It's a feeling we always chase

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

She knew nothing of his internal ponderings, just like he knew none of hers. It was perhaps the fault between them. This inability to truly share what was going on inside. Words could only carry so far before they became constricting. Such a simple word as 'love' could be both sweet and suffocating, beautiful and ugly all at once, but the feeling? That would always be pure. Genuine.

Maea opened her eyes again to look at him, and found his gaze flitting from her eyes and down, to her mouth. Lingering, tangible as a caress, and for a moment she thought he would kiss her. It thrilled her, terrified her, because she didn't deserve kisses from him. Not when she'd stolen one from him, made it ugly and crude and full of anger. How could that ever be forgiven? She certainly couldn't forgive herself for it.

But he didn't kiss her. Didn't even try to; instead he raised the blanket up over them, and pulled her in tight, until her chest was pressing against his and she felt his hard body against her stomach. Again that wave of heat rose up inside, and without meaning to she shuddered, her free arm digging in under him so she could be truly close, without any barriers. His cheek was warm against hers, his arms were warm; he was a furnace, and she might be cold on the surface but it was only skin deep.

"You're warm," she whispered, no more than breath colored with words, voice unsteady. "It feels good." Her eyes fluttered half closed, brushing against his cheek, feather light. Maea's breath was uneven too; she tried to steady it, steady herself, but it was impossible like this. Slowly, almost shyly, she trailed her fingers up his spine, along the back of his neck, to touch his hair. Threading her fingers into it, to feel the coils run through her fingers.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh