I know the sound my tongue makes when it flicks across the dimples at the bottom of his spine and I let my fingers linger on his skin too long.

I've learned so many things but my heart still punches at my chest when hose three words threaten to tumble right out of my mouth.

When he kisses me I gasp and his warm breath fans across my neck. "Do you hide secrets and sounds just for me?"

"Yes," and a moan escapes my mouth just to prove it so. "Aren't you glad I skipped?"

"You're naughty."

"You have no idea," I smirk.

And my mouth runs wet with the taste of him, as his hands run up my back. He carves words into my skin like I need you, I want you, it's you.

You

y

o

u

y

o

u

y

o

u

I stagger back but he swiftly scoops me up into my arms. I feel myself unraveling as he places me ever so gently on the bed.

"Hi," I smile up at him. He just grins back, making my heart flutter.

His finger runs over my hip, tracing a circle where my skin turns milky white. He collapses on top of me, his mouth finding my throat, my shoulder, my neck, my jaw. The hot heat makes my skin weep. He tastes every inch of me, his tongue lapping at the beads of sweat rolling down my body. His hands tug gently at my hair and I groan and he licks a stripe across my waist.

"So many things I would do to you," he moans.

I know that means he won't. Not now, not so soon.

If all I ever know is the curve of his pink bottom lip and the rough wetness of his tongue I'll still die satisfied.

"Do you know what kissing you is like," he asks breathlessly, his eyes glimmering.

"What?"

"My first cigarette. Terrifying and exhilarating all at one."

"Addicting?"

"Very," he chuckles.

My heart scales my chest and my head falls onto his shoulder.

"Can I use your heart as a pillow?"

"I don't know if that'll be comfortable."

"But your heart is mushy."

He just smiles, amused by my quirkiness.

kissing

so fiercely

and so deeply

i lose touch

with reality,

surely

this is a dream

and one day

i'll wake up

maybe he feels

my heart

flutter

under

his lips

and how

i shiver

when our

tongues touch

it's maddening

finding yourself

at a loss for words

but wanting

nothing more

than that

There are crumpled papers in the waste basket by his desk. They look like his creased white sheets, wrinkling under the weight of our bodies.

He has a bookshelf in his room, overflowing with classics and poem anthologies. There are several well organized boxes full of records and a Banksy print above his bed. Everything is well loved and the room smells like warm vanilla sugar and leather.

My place is cramped and untidy, messy to match the inside of my brain.

Outside the window the day dies right before our eyes. He gets up to scribble something down but can't press his pen to the paper, tears suddenly dripping onto the page, the blobs staining the places the ink should.

My heart clenches up like an angry fist, bitter over his mum's cancer and undiscovered talent. Outraged over poets that never get published and stars that burn out. Sad over people who have never known love and people too blind to love those who are different from themselves. People who have nothing yet smile when the sun comes up in the morning and sob happy tears when they have fresh water to drink and ointment to heal wounds.

I consider myself lucky. I can easily stich up my scars and tend to my cuts. I'm even lucky enough to have Zayn, who can heal even the ugliest of wounds.

All too often scars aren't created by knives or scrapes or even touching a hot surface.

They're created because we love too deeply and trust too completely, people who will never love us back.

Human folly, like Icarus flying too close to the sun. We always want more, even when we know the potential dangers.

Hearts are greedy and hearts are hungry.

When we take more than we should we end up starved.

"Letters on paper form words that make up sentences, which in turn become masterpieces and have the power to transform the human heart."

My bones feel weak, I think I'm dissolving into dust, my eyes skimming over the words he wrote.

I love the way you brush through your tangled hair and you catch me staring from the front of the room and I love the way your words fill the empty spaces in my heart. When words are stuck at the back of my throat, you ease them out. I love that my practical side gets thrown out the window and I let myself believe in fate and destiny. I love your flawless white skin and your eyes, the palest shade of emerald I've ever seen and I love you for not letting me get lost in my own lonely thoughts. You send me small smiles and secretive glances and I know I'm falling apart. I don't want to keep us secret because anytime there's space between us it's suffocating and I just want to say...

"Zayn, I won't tell anybody. I promise you. We'll keep it hidden, even if it means-"

"I love you."

My nerves jerk and my heart tumbles, unsure of what to feel.

"Please say something."

I want to, so desperately but my mouth feels dry. It's like there's a swab of cotton blocking the back of my throat and I'm going to choke on these feelings.

"Say you love me too."

The silence is eerie. It frightens me. Why can't you just say it? What are you so afraid of? The air grows thick and heavy, nearly strangling me. It feels like we're continents apart. We're two land masses, drifting.

Who knew silence could be deafening?

"God Harry," he chokes on a sob. "I'm stupid for saying this so soon. What did I expect, for you to fall to your knees and proclaim your unwavering love for me?"

I kiss him slow and delicately and murmur against his lips.

"i need our limbs

to unhurriedly entwine

in a loose embrace

so my words

can get muffled

against your soft skin

and i won't

have to

just say it

but you'll feel it"

I pause to kiss his cheek

"i love you"

his mouth

"i love you"

his jawline

"i love you"

his collarbone

"i love you"

and his warm shoulder

"i love you"