Tell Me What To Name This Thing

Perhaps it was the way he draped his long arms around my shoulders that made me restless the whole night. Nothing has changed. It was as if I were back eight years ago, sharing my last dance with him. Only this time, I had more questions. How his stares began to deepen and linger. How he comes to me, to place a hand on my waist and whisper if I was enjoying the night. Or if I wanted more wine. I was sinking. Deeper. And I was not sure if I wanted to climb out the hole I was digging for myself. Again.

Before I left he came from behind, his breath crawling on the side of my cheek, my chest laboring for more air. And I remembered how he pulled me in for a dance a long time ago. Eight years ago he was breathing against my neck, and I dropped my hands from his shoulders to his arms, his fingers tracing my bare back up and down, down to the hem of the deep blue gown just below my waist. We swayed a little. He kept his hands on my waist – sometimes going up my back. “Thank you,” he said, and I smiled and asked what he was saying his thanks for. But he only answered me with his crazy grin, before moving closer, his nose brushing against my cheek.

Time was an ocean, and eight years later, I was still waiting for him to say more, but he only rubbed my shoulders with his warm hands before I felt him press his lips against my hair. 

P.S. Another flash fic to keep my mind off things for a while.