Presence

Our breathing had finally evened out, but we weren't anywhere near tired.
At least, I known I wasn't.
One of her arms wrapped around my waist, the other one toying with my hair.
Midnight had never been this peaceful.
Her breath tickled the back of my neck, but I didn't mind, because everything was so perfect, it was impossible to notice anything anymore.
A hint of a cello could be heard in the background. I recognized it as my phone and I rose slightly from my lying position. She quickly brought me down again.
"Whoever that is, they can wait." she whispered "Who calls at midnight anyway?"
"Hm..." was my only answer. I was too immersed in the fragrance of her hair and the slightly tickling touches of her fingers around my navel.
The silence around us was, to say the least, awkward. My mind was too full of incoherent thoughts for me to concentrate on anything else. Was I really lying on a bed next to her? No, that doesn't cut it. It's not just that. Had that really... really happened?
"What do you feel for me?" her words made me jump a bit. She hadn't asked do you feel something for me, no, she knew that well.
I felt exposed, and it had nothing to do with my clothes lying on the floor. It was something completely different, I felt as if she had just found a way to read my mind.
I mumbled something incoherent, so nervous I was almost shaking.
She sighed and stared at me with an eyebrow raised.
"You do know I don't swing this way, right?" like a goddamn arrow, those words could have killed me. But I nodded softly, of course I knew.
I was just a game, an experiment, what else could I be? She was just curious. And maybe, just maybe, I was too, because I did get some twisted satisfaction out of it.
"You can leave in the morning. For now, just sleep." she said, then turned her back on me and closed her eyes.
Once her breathing became softer, I rose, the bedsheets sliding down my frame. I would not face my defeat in front of her.
"I'd better get going." I whispered, although I was sure she couldn't hear me.

The way home would be long.
The seat of my motorbike was oddly uncomfortable - I could still feel a ghost of her presence. Even through my scarf, it seemed like the wind could hit the bite marks on my neck, even if I refused to acknowledge them.
The way home would be long indeed.