Loveseat

"Ooh! Wait. I have agave nectar."

"That sounds good!"

"Mm, no... wait..." Could he hear me? Like, at all? "That'll just make it sweeter."

"Did you not know that already?"

"But then again..." I'm going to go with no, no he couldn't hear me.

He handed me my drink. It was sweet. And bitter. "There's bitters in there, too," he said. Ah.

We sat there on his couch. Or really I sat on his couch and he sat on the chair next to his couch. "Why are you sitting there?" I asked. I didn't think I asked in any kind of, shall we say, "way." I thought I just pretty much asked him. I wasn't mad or anything. I was curious! Seemed weird to me. But he just scowled at me and sipped his... I'm going to say it, terrible drink and didn't say anything for a minute. OK, maybe not terrible, but definitely not what I could call good. But he took the time to try to make me something when I asked for something and so who am I to complain?

We ended up streaming some music on the TV. Talked for a little bit, drank, put on more music, more suggestions. Every time we got up we went back to the same positions; me on the couch, him on the seat. And when it got to be late (kind of) and I told him I had to go he seemed so shocked. "Really?" he asked. "Really?" As if I told him, OK, I'm going to turn into a dog now. "I thought you were staying over."

I mean, I probably would have. I wanted to, I did, earlier in the night. I wanted to sit, and have his arm around me, and stay there with him. In the morning he couldn't made eggs and put agave nectar in them or something, I didn't care. But he was so far away.