Flutterstorm

by Sexy Blonde

Book 2: The Aftermath

Surprise second chapter and "incomplete" tag. You're welcome (:

The Aftermath

All things good must come to an end. A statement to which the deep slumber I was in a moment ago is no exception. However, it's not as big of a deal as one may think; I just had the most restful night of sleep I've had in a very long time, and I had it right beside the girl that I may have been looking for my entire life. Nothing is bad about the situation I am in, it has been nearly perfect.

I slowly open my eyes, which quickly adjust to the early morning light, and peer over to the obnoxious clockwork lazing on my dresser. Suddenly, I realize the emptiness my bed holds, and it isn't kind.

Now, I'm awake.

Things normally wouldn't be out of place, except that the analog is ticking its way into 6:30 AM, and Fluttershy doesn't ever wake up this early unless she has pressing or otherwise urgent matters to take care of. And those normally just consist of taking one of my two dogs on a morning walk or feeding them or the cat. Why would she get up early today? It's a Saturday..

I ponder on the thought for a moment before a memory hits me. Not some memory from months or weeks, even days ago, but rather one from about 7 hours ago. A memory of the position I fell asleep in, which is all that my mind sees and focuses on. The only problem with this memory, however, is the lack of a certain pink-haired victim of infatuation being huddled against me in it. Every blanket and pillow on my bed remains in their rightful places, none disturbed by anyone other than me. I notice this as I turn over to my left to see no evidence of any other soul being with me the night before. The next thought-styled realization I come to sours my throat, and pierces my heart without a hint of mercy.

It.. was a dream..

A dream. A figment of one's imagination.. my imagination. I suddenly run through an indescribable mix of emotions as the thought trails its way through my brain, ranging from sadness, to hopelessness, to anger, and back to sadness as my heart hits the bottom of my stomach.

I let my head rest back on my pillow as the worst sinking feeling racks my body. It felt so real, how in the world could my mind have held something so intricately detailed? Yes, I've always liked her a little more than as a friend, but I had no idea that my mind could make wishes on its own and then play them on the Broadway stage that is itself with such direction and purpose. To be completely honest, and extremely simple, I feel like crying. I can feel the tears welling up inside my throat, but I won't let them out. Just being the logical person that I am, I know that it could never do any good anyhow.

Forgetting about the whole situation for long enough to make my body move, I non-chalantly toss my blankets away and force my feet to pick my dragging body up from its perch on the bedside. I stand and give a half-hearted stretch to get the muscles moving, and trudge out of my bedroom to the top of the stairs. From here, I can hear her delicate, nearly silent snoring coming from the guest room, which causes my situation to be all the more painful and causes the feeling of sinking to return with a vengeance. I feel the sudden urge to clasp the shirt fabric over my heart with a grieved hand, but it has been enough of a chore to simply stand up and walk.

I force my feet into motion once more, and make my way down the stairs and into the kitchen to begin on breakfast for one, rather than two.

Deciding that it wouldn't be a fun idea to cook in my current state, I settle my eyes on a box of Pop Tarts that rests in the food cabinet. I pull the box away from its resting place and lift one of the wrapped packages out as if it had a fifty pound weight inside. Setting the package on the counter, I turn to put the box back in the cabinet, but another realization hits me.

Where did I get these? I didn't think I had bought these in months. While the thought of many-month-old Pop Tarts is slightly unappetizing to me, I lack the ability to care about the taste right now, because the one thing that my care is focused on never even occurred. So without too much hesitation, I put the box away and snap into one of the bland toaster pastries before I decide against it.

Hmm.. not bad, I think before my taste buds fully kick in. The taste is definitely strange, but it isn't because of age. I make a beeline back to the cabinet and pull the box down, reading aloud to myself to make sure I wasn't having some kind of sudden-stress hallucination.

"New, pizza flavored?"

Wait.. that's right. It was a promotional thing the company did a while back to experiment with 'wilder' flavors to see how many daredevils would buy the products. I just happened to be one of them. Heck, I can even remember the commercials for them now. At the end where the Pop Tarts guy pops out of the logo, he sports an Italian style moustache and a tall chef's hat.

Not thinking much more of it, I finish the interesting treats and make my way to the back door in a melancholy fashion, shoulders slumped and feet not making it off the ground.

My back door is fairly interesting really, it is of a style popular in the late 80's when this house was built. The frame is made of wood that is painted a bright white to contrast with the walls, which are a bright shade of maroon. Everything inside the four or so inches of framing used to hold the door's being, however, is made of thick glass. There is an exact copy of itself on the left side of it, except this clone is a mere window rather than a door. A back side layout of this sort allows you to see the entirety of my back deck, and to see the gorgeous scenery that is my back yard. Directly in front of my deck is a large oak tree, set off to the left, whose leaves and branches hang down into the view of a treeline 200 or so yards back. The house sits on a downhill slope, so the deck rests about 10 feet off of the ground. The slope continues past the deck all the way to the tree, having its base down another couple feet, so the base of the limbs is right about eye level with the back door. Everything to the right of this is open back yard and treeline.

As I look into the view and take in the morning's warmth, my body suddenly feels very strange, as if it knows something.. terrible.. is about to happen. Before I get too great an opportunity to wonder what it is, Fluttershy startles me half to death by screaming my name at the top of her lungs from the upstairs bedroom. For sake of comparison, think of the tone, stretch, and terror she held when she screamed the word 'avalanche' in Dragonshy.

I jump back out of reflex, my body suddenly running wild with sensory information, and I rush my gaze to the sky where I see..

No.. it can't be..

Sirens begin blaring as if they were right next to me as I see a mushroom cloud jut into the sky, forming a ring of red hellfire on the horizon. Everything begins materializing to white around me..

* * *

"AHH!" I scream briefly as I jerk into consciousness. I sit up in my bed too quickly for my mind to register, and my body retains a fuzziness that keeps me frozen in place as my breathing holds its accelerated pace.

However, this time, I'm not the only one to wake up. Fluttershy jumps from sleep as well, and sits up beside me and places a hand on my chest in an attempt to calm me down.

"Evan. Evan," she tries, as my limbs remain weighted where they are. After a few more repetitions of my name, she effectively has me calmed down enough to think.

That was legitimately scary. It wasn't really all that logical, nor was it horror, but it still managed to frighten me. My thoughts about the night terror end quickly though, due to one important detail of my current being. Wait.. Fluttershy is next to me. In my bed. IT WASN'T A DREAM AFTER ALL!

Sweeping relief replaces all the feelings of terror and stress that filled my body just previously, and I let out a sigh of contentment and utter happiness.

"Evan? What happened? Are you okay?" Fluttershy spoke quite groggily, to say the least, but I feel excited that she legitimately cares, and just as importantly, that last night happened!!

I chuckle softly at the situation I am in, which I nearly thought I'd missed out on, and continue to tell her what happened.

"Nothing major, Shy. Just a night terror." Upon saying this, I realize the manner-less machinery beside me reads 5 AM. "Well, more of a morning terror I guess," I correct myself, "I'll tell you about it in a few hours though, okay?"

She lets a quiet yawn fly by, the adorableness causing a smile to form across my lips, and she replies, "Okay, in a few hours."

At this, we simultaneously lay back down in the positions we are currently in. I put my hands behind my head and lay on them to stare at the ceiling, while Fluttershy lays her head on my chest and keeps her hand and arm over me. The sensation of relief only grows in me as her forehead touches my jaw and comes to rest on it, reminding me of just how real our situation is. With the newfound security I possess now that I'm out of my mind's twisted, sick joke of a creation, I pass out in a matter of seconds.

* * *

The dark absence slowly fades from me as I begin to wake once again. I open my eyes and look to the window across the room, where I see the light of the sun pouring in at a low angle, letting me know that it is still fairly early. I don't even bother to check the clock, my feet and legs are my top priorities at the moment. And they NEED to move.

Speaking of move, I begin to think, Fluttershy and I have moved some. Where is she?

As quickly as my curiosity brings itself forward, it retreats away again as I feel someone stirring behind me. A pair of small kneecaps connect with the backsides of my hamstrings, and I feel a hand on my shoulder and a warm mass against my back. After a quick deduction to two conclusions, I recite them to myself in my head.

Okay. Either I was raped last night and the offender has fallen asleep, or Fluttershy and I are spooning. And I'm little spoon.

Fortunately enough, it's obviously the latter. As Fluttershy stops moving, she releases a drawn out breath and I feel her stomach and chest lose pressure with my back. I do my best to hold completely still to prevent her from waking up, and after a moment or two she seems to be in a deep enough state of rest for me to attempt getting up.

Before I make said attempt, I sense a bar suddenly drop somewhere in my mind. It's my manliness meter taking a dive. The simple fact that I'm little spoon makes me feel less like a man, as much as I hate to be stereotypical like that, but at the same time I don't mind the descent from masculinity. It just happened over sleep time, and I can't complain because it's with Fluttershy. In fact, I may actually prefer this over getting up.

No, I scold myself, if you don't get up now you won't be up until noon. Go downstairs and get breakfast before you try to doze off again.

Taking my own mental advice, I reluctantly turn over a bit and carefully remove Fluttershy's hand from my shoulder, placing it in front of her stomach. Tossing the covers back just enough for me to slide out, I gently put my feet on the floor and rise slowly to prevent the bed springs from creaking too loudly.

I make my way all the way up and erect my back, eliciting a few pleasurable cracks from the center of my spine, and I turn around to look at the girl still sleeping in my bed as I scratch my side and run the free hand through my greasy blonde hair. What I see causes both hands to slowly drop at an instant, and I find myself unable to keep my mouth from becoming slightly ajar before the sight.

If I had never seen beauty before, but had only heard of such a concept, this would be what I imagined. Fluttershy's hands are now within one another, huddled at the center of her chest, which is now rising and falling steadily with her pattern of breathing. The lower half of her body has kept its original sideways position, top knee bent over the lower and touching the bed, while her torso must have rolled over some when I got up, as she is now nearly facing the ceiling with fallen back hair. The thick pink locks are in a light mess, as sleep often causes, but the way they fall across her neck and spill from her head onto my pillow makes her look like an angel whose hair is flowing with a light breeze. To top it all off, her mouth isn't as neutral as the face of sleep should be. There is a light curl to each side of her lips; her mouth is nearly forming a smile.

The amount of gorgeousness focused at such a small epicenter is almost unnerving. I'm not ugly by any means, a lot of girls seem to find me attractive, but I'm definitely no Calvin Klein model. The relationship between these statements, though, is that I have issues seeing any girl as amazing as her deciding to make a move toward me. I have always seen her as the kind of girl to win the "Best All Around" in the senior superlatives section of a yearbook, not the kind to settle for your average social standing high-schooler that was hardly lucky enough to win "Best Smile". Either way, I don't have a doubt that I view Fluttershy through rose-colored glasses in a few ways, and it has to be from liking her as more than a friend for such an amount of time, but I definitely can't complain. I was blessed enough to find her those months back, and I'll be contented with the situation I'm in no matter what I say to try to convince myself otherwise.

I cut my stare away from her form and redirect my focus toward the blankets, which I pull gently to her collar and tuck gently around her neck. The light touches cause her to stir a bit, forcing a toothless smile to morph onto my face, and I turn on my heel as it fades to walk toward the stairwell.

Once my feet hit tile at the bottom floor of my house, the coolness of the gray stone flooring sends shockwaves through my legs. Once the tingling subsides, I make a brisk walk toward the cabinets in the kitchen to begin the search for breakfast.

Wow, I'm really hungry, I think to myself, as it is very unusual for me to be in a state of near starvation right after waking up. Then again, I'm sure I used up quite a bit of energy last night.

I begin to rummage through the cabinets with an involuntarily strong intent. Yes, I'm quite hungry and all of these breakfast items are looking incredible, but I just ate 12 hours ago. I find myself telling myself that myself should probably calm down before myself wakes up someone else's myself. And yes, in those exact words. My mind in the morning is even more of a train wreck than it is in the middle of the night.

After a short pause, my eyes pass over the Bisquick and tiptoe their way over to the waffle iron sitting on the counter; I haven't had waffles in a long time, either. Without even giving my choices a second weigh-in, I yank the box from the cabinet and plug the iron in. Thank goodness there's something besides pizza flavored Pop Tarts.

Upon thinking this, my mind goes back to thinking about the night terror as I quickly move through the steps to make enough waffle mix for three or four of them. I normally only eat two, but I figure I may as well make Fluttershy some breakfast while I'm at it. Gotta be a gentleman where it's due. Anyways, stepping away from that tangent, I begin thinking about the abrupt wake up and sensation of shock that swept from my head down to my feet. About the situation that set the feeling off, and how my body could sense it before waking. I also think about the situation itself, everything that lead up to the 'terror' aspect of the night terror, and what a realistic reaction would have been like in general. With all of this criss-crossing like a spider's web through my mind, I find all of the strands pointing to one realization.

That night terror, like most, was STUPID. The only part of the dream that was even remotely frightening that I can recollect was the absence of Fluttershy, and that was more heart-breaking than it was frightening. I can't stop myself from releasing a drawn out chuckle at how scared I was of something so ridiculous as a mushroom cloud from out of the great blue yonder, and I settle myself and open the now fully heated appliance.

I begin pouring the batter onto the waffle iron, and a high pitched sizzling erupts from its surface. It's honestly one of the best sounds in the world in my opinion, regardless of its resemblance to a choir of snakes, because its pairing with the smell makes the mouth water like Niagra. A light smell of charcoal masked over by sweet flour and egg product which makes me nearly want to jump in the air for the joy that my tastebuds will soon be receiving.

I hold myself back from any aerial displays, and flip the first waffle out of its seat with a spatula and onto a plate. I grab the cup of batter to begin the next, but I hear a faint noise from the stairwell. I pause for a short while, cup in hand over the iron, and a few more noises rattle to my ears in the form of footsteps.

And here she comes.. I think to myself. On cue to the thought, Fluttershy appears at the base of the stairs in the foyer and begins shuffling her way towards the kitchen. She makes it to the center of the entrance to the kitchen, which is about ten feet from where I'm currently standing, and she stops and tilts her head toward the ground as she begins shifting weight between her feet. She stands with one hand over the other in front of her, remaining slightly slouched to let her view the floor easier as her gaze shifts from a tile on her left to a tile on her right. A few seconds of silence let's me know that she's burning to say something, I just don't know what it's going to be.

A good 20 seconds crawl by in relative silence after I sit the cup back on the counter, when finally she speaks what has been trying to get out.

"So, um. It- it wasn't a dream?" she asks as a blush begins to form on her cheeks.

Wow, definitely wasn't expecting that. I fumble with making a response in my mind for a moment or two, some creations ranging from sentences to paragraphs in length, but I eventually settle for the choice that is easiest.

"Sure wasn't," I reply with a hushed and creaky morning voice. The voice isn't even a worry, however, because something odd is happening to me. I feel a cold heat rushing its way toward my face, suddenly making itself comfortable on my cheeks, and before I think that death is upon me, I notice that I am instead blushing.

Along with the rarity that is me blushing comes the audacity of the past several hours hitting me like a freight train. Just as if last night was a part of everyday life, I hadn't thought about it much since my last wake up, and now the thoughts and emotion come rolling over me, further deepening the redness on my face.

I look back toward the counter with a crooked smile, and tilt my eyes back to her to see her face redden even more. This is no doubt due to her noticing my own state of bashfulness. She realizes that I've noticed her face as well, because she now has looked so far down as to let her hair fall into her face. This is a common move by Fluttershy, somewhat equivalent to a child hiding under their blanket when they are too scared- or nervous- to face something and remain unshaking.

Just to tease her a bit to ease the tension, I pull up my own method of silence breakery. "Why are you hiding behind your hair from me Shy?" I ask in a perfectly normal tone, "There's nothing to be afraid of. I mean, yeah I look scary in the morning, but I never knew it was this bad." I make sure to emphasize the word 'this'.

"Oh no, it's not that, it's nothing- really-" she replies in a rushed fashion. She begins to stammer even more through her incoherent thoughts before I wave a hand in the air to hush her and bring her attention back to me.

"Would you like me to make you some waffles?" I ask politely, motioning toward the scalding appliance.

She seems to think about it for a second, before she finally exhales sharply and replies, "Yes, that would be lovely right now."

As I pour the next blob of batter onto the iron from the mixing cup, Fluttershy goes across the kitchen to sit down on one of the two backed bar stools that sit under an extension of the countertop. The extension has three wooden supports under it, giving the image of an actual diner bar, and it is used for the same purpose as one in a diner would serve.

It doesn't take long for the mouth-watering sounds and smells to hit my sensory organs yet again, and as they do so, I can't stop myself from beginning to sing.

Now, it isn't exactly the work that's making me sing so much as it is the fact that I sing nonstop to begin with. I sing when I'm happy, sad, angry, tired, confused, or any other emotion really; as well as when I work, rest, play, and sometimes, even when I sleep. I even go so far as to sing over my Xbox Live headset, to which I often get replies consisting of: "Evan! Focus on the game!" or, "Evan! Sing on your own time, it's getting annoying!" Normal conversation is also unbarred from the list of situations in which I do so, and people that know me normally just wait for it to pass when it occurs.

Even though it's a Saturday, I begin to sing Sunday Morning by Maroon 5; Adam's voice being the one I closest resemble. I pass through the first verses, making sure not to be overly loud, and fade out and resort to humming once I hit the chorus.

At first I begin to think that it went unnoticed, as it normally does because people expect it from me at pretty much all times of the day. Fluttershy manages to confound these thoughts, however, when she shyly points out, "I really like your singing, I always have you know--"

"Thank you. You know, you tell me that all the time. Why so shy about it all of a sudden?" I ask, regardless of the fact that I already know why.

"Well, um- it just, kinda, feels different I guess. After- you know." She stops for a pause and begins twiddling her thumbs.

After a brief silence, I finally add, "-Last night?"

She doesn't really react to my finishing statement, but she manages to look at me with a sheepish smile and nod her head yes.

"So, was it wrong of me to do what I did? In the heat of the moment and all?" I am able to ask with a generally high level of comfort due to my intense extroversion, and as if taken by surprise, she wastes no time in belting out an answer.

"Oh not at all!" she says before gaining a bit of her normal demeanor back and continuing, "I mean, it was really the most right thing your probably could have done." Her cheeks take on a bright rosy shade before continuing. "I- I've just been holding my feelings in for way too long. It really feels good to be able to show them now. Wait, I mean, I can show them now, right? If- if that's okay with you?"

I can't help but giggle giddily at her reply, the fact that she's being so Fluttershy-ish is definitely not helping me hold it back any, and I speak once I'm able to cut it out.

"Well, I guess you can show them now. But! Only because I know the feeling of holding it in so well ever since you came here."

She smiles at this and attempts to hide her face again behind her glistening pink hair. I catch her action out of the corner of my eye, as I had just turned back to the iron, and it inspires me to just sit the spatula down and go sit by her. So, I follow the call of inspiration and do just that.

I take the other bar stool and scoot it to where it is nearly touching hers, and I take her hand and interlock our fingers as I begin to make casual conversation.

"So, you come here often?" I ask in a brief moment of jest.

"Oh ha-ha-ha," she laughs with a smile in complete sarcasm at my corny one-liner.

"You know, that really doesn't answer my question," I reply.

"I find myself here far too much I think. I really should get a hobby, maybe I'll look into taking care of animals!" she states, squeezing my hand.

"Wow, Shy. Wow. So OOC."

"Wait, huh?" she wonders, genuinely confused.

"Heh heh, nothing. Forget I said anything," I retort.

"Well, um, okay," she replies.

I take a second to chuckle at my noticing of her out-of-character reply to my statement, which has begun happening more and more as time has passed. She really has reached a whole new level of comfort with me, and I can't help but appreciate that at it's fullest extent.

I massage her hand with my thumb in the continuing silence, and I decide to actually ask her a legitimate question.

"Fluttershy, have I ever told you just how cute you look in those pajamas?"

Rather than her face playing hide-and-seek in her hair, she giggles and places her free hand over her openly smiling mouth. "Nope- never," she replies as her giggling dies down, "so, um, how much is that- exactly?" Even though her response was a little spaced and she seemed unsure of her words, she moved in toward me as she spoke.

"Quite a bit, actually. It really is," I reply, smiling and moving back a tad out of instinct.

She seems satisfied with that answer, as she smiles genuinely and begins a question of her own. "So, um, did I ever tell you--"

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP- the smoke detector cuts her question off as I facepalm in realization that I had forgotten about the iron in the past few minutes of conversation. I release her hand and rush over to the iron, opening it to reveal a nearly charred waffle sitting in its grooves. In the process, Fluttershy rushes over to the smoke detector with a dish towel and begins fanning it until it finally shuts up.

I begin rubbing the back of my neck out of slight embarrassment, and looking over to her, I follow the mistake with yet another ridiculous one-liner. Don't judge, it's who I am!

"Breakfast- is served?" I state questioningly, shrugging my shoulders and gaining a look that yells 'oops' so I don't have to do it vocally.

While it was stupid, my half-baked sense of humor seems to have her amused, as she tosses the dish towel onto the counter as she walks back and embraces me in a tight hug around my neck. Of course I have no problem returning it, but that doesn't stop me from being slightly confused as to the reasoning behind it.

We release the hug, but do not leave each others' contact: I maintain my hold on her waist, while she slides her hands down my arms to rest at the bends of my elbows. Our stomachs never part.

"Wow, I'm not really that funny am I?" I ask as I stare into her gorgeous aquamarine irises.

"You are, but that's not why I wanted to hug you," she states plainly, seeming to keep her raised comfort level. "It honestly just feels great to be this way after five months of waiting."

While it's obvious that she wasn't intending to do so, her statement puts my heart in my feet as the weight of what I've made her hold out on all this time drops onto it. I can instantly feel my smile fade. While it is amazing getting to know that she really has liked me for this long, conversely, I am almost hating myself for making her wait so long for me to finally man up.

Again, her mental connection with me let's her know what the loss of giddiness is about, and she speaks to me almost in the way a caretaker would to comfort a child.

"I don't mind it at all, you know why? Because it's given the both of us plenty of time to become best friends."

"So now we'll just grow closer and closer, but in a completely different way?" I ask, following her thoughts.

"That's all I can hope for," she finishes quietly with a light blush.

Though a little bit of the falling stillness is still there, my smile halfway returns, and I can say honestly that the happy is outweighing the other feelings I have right now. However, there's another feeling I sense growing inside me that's hardly even a feeling. More of an, urge. It's an urge that I actually know all too well, but have only consented to one other time in the past several months. Now that the urge has just cause to present itself, I can't see any sense in gating it in rather than letting it be free to fulfill the want that it seeks.

"Fluttershy, would it be okay if I- well-" I begin, but am unable to complete the request. So, rather than doing so, I simply pull her body closer into mine and hope that she catches the drift, making sure to be respectful of whether she wants this or not. While there's no doubt in my mind that she does, she's the very essence of kindness, and I plan on showing her the same reverance that she shows me on a daily basis.

Her first answer is her sliding her hands back to my shoulders as she looks down, letting out a muffled hum. "It's more than okay with me, if it's okay with you that is-" is her second reply. It's quiet and comforting, but also eager in it's own 'Fluttershy's natural shyness' type of way.

Of course, being that it's me, those are really all the answers I need. My top two love languages are physical touch and quality time after all, as I had learned in a high school phsycology course, and I've never found anything to be more special than being stuck in the arms of a significant other at a random time of the day. Now that it's with the girl of my dreams, I could easily pick this single moment over a week-long luxury vacation without her.

Well, here it goes. Again, I think in brief reminiscence of the night before.

I slowly lean in and allow my eyes to fall closed, pulling her closer along the way, but stop a mere two inches or less from her face. With my eyes being closed, I can't tell the exact distance, but I know I'm close due to the shortened breath I feel on the lower half of my face.

Five seconds pass by so slowly that it feels like a half a minute or better, but we still remain frozen in place. I don't retreat however, nor do I rush forward. I made the first time happen, so in my mind, it's her turn to make the final call.

Yet another 5 seconds pass, and I feel her breath stop. Wondering what is going on, I begin to open my eyes, but I squeeze them shut again the second her lips finally make contact with mine.

Wow. they don't feel any different than how I remember them.

No other spoken thoughts make it through my head as the kiss continues. I simply think of the comparison of her lips to something beautiful. Something so warm- so unbelievably soft- it feels feels like kissing moist layered-over rose petals that spent a day in the early summer sun.

The feeling that rushes up my spine as my heart hits the top of my head forces a long moan out as it travels upward. I don't normally do this, especially at first contact, but this is the most amazing thing I've ever felt. With this knowledge comes the realization that 90% of the reason this is so amazing is because of who it is with, not what it feels like. Even though, hers are by far the most amazing lips I've ever felt.

As I begin to let my legs rest, I lean back on the counter as Fluttershy pushes herself in closer. The lock continues, and when I finally stop moving back, Fluttershy keeps moving forward to the point that she is now standing on my feet with her toes. Then, without warning, it begins again- the ever so perfect timing that made the whole of those last night's few minutes feel like a mix between having a God-bestowed dream and finally making it to heaven. With every falling away, our lips don't cease to meet again; my top lip falling between her's, her bottom lip falling between mine.

She moves her hands off of my shoulders and locks her arms behind my neck. As we both begin to shutter with little control, the smoke detector goes off again in it's monotonous beeping. Once more, I realize that I STILL had not turned the iron off, nor had I even taken the charred breakfast cake out of its holder. A smell similar to burning cardboard now hits me through the still-flowery smell of Fluttershy's hair, and I move a hand from her waist to turn the dial off on the appliance.

Well, apparently she wasn't even going to have that. Without so much as missing a beat up top, she moves her hand out to meet mine, and places it on the small of her back before returning her arm to the locked position behind my head. In all reality, neither of us cared enough to fix the situation anyway.

After a minute or two of us glued in our loving embrace and the house continuing to fill with smoke, our lips finally meet in a magical unison and fall away like the ending of a drive in movie. For those that have never been to a drive in movie, the ending for some reason always seems like the best part. We each further tighten our hold on one another, and she puts her head into the groove of my jaw as we slowly sway back and forth. As she plants a quick kiss on my neck, I shakily whisper into her ear, "Um, we m-may wanna, you know, get the fire hazard taken care of. Before the- ehem- house, you know, burns down."

She doesn't speak, but releases her hold on me and steps off of my feet before grabbing the dish towel and returning to the smoke detector to fan it off. I grab the spatula and, very carefully, lift the brick from the iron and carry it over to the trashcan.

Oh man. I can't wait to start every day with her.

* * *

As we sit at the bar finishing our breakfast, we don't cease to make plenty of personal conversation between our mouthfuls of waffle. Honestly, things are going more smoothly with her now than things were two nights ago when we were still just best friends. Most, if not all shy girls, would be awkward in these newfound boyfriend situations, but it's become extremely obvious throughout our breakfast convo that Fluttershy is more comfortable with me than she is with some of her own friends.

"So that's what your night terror was really about?" Fluttershy asks after swallowing a small chunk of her breakfast.

"I know right? It was ridiculous!" I exclaim while knifing through a large section of my second breakfast treat.

"So, tell me then, what would you do if that really was to happen?" she quizzes before forking another piece of food into her mouth.

"Well, I would probably use the 10 seconds we would have left to run upstairs, hug you as tightly as possible without hurting you, kiss you as much as I could in the little time we would have left, and tell you that-"

I cut myself off to think as she stops chewing for a moment, swallows, and proceeds to ask, "What would you tell me?"

"Well, 'see you in heaven' or something like that I guess. It would have to be a spur of the moment type thing for me to really know what I would say." As I finish my reply, I pick up the last, rather large piece of my second waffle and pig it down. As I do though, an idea pops into my head that I know won't leave me until I bow to its wishes. Darn brain, I think in mock anger.

"You know, Shy," I begin, "I've been really bored just sitting around the house the last couple of days." Now, don't get the wrong idea, I have a job. A fairly well-paying job for the work that I do. I am payed on commission, so if I make enough money in a two-week period, I will take three or so days off to alleviate the tension that the previous weeks bring forth. "So, I was kind of wondering if you would like to be my date to dinner and a late movie tonight."

At hearing this, her head darts up to nowhere, and her aquamarine eyes look everywhere but mine as she tries to cook up an answer. Before she can finish being the chef to her own thoughts, however, she begins a nervous ramble consisting mostly of 'oh' and 'um'.

Deciding it would be a good idea to not let her get too lost in her search for words, I intervene. Placing a finger up to her lips to stop the flow of syllables, I ask, "Why are you so nervous? You came out with your feelings to me last night, and even kissed me earlier without this much trouble. What's going on?"

She hesitates to answer at first, but after an apparent mental battle with herself, she voices her response. "Well, I guess now would be as good a time as ever to tell you that I've never- really- actually- been on a date before."

I blink at her response, surely managing to look bewildered, but in reality I'm extremely relieved. This means that I'll get to take her on her first date ever!

"Shy, it'll be just like all the other times that we hang out!" I pause for a brief moment before adding the catch, "Except this time you can be open about the way you feel about me. And, in return, I'll do the same for you."

Taking a moment to ponder the situation, she finally nods and says, "Okay then. Yes."

In a very overdramatic fashion, I mouth the word 'yes' and fist pump the air, then return to my original position and facial expression as quickly as it took my fist to sail through the small space of atmosphere beside my head. This elicits a giddy giggle from Fluttershy, who still seems to be amused by my dumb sense of humor, and she stands up from the chair and speaks when her laughing finally docks to language.

"I'm gonna go get a shower now, be back in a bit."

She plants a quick kiss on the top of my head as she walks behind me, and continues through the kitchen and upstairs where I hear the bathroom door shut behind her.

Now that I'm sitting here staring at the wall, I find myself thinking about the night ahead. I'm gonna need to do everything right tonight to make this her best date ever. I mean yeah, it's her only date ever so far, but it's her first one. This date will have a special place in her heart, and will set the bar for the rest of our dates to reach. So then again, I may not wanna make it TOO great.

One more thought manages to enter my head though. One that I've never had a problem with until now, simply because of what the girl does to me. Watch your tongue, Jenkins. You almost spilled the no-no phrase when you were talking about what you should say if your night terror were to come true. 'I love you' is a long way away, I don't care if you love each other already or not. It NEEDS to wait.

Though it may seem far-fetched, it probably would be a disaster were that to come out now. I may just be paranoid over it- we have been super close for the past five months and had feelings for each other all that time after all- but we just now started knowing each others' true feelings. Either way, this isn't something I plan on worrying about right now. I have a call to make.

I'm going to give this girl one of the best times of her life, no matter how much it takes out of me. I'm the new boyfriend, so it's my new responsibility. I knew this day would come again soon, but I could never think of it being with someone this incredible. Heck, it's almost making me nervous just thinking about it. I'm going to make this a memory, for the both of us.

This is going to be fun.

Comments

[demanji]

continuation

[High_Wind]

The story goes on!?

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