn that.

"I'm not…scared. But I have to—" I exhale. "I have to remember to let my guard down. To remember to breathe when I get too close to the edge."

"Aurora." Isaiah's hands cup my face again, making sure our eyes meet. "Then, let me help. Let me help remind you that you aren't alone. I'm not going to laugh at you for telling me something means something to you. I'm not going to shrug it off or shake my head. I care about you and the things that you care about. All of it. All of you. Not just the parts that you think are acceptable to share. All of it.

"And I want to share it with you. If it's a kiss, a line from a book, a song, a movie, a moment you lived and want to live again. It's not something to be scared of. It's what makes you, you. It's the layers to who you are. And I will never look at anything you share with me with an unkind eye. It's not possible. Because everything about you and everything that you love is beautiful to me, Ro."

Well, shit. What does one do with all of that? Where do I put that? All the love he's just handed me. All the love he hands over on a daily basis. The cup is overflowing, and it's overwhelming. Yet, at the same time, it's like I'm floating. It feels like pure, unadulterated joy—like chasing fireflies on a late summer night or holding a trophy over my head.

Except it's free. Isaiah's love is free.

I haven't had to prove myself a million times to earn it. He loves me.

Isaiah just loves me.

No conditions. No rules. No hoops.

I swallow down the thick emotions choking me, gripping my heart like a vice. There's so much I want to say and so much he's worthy of hearing. "I can't—"

"I don't need you to say anything, Ro."

"You deserve to hear it—"

Isaiah presses a finger over my lips. "You say it whenever you can. You tell me what you need to tell me when you're ready. Telling me now or in a few months doesn't change anything. I love you. I love how nervous you get, even though it's me," he says, smiling with my dimple. "I'll still be here, loving you every second."

My head dramatically drops to his chest, my arms tightening around him. That's all I needed, just for a second, to hold him. To remind myself that he is real.

"How much do you want that hot chocolate?"

"Um—"

"Bedroom, Isaiah."

Light blooms in his eyes, all hesitation gone. "Yes, ma'am."

I squeal as he lifts me up, his arms directly under my butt. His strides eat up the short hallway and enter my dimly lit bedroom. I watch him take in the room, never letting me down. His eyes focus on a few things: the keepsake box on my dresser, his old hoodie hanging from my closet, pictures I've printed out and empty frames, and lastly, the octopi on my bed.

Isaiah gently drops me on the bed, picking up one of the stuffed animals—the one he won me. "I remember this little guy."

"I've slept with it since you showed up at the first game."

A cheeky grin comes over his face as he sets it back down on the pillow, eyes focusing on me again. Slowly, he crawls over me, hands planted on either side of my head. My breath hitches at the fire in his eyes, all directed at me. In my chest, the beat of my heart is so loud, he has to be able to hear it. I trail my hands up and grip the bottom of his shirt, giving it a little tug.

"Not wasting time, I see?"

I shake my head, meeting his eyes. "Not with you. Not anymore."

Isaiah softens and gives me a searingly gentle kiss before rising and reaching back to pull his shirt off. Maybe one day, I'll be used to the ink on his skin, but right now is not that day. With a tender hand, I trail over them as I always do, interrupted only by Isaiah drawing my attention. With only him to focus on, I take in every detail. The slight laugh lines, the dimple fighting to make an appearance, the silver stud in his nose, the tight, tiny curls on his head, every line on his face, and the person beneath it all.

"You're so pretty," I say, the words falling out of their own volition.

He laughs, the sound soft like falling snow, and leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose and then to my lips. Swiftly, he flips us, cradling my knee as he does until I'm straddling him.

"Your turn." Isaiah pulls the hoodie over my head, my curls falling out haphazardly, leaving me in a simple tank top. My senses are on overdrive. I move back, stepping down off the bed, the edge of his sweats in my hands. Meeting my eyes, he gives me a nod, and I tug them off, leaving him in black briefs. Yeah, my breath hitches at the sight, and my heart melts into a warm, heated puddle.

I climb back up, trailing my nails over the outside of his leg, over the ink on his thigh, enjoying the goosebumps that follow in my wake. My eyes narrow in on yet another tattoo I hadn't noticed—a fish bowl with two tiny fish inside.

"You didn't."

Isaiah reaches down, intertwining our fingers. "The fish?" I nod, and I'm given a tiny smile in return. He tugs me upward until my hair cascades around us. "Remember after you first learned how to drive? You had a phase where you wouldn't stop playing that damn Pink Floyd song. I think your mom had made you a CD and that was always one of you guys' favorites. And then after, you would randomly sing or shout the two lost souls lyrics for like a year straight." Isaiah laughs as he tells it, his free hand crawling up my leg to land on my butt. "Every time I heard it, I thought of you. Had to get it."

I grin. "Two lost souls."

Isaiah flips us again, playfully biting at my skin, over my neck and my jaw, his hands tickling my waist. I squeal, trying to get away, only to fail and succumb to his hands. "Okay, please! Isaiah!" He laughs against my stomach, grinning up at me.

Something shifts. The mood deepens from a colorful moment to a hazy red in the blink of an eye. "May I?" he asks, fingers toying with the band of my gym shorts. I nod and watch with bated breath as he tugs them down, making sure to drag his fingertips over the exposed skin as he does.

Isaiah places tender kisses as he rises—over the sensitive skin of my thigh, my hips, and my rib cage. With steady hands, he pulls the tank top up and over my head, leaving me almost fully exposed. My body is a live wire, a chord strung tight that only responds to him. As he crawls up, settling between my hips, I feel him against me, and sparks explode over my skin in a shower of fireworks.

"Gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he whispers against my neck, nipping his way up until he's at my lips. "Are you sure?"

My nails dig into his back, pulling him down onto me, my hips moving of their own accord. "I've been sure, Isaiah. I'm sure of you." I nip his bottom lip, pulling it back as I do. His chest rumbles, his grip on me tightening.

"Now," I whisper against his lips. "Get naked please."

Isaiah laughs and pushes up, pulling his briefs down. A heavy wave of heat settles in between my thighs, traveling up my spine and setting my entire body on fire.

With a confident prowess, he bends, gripping the lace of my underwear. "Your turn." His eyes are dark and gorgeous, a heady focus within as he pulls them down. Unexpectedly, he picks me up roughly, yet so fucking hot, moving me up the bed until my heads on the pillow.

"Someone's impatient."

"Someone has dreamt of this a million times," he whispers on the inside of my thigh before centering himself, tongue sneaking out quickly, yet enough for my breath to catch. "Someone has imagined every single way this could go, and so far, none of them are living up to the real thing."

I squirm, but he firmly takes control, one hand pressing on my hips, the other gripping my thigh. He grins up at me devilishly before dipping his head again. Heat pulses in sporadic waves as he settles in, my eyes fluttering closed as my body is left to his mercy. I reach down to the top of his head, trying to find purchase on anything, even his small, gorgeous curls.

Isaiah has other ideas, his hand moving to catch mine, pressing them into my hips to keep me locked in place. I exhale, a small sound escaping my lips, now fully at his control. His tongue and his lips work in tandem in the most delicious way. Pressure builds, traveling over my hips, over the nerve endings under my skin, and I feel my entire body flush with constant heat. It's undeniable and pleasurable and unbearable all at once. I want to breathe again, but I never want it to stop. And Isaiah doesn't.

Isaiah presses in with his fingers now, all of it too much and still not enough. Up and up and up, he takes me, and I'm not sure I'll ever come down. "Give it up, Ro. I know you want to."

The feeling of his skin on mine, his hands wrapped around my own, is too much. My chest tightens and releases as Isaiah works me through it, elongating the moment and making me feel every blissful second. Stars burst behind my eyelids, and the pressure explodes like fireworks under my skin. Waves of pleasure undulate all over my body.

After what feels like years, Isaiah pulls back, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh again, sending a tiny, residual shockwave down my spine. "Good mamas. Good job."

He kisses a slow tortuous path up to me, the coolness of the thin chain on his neck a contrast to the heat of my skin. After an impatient moment, I tug the chain, pulling him up to my lips. Neither of us says anything. We just let our lips and bodies do the talking. My hands trace the person I've memorized all over again, familiar paths I've relearned and new ones I've discovered. He presses his weight onto me, a hot, constant pressure that I love, that I'm addicted to. His hands roam over my skin in featherlight touches, making my nerves stand at attention, giving me no reprieve from the pulsing heat he just brought to the surface.

I wind my legs around him, encasing him in my hips while my hands hold him to me.

"Let me see you," he whispers against my lips before pulling back just enough to take me in with his eyes.

"Why?" I exhale, brushing my hand down the column of his throat and over this tattooed chest.

"‘Cause I didn't get to for so long. Making up for lost time." He presses quick, playful kisses to my lips. "In more ways than one."

"Shut up," I murmur, pulling him back down, exhaling against his lips.

He tangles his hand in my hair, moving his fingers against my scalp as his tongue leads us together. I trail my hand down until I wrap around him, confirmed by the small grunt that escapes from his lips and the circle of his hips. And we kiss until my brain goes hazy and I have to pull back to breathe. I keep a steady rhythm with my hand, Isaiah letting his head fall forward into the crook of my neck.

Moments later, he unwinds my hand, intertwining our fingers and resting them near my head. "Do you want me to grab a condom?" he asks, his other hand winding my body back up.

I blink, finding my words and shake my head. "I don't if you don't. I'm on birth control. Saw my doctor a few months ago." I smile.

"I'm good. If you're sure."

I press up to kiss him, sucking on his top lip. "I'm sure. Such a sexy conversation."

Isaiah chuckles against my body, a mini shockwave going through it. "It is. Means we can do whatever we want."

My breathing deepens. "I suppose that's true." I tug his thin chain again, pulling him as close as I can get him. "Better get to it then."

Isaiah's eyes twinkle, and he does. Lining us up, Isaiah sinks in, and I exhale, trying to come back down to Earth. But he's got me so high already, I'm not sure Earth is a possibility. I wanted to land on that elusive cloud nine, and I did. Isaiah took me there. Reality is drifting somewhere in the back of my mind, but all I know and all I care about is him. Our hands grip tighter as he pushes one leg upward, effectively connecting us in the deepest way possible. My stomach tightens at the continuous pressure. Slow and steady but firm, building the pressure brick by brick.

Isaiah whispers a million things against my lips, and I can do nothing but follow his rhythm. "Rora," he murmurs against my skin, hand gripping the back of my knee tightly, and my name sounds like a prayer on his lips. I memorize it, lock the sound in a sacred place that belongs to just us. With the firm movement of his hips, I tip my head back, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. Of us. Isaiah adjusts, placing a quick kiss on my knee before sinking back down, intensifying the heat. Fireworks on New Years have nothing on this.

Being with him again, having him again, in my arms, in my body, in my heart, is better than anything else this life has to offer. My heart grows with a love I've never felt before. Not like this. I loved him when we were kids, I loved him when he wasn't here—both don't compare to this. To the connection we have, that he's fostered like a garden since returning. This is deeper, all-encompassing, and life altering. This is what they meant.

The poets I mean.

This has to be what they meant. I'd do anything and everything for him. Would sacrifice myself without a second thought or a wayward glance.

Sparks fly over the surface of my skin, crawling up my spine in tiny explosions as the pressure reaches another peak. He releases my fingers, only to wrap around my throat, his thumb adding just enough pressure there. My brain short circuits.

"Isaiah," I moan against his lips, "more, please. Fuck ." It's the only coherent thought I have.

He smiles against my lips, his teeth nipping and tugging playfully.

"Greedy."

I laugh, which quickly turns into a soft moan as he increases his pressure—the movements—until I'm withering underneath him. Succumbing to the pressure he's built. My nails dig into his back, and his hand gives a gentle squeeze.

"Look at me, Ro," he demands. I blink my eyes open. Isaiah looks like a dream. "I don't want to miss a single second." His hand digs into my curls, tugging enough to sting, and shivers dance down my spine. "I love the way your breath hitches, how your hands tighten. I love the flush on your cheeks," he murmurs, brushing his lips against my cheeks and my nose. "I love the way you feel."

I swallow. A wave of pleasure threatens to drown me.

We share another kiss, sure and solid. He whispers, "You're all mine. You always have been." My heart expands.

I feel the flush of my cheeks, the heat of his skin pressed against mine. The pressure builds and tumbles over the cliff, taking me with it. And he watches me fall apart, works me through it. Fans the flames licking my skin, sending sparks into the air. Every second feels like years as the shockwaves ebb and flow over my skin, washing over me, drowning me in the undeniable feeling of bliss. A tiny grunt escapes his lips, and I know he's right there. Never taking his eyes off me, our hips move together, tiny fireworks still going off, sheer pleasure bubbles still bursting over me, but I watch him, too. I watch him fall apart onto me, his beautiful brown eyes fluttering just so as he lets go, letting me feel all his weight.

Our chests move rapidly against one another, our frantic heartbeats in sync—like they always have been. A sense of bliss, of contentment, wraps around each of us as we come down. Funny because the fall doesn't really feel like one because he's here next to me. Not a figment of my imagination or a nostalgic memory but a real tangible part of my life again. The fall is more of a float—what I imagine laying on a fluffy cloud might feel like.

I practically roll over on top of him and crush our lips together, twining our bodies back into one. Because I can't get enough. A million kisses aren't enough, but I give them to him anyway.

"What was that for?" he asks when I pull back, his hand resting on the nape of my neck.

"For being here. For being you."

Isaiah smiles, pushing my hair out of my face, tracing a finger over my nose and my cheeks. Heat starts to unfurl like petals in the spring the way he looks at me. With so much love in his eyes—a level of love I'm not sure I really ever knew was possible. The euphoria never fades with him, with being seen the way he sees me. The way he takes every version of me: put together, falling apart, or all the others in between. I didn't know until he showed me how much that being seen was a part of being loved. It's all I've ever wanted, to be seen the way he sees me and has always seen me.

"Thank you for seeing me the way you do." I fold my arms over his chest, running my forefinger and thumb over the texture of his necklace.

Isaiah's hand tracks up and down my spine. "You are the sun in my sky, Aurora. I've had the pleasure of knowing you my whole life. Of studying you. I know every part of you, every ray. I couldn't imagine a life where I don't know you."

My heart swells, molding to his words as it always does. I kiss him gently, hoping he feels all the things I'm still scared to say.

"There is no parallel life out there worth living if you're not in it."

I look at him, and I see the rest of my life. In brief flashes, images of us together through the years in technicolor. If life has taught me anything, it's that nothing is perfect; the world won't always be in bright beautiful colors. There are moments where it's going to knock you down and make you wonder if it's worth it to stand up.

And I will never be anything short of grateful for those who've been there for me. Without them, I don't think I ever would've found my footing. But the realization that Isaiah is now a part of that again—back in my life—is like watching a sunrise over the ocean after weeks of rain. Knowing that he's going to be here to catch my fall the next time the world goes gray, that we'll have each other's hand to hold the next time the world turns volatile, is like having a safety net for life.

We might fall. We might cry. We might yell at each other when nothing else seems to be enough. But we'll bounce back up. I'm not scared of him leaving again. There are other fears, self-inflicted ones, but not about him. Because he loves me.

And has proven time and time again that he will love me no matter what. Sometimes, the love and the grace I have for myself is fleeting, but what Isaiah feels for me is not.

If there is one thing to trust, it's that Isaiah Bryant is not going anywhere.

He's going to love me every day for the rest of our lives.