The Only Happy Ending They'll Ever Need

On the night they had met she had been drunk and close to crying and he had been stoned. They locked eyes across the floor, shared a single dance, and then went immediately to his house.
Their sex had been good; clumsy, drunk, and semi-awkward but still ultimately rewarding.
In the morning, she woke up and glanced at him next to her in the bed to find him already awake, watching her and they shared a small, shy smile. So when she had gotten up to gather her clothes and he had told her to stay, she had.
They didn’t talk much, they didn’t need to.

That first day was spent on the couch, cuddled together under a fleece blanket, watching a gazillion movies. He would whisper cute things in her ear and she’d whisper dirty things in his. They held hands under the blanket and she fell asleep on his chest. He watched her for a while, the steady thump-thump-thump of her heart and her chest rising and falling against his stomach made him feel more comfortable than he ever had. His mind wandered to what the future might hold and when he imagined her in it, he wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

She stayed at his house for a full three days before they decided that she needed to get some of her own clothing, because as much as he would like her to just lounge around naked, she wasn’t having it.
She watched him as he surveyed her tiny bedroom, his steely blue eyes landing on everything in the small space, studying it, and then moving on. After he’d memorized every detail of her the room, his eyes darted from the bed and back to her as he raised his eyebrows. She laughed and tackled him onto the double bed with her elementary kid sheets. After they finished, she pulled on her underwear and danced around the room, stuffing things into a ratty purple backpack. They could’ve talked about anything, they could’ve talked about each other, they could’ve talked about the apocalypse, but they didn’t. She hummed and skipped around the room and he watched, still in the bed with a small smile; they were content to just be with each other.

They picked up on things about each other without needing to ask.
His favorite color is blue. Her favorite food is scrambled eggs and peanut butter toast and changed every other week.
His favorite time of the day is at midnight. When she got nervous, she started fidgeting. His favorite noise in the entire world is her laugh. She can’t fall asleep without him nearby anymore.

Most nights, instead of sleeping, he’d draw shapes on her usually naked belly and murmur unimportant and random things into her ear, sometimes even singing a lullaby. He had every detail of her face memorized but it didn’t stop him from staying up late and just watching.
He would rather spend his day watching her, studying her, memorizing her, than he would doing absolutely anything else.

Ever since the first day they’d spent together, she had found a new favorite place, a place where she’d be happy for the rest of her life: tucked in his arms, her face flat against the left side of his chest.

Her friends didn’t understand their relationship, how they could be together and not talk. She didn’t bother with helping them understand, simply because no matter how well she explained, they wouldn’t understand.
His friends didn’t give a shit, they just wanted to know how often they had sex and the gritty details. He clenched his jaw shut and his blue eyes caught fire. His friends didn’t mention it again.

She is a jealous girl, she had always been. Their first fight -their only fight- had been, of course, a quiet one. He had gotten drunk and pulled a slutty girl onto his lap at a party. She tried to bite her tongue to keep the words back but when he kissed the back of her neck, she didn’t think she could hold back those words. So she left.
He found her the next morning, asleep in a huge tree at the city park. He sat at the bottom of the tree and waited for her to wake up. She started climbing down about an hour later, not exactly surprised that he was waiting for her. She looked up at him with upset eyes. He knew every emotion she was feeling just by looking into those eyes. He pulled her into him and at first she resisted, but when he told her that she was the only girl he’d ever needed so fucking bad, she allowed herself to be pulled in and kissed everywhere.

She didn’t talk about emotions, when they did talk, but it wasn’t hard to read her face and figure out everything she was going through. He quickly figured out how to fix it, or at least take her mind off of it. When she was angry, they had sex. When she was sad, he got to hold her.
He had a temper and she was the only thing that could calm him down. The anger seemed to radiate off of him and she’d slide into his arms and whisper anything she could think of into his ear.

They moved in without each other without really discussing it. All of a sudden, her stuff was at his house and she was helping buy groceries. He never used to want to show any affection because he didn’t see the need but now, whenever they went somewhere, anywhere, he had a hand on her hip or her hand in his. She never was too talkative and being with him made it to where she didn’t feel the need to be speaking all the time. He would rather spend his day watching her, studying her, memorizing her, than he would doing absolutely anything else.

And somewhere, along the way, they fell in love.
She was awkward and he was a man of few words.
They didn’t talk much, they didn’t need to.
They were perfect for each other and that’s all that really matters in the long run.