Waiting For Sunday

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{twenty-seven}

If I don’t do this now, I never will. I need to do it. If I don’t say something now, then I’ll be seeing them both and I just can’t do that.

Looking to him, his warm and gentle smile melts me and makes this so much harder to do.

“Listen, I need to ask—, no talk to you about something,”

“Ok, sounds ominous,” he chuckles. I laugh a little with him, my fingers lacing together, my left knee bouncing.

“Sunday?”

“Listen,” I begin, standing from my seat, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, for a few days actually, and well— jeez is it hot in here?”

“Sunday, it’s not hot in here, if anything it’s a little cold,”

“Right—, yes, you’re right,” I stutter, my eyes looking anywhere but at his face.

Sitting down, I fumble with the hem of my shirt and finally with a deep breath I look up to him.

“I just want to say, that I care about you, a lot, a hell of a lot actually,”

“I care about you,” he smiles, moving from the chair and sitting down beside me, his body facing towards me, pulling my clammy hands into his.

“And that’s the reason why I’m talking to you now,”

“Jesus Sunday just spit it out,”

“I care about you,”

“You said that already,”

“And that’s why I can’t be with you,”

“Wait— what?” His brows furrow, releasing my hands just as quickly as he’d held them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s just that well— I meant it when I said I cared about you, because I do, I really do,”

“If you say you care about me again, I swear to god Sunday,”

“Ok—ok, I’m sorry, but it’s true,” I plead.

“So, you chose him,”

I nod, looking towards the floor. Silence cocooning us as we sit, neither looking at the other.

“Did I do something wrong?” He murmurs, my heart breaking at his voice.

“No— god no, not at all, it’s just—, well, I’d never expected this to happen, and as much as I want to be with you, I just can’t do it the way you’d want me too and I don’t want to ask this, as if I’m purposely trying to rub salt into the wound, but I hoping, well— I hoped that we’d still be adult enough to be friends,”

His eyes look to me, sadness pooling along his lash line, “Even if I can’t have you the way I want you, and believe me, I want you more than you’ll ever know, if all I’ll have is your friendship, then I’ll consider myself lucky,” he says, his voice holding back a tremor.

“I’m so sorry,”

“No,” he sniffs, “You don’t need to be sorry,”

I feel the tears beginning to sting my own eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. I’d never done this before, but I knew he wasn’t the only one hurting. His arms wrap around me, pulling me into his hard chest, but his body soft as we sit back against the couch, his aftershave still lingering in the fibres of his t-shirt.

“Sunday?”

“Mhmm?”

“Why him?”

I frown, cocking a brow before I shift slightly, “If I knew why, I’d tell you, but honestly I don’t even know,” I answer, “I don’t even know how to explain it,”

His head nods, his lips pressing against my hair. After a few minutes, he sits forward and my body automatically follows.

“Have you told him?”

“I have,”

“And what did he say about me?”

“He said that if we were still friends, that he’d want you both to be friends too,”

“Really?”

“Yes,”

Better to keep that answer short and sweet.

I eventually stand, walking towards the door, scooping my coat and bag from the stand, and pull my coat on, hanging my bag on my shoulder, and smile softly when I feel his hands pull me back towards him.

“Thank you for telling me,” he soothes, “Can’t say it didn’t hurt like a bitch, but I’m glad you were honest with me. Maybe if I’d have done that you’d have chosen me instead,” he smiles, his lips curling softly at the corner.

“Maybe,” I say, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek. He pulls me back in, breathing in deeply but let's go.

“See you soon?”

“Definitely,” I smile back, my hand cupping his cheek. He leans into it, breaking my heart all over again as I watch his eyes gloss over but he gestures his head silently asking me to go before he bursts into tears. I nod, turning and walking out, closing the door to his apartment behind me.


Pushing myself from the wall of the elevator, I pad towards the door of the man I’d chosen, and as I rap my knuckles against the dark wood of the door, I jump a little as it swings open.

“Hi,”

“Hey,” I reply, walking in as he closes the door behind me.

“So? How'd it go?”

“Better than I thought, but— I still feel shit,”

“Did he still want to be friends,”

I nod as I begin to toe-off my shoes, pulling at my coat and draping it over the chair by the door, dropping my bag to the floor. Arms wrap around me, a gentle kiss planting against my hair.

“I’m sorry,”

“You don’t need to apologise, you didn’t do anything,”

“I know, and I feel awful for saying this, but I’m kinda glad you chose me,”

“You don’t need to feel awful about that,”

“You sure?” He asks, his hands cupping my cheeks, his lips softly pressing against my own.

“Thank you,”

“For what?”

“For choosing me,”

I smile, exhaling a soft exhale through my nose as I look up to the eyes I love so much. His head dips low, lips pressing gently against my own again and arms wrapping around me, fingers trailing down to the backs of my thighs and scooping me up, my legs wrapping around his waist.

“I missed you,” he murmurs between kisses.

“I missed you too,” I whisper back, opening my mouth, letting him inside. As his tongue massages against my own, a small moan escapes me, his fingers digging deeper into my thighs.

“Sunday—,”

“Mhmm,”

“Would you do that thing I like?” he chuckles, his forehead pressed against my own.

“Depends,”

“On what,” he chuckles again as he kisses me again.

“It all depends if you’ll do that thing I like,”

“You don’t mean—,”

“I already told you Oliver, you’re not putting it there,”

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