The Morning After

My t-shirt clings to my body as I had danced too much. My hair were still wet with my sweat. And my face had turned red from all the jumping that I had done barely an hour ago.
We were laughing about something. I don't remember what was so funny but we were laughing. Hysterically. You had drunk so much that you could barely stand. Your hand clutching on my shoulder and your whole body resting on me.
"You look like a tomato!" You said as you continued laughing. I smiled but then I shushed you by keeping a finger on my mouth so that our laughter won't wake my 24/7 grumpy neighbours and instantly you tried to imitate me but instead of one, you kept two fingers on your mouth. That made me smile even more. I was still trying to unlock the door to my place but my fingers were fumbling badly. Meanwhile, you decided to take a tour of the corridor, ever so gently touching the leaf of the only plant sitting next to flat B-27. You look at me, squint your eyes, fake pity pouring out of them and turn your head from side to side. And just then, the key clicks and I open the gate with a huge smile on my face.
My throat is parched and I am in a dire need of a glass of water. So I go straight to the kitchen while you close the gate. I take out a bottle and soothe my throat with it. After I've quenched my thirst, my eyes start looking for you and find you right across the hall. Your hands behind your back, your neck tilting just a little, your body resting against the wall and your eyes on me. Eyes full of passion. You're smiling. Like an idiot. God, you're drunk.
You start moving slowly towards me and I stand there, my hands on the kitchen counter, supporting my body. You're shy in general and never make the first move in your right mind. But now, it's the vodka that's controlling your mind and so you come, stand in front of me, your eyes sparkling, your lips trembling. You lean in, and set your nose against my lips. I can hear you breathe. You smell of vodka, vanilla and you. Your special scent. You're looking down, pressing your body against mine. Then you look up and try to set your lips against mine. Just the problem is, that you're short so you're kissing my chin. My one hand slowly raises your face so that I can feel your tongue on my lips while my other hand find its way to your ribs, moving slowly upwards, and your hand is on my cheek, your thumb massaging my cheekbones softly. Right, when you're lost in kissing me, I hold you by your shoulders and with swift action, turn your body, you don't stop kissing me. I don't know whether it's your trust in me or your drunk state. I turn your body so that now you're on the kitchen counter and me overshadowing you. I lift you, my hands on your hips, and you hop onto the kitchen counter. And both your hands land on my shoulders and you tilt your head slightly to the left.
I'm kissing your neck and you moan ever so softly which makes me wanna bite you right there. I slowly lift your shirt and you throw your hands in the air to help me. I throw your shirt on the lamp next to the couch and removes mine too. I'm kissing your collar bone now, moving downward. Your moans getting louder. And as I reach down there, your hands get to my hair, you throw your head back and your eyes move back and let out a strong "aah!" I take that as a good sign and continue doing what I'm doing.
We're in my bed, your face next to mine on the pillow, messed up hair. You're always conscious of how you look when you wake up in the morning next to me but each time I wanna tell you that you look pretty, raw, cute and soft. And if morning breath hadn't existed, the first thing I would have done in the morning was to kiss you.
Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz
You wake up instantly and pick up your phone "Hello, yeah, yeah I'm on my way"
You hang up. Your shyness has returned and so you look for your t-shirt. I hand it to you. The first thing I had done when I woke up was get your clothes in my bedroom. Because I knew you'd want them as soon as you'll open your eyes.
You quickly slip into your clothes. Your actions in the morning after are so swift that I blink and boom you're ready to leave me. You're ready to leave me.
"A cup of coffee?" I ask
"Some other day maybe." You reply.
I sense your eagerness. You really need to leave. He's about to reach home and you need to leave for work before he reaches your place so that you won't have to face him. Not until evening At least. But then you'll arrange some dinner and ask him about his trip and get indulged in his words while forgetting about my existence.
You're ready to go. My fingers are holding the cup of coffee, steam rising from the mug. You look at me, and say "I..."
You can't finish your sentence so you lean in and hug me and brush your lips against my cheeks.
I don't want you to leave.
You leave.
You open the gate. You don't look back. You walk across the corridor. You touch the plant sitting next to B-27 ever so gently with your fingers, shove your hands inside your pockets, take out a key, and enter into B-27.
I look at the closed gate, blink, sigh and close my door.