A warm breeze blows through a field of soft, wild grass and splotches of purple flowers. They sway and dance a little in the wind, then come to rest as they were. Conversely, two teenagers sway and dance a little, then sink onto a bed of pre-flattened grass in a manner very much unlike their previous sitting position.

She’d always admired that he never seemed to be lustful. She’d always been perfectly content with holding his hand, or pressing herself to him under the encouragement of his arm settled protectively around her shoulders. She’d never been able to picture him in a slow, passionate frenzy of delicate kisses and careful strokes.

She supposed she ought to memorize the scene while it was happening, then.

She’d always imagined that he would be the type to make every single kiss count, to give every single inch of skin equal attention, but she never could have imagined this. She felt him below her when he was above; she felt him on the left when he was on the right. She only realized when his hands crossed behind her back that she felt him everywhere because he was everywhere; he was in front of her when his arms were behind, and his heart beat in his ribcage when she could have sworn it was beating in hers.

She’d never known what he sounded like when he had everything he wanted right next to him, and he couldn’t enjoy it more. She hadn’t even known a voice like this existed in him, a voice so deep and smooth that it slid through her brain and washed all her other thoughts away. She loved the way he didn’t waste his beautiful breath on the kind of cheap chatter one expects in romance novels. She loved the way he mostly kept silent except to make an occasional comment on the beautiful weather, or the beautiful field, or the beautiful thing in his arms. She almost wished he’d note his own beautiful voice, but decided she’d rather do that herself.

She wondered if her heart would always jump when their lips touched, or if it was only from the initial shock of his change in character. She felt one of her legs twist into one of his, and she wondered if he was trying to root her to the spot, so that he could keep spoiling her with unbelievably soft kisses forever. She wondered how he knew exactly where to put his lips on her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, her nose, to get her face to flush the reddest.

She pressed her hands against his chest like the wall of a cage, and he laughed one deep, smooth, beautiful laugh. She held as still as she could as he sent one hand to catch both of hers, and the other to mould itself perfectly to the side of her face.

She loved the way he whispered “I love you.”

A warm smile invites warm words, but one teenager seems to find hers stuck, caught somewhere in the back of her throat and slowly choking her as she struggles to find the right one to say. The purple flowers and tall grass sigh contently in the wind the way the second teenager does after confessing his passion. Conversely, the first teenager tries her hardest not to splutter out the nonexistent passion that she can’t confess now.

She opened her eyes finally to see a white ceiling turned gray in the dim light of her nightlight.