Your eyes move in silent synchronicity as you glance at each other in separation—as one looks up, the other looks away. If not for the wild butterflies trapped in your stomach, you might have found this comical, but not today. She watches you while you stare at your hands, and she wonders if those hands are really as fascinating as you make them out to be. While she wishes you would look at her, she also wishes that she could look back, but she doesn't like to make eye contact.

She doesn't really know what she wants.

You think you do, and so, you look back at her with determination set in your jaw—the jaw she can't help but gawk at when you look away, though she can't say why—you start to move closer to her.

The scenery around you collapses, like the backdrop to a set. The trees fall down, the sky paints itself night, and even the park bench you are sitting on suddenly feels like a cloud, or something insignificant. Because really, it is.

She keeps looking away, but she wills herself at last to look straight on into your eyes, eyes that she has many adjectives to describe, and feels her fingers tingling. Your own hands strain to touch her face, her hands and to hold one for even a moment.

You both have forgotten what you were doing before this moment. All you need is in her eyes, and she only needs you, and she aches for your touch. For one second—the second you forget to breathe—you reach out and touch her bare shoulder, and you feel the raised bumps of a scar that crosses over the three freckles.

A flicker of emotion passes through her eyes, and you feel all self-doubt wash away with the wanting glaze in her irises. Your lips find hers and caress the sensitive skin that has been aching for your touch. Her eyelashes fall closed, and the soft exhale whispers over your skin.

With a sudden rush of anxiety that this moment will never surface again, you press against her and close your eyes, letting all inhibitions float away in the breeze as you feel electricity travel from her lips to yours.

She grapples for you with her hands, running them down your back and then up to your hair, and the places she touches tingles you in a new way you thought you couldn't felt.

And when you pull away, she looks at you and says, "I've wanted this for longer than you should know."

You say nothing, but reach forward and push the stray lock of hair that fell into her eyes back over her ear.