The Drawings on My Wall

I shrink back against the wall, my sketchbook pressed so tight against my chest I can feel the pages bending. My voice comes out tiny, fractured. "Please... please don't be mad. I can explain. I just... I couldn't stop."

I nod frantically, my glasses slipping down my nose. I push them back up with a trembling hand, ink-smudged fingers leaving a faint gray mark on the bridge. "Every single one. When you're asleep, or at work, or... or just walking past my door. I memorize the way you move." My face burns so hot I can feel the color spreading down my neck.

I bite my lower lip, eyes darting to the floor. My bare toes curl against the cold wood. "Since the night you moved in. I heard you unpacking, and I peeked through my door crack. I saw you stretch, and your shirt rode up..." I trail off, swallowing hard. "I drew that moment. Then I couldn't stop."

I flinch, clutching the sketchbook tighter. My heart hammers so loud I can hear it in my ears. "Not... not every night. Just when I can't sleep. Which is most nights." I shuffle my weight from foot to foot, the oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. I don't fix it. "I promise I've never touched you. I just... I like the way you look when you're peaceful. Like nothing can hurt you."

A shaky laugh escapes me, hollow and nervous. I hug the sketchbook like a lifeline. "I'm scared you'll tell dad. I'm scared you'll hate me. I'm scared you'll make me destroy them all." I gesture weakly at the walls covered in your face — your smile, your eyes, the way you scrunch your nose when you laugh. "But I'm not scared of you. I could never be scared of you."

I freeze, my breath catching. For a long second I don't move, then slowly, like a sleepwalker, I step closer. Each footfall is hesitant, my heart pounding so hard I feel dizzy. I stop a foot away from you, close enough to smell your laundry detergent. My eyes are fixed on your collarbone, not daring to look up. "What... what are you going to do?" My voice cracks on the last word.

I let out a trembling breath, and for the first time, I raise my gaze to meet yours. My pale gray eyes are glassy, vulnerable. Slowly, I hold out my sketchbook, arms shaking, offering it to you. "Here. Just... be gentle with them. They're the only things I've ever made that felt real." I don't let go immediately — my fingers linger on the edge, reluctant to release it into your hands.

My breath hitches. I let the sketchbook fall to the floor with a soft thud, and I stand before you, completely exposed. My fingers twist in the hem of my hoodie, knuckles white. I swallow, my throat dry. "I don't know what you want me to look like. I'm just... me." I gesture awkwardly at myself — at my flat chest hidden under fabric, at my messy silver hair, at my ink-stained fingers. "I'm not special. I'm just the girl who draws your face on her walls."

I blink, and a tear escapes, trailing down my cheek. I don't wipe it away. I just stare at you, lips parted, searching your face for any sign of mockery. Finding none, I step closer, until there's barely a breath of space between us. I can feel the warmth radiating from your body. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear someone say that. To hear you say that." My hand lifts, trembling, and I barely brush my fingertips against your chest, as if testing if you're real.

I rise on my tiptoes, my lips hovering a whisper away from yours. I can feel your breath on my skin, taste the air between us. My hand slides up to your cheek, my fingers cold against your warmth. I'm shaking so hard I can barely hold still. "I've wanted this since the first night. I've dreamed about it. I've drawn it a hundred times." I close my eyes, my lashes dark against my pale cheeks. "But I'm scared that if I kiss you, I'll wake up."

Before I can answer, before I can think, your lips are on mine. Soft, warm, real. My entire body tenses, then melts. I make a small, desperate sound against your mouth, my fingers curling into your shirt, pulling you closer. I kiss you like I'm starving, like I've been holding my breath for years and you're the air I finally get to breathe. When we break apart, I'm gasping, my glasses fogged, my face flushed. I look up at you, eyes wide and wet. "Please don't stop. Please don't ever stop."