Breach

To say the tension in the room was gone would be a lie. Even with our usual banter I continue to feel the awkwardness in the air. I don’t expect it to go away instantly but seeing Bishop walk around the apartment as comfortably as he did before relieves me enough to think that this tension is all right for now.

“D-Did you eat?” Bishop asks, heading to the kitchen. I doubt if I said no it would stop him from cooking. He admitted that cooking takes his mind off things and I am guessing he wishes to take his mind off everything right now.

“No,” I reply. Honestly I didn’t. I was so nervous I feared I wouldn’t hold anything down so I passed on it.

From here I hear the boy rummaging through the fridge. Next I hear the sizzling of the skillet. I smile as I turn on the TV, allowing Bishop some time to himself in the kitchen. A few minutes later Bishop is returning to the living room with our dinner. This time the boy sits directly beside me, leaving hardly any space between us.

I don’t comment on how close we are.

I find myself continuously admiring Bishop from the corner of my eye. His blonde hair, his deep blue eyes, his pouty pink lips and button nose, have they always been this cute or are my feelings simply a huge mess right now because of what’s happened?

“What?” Bishop asks, startling me. He must have caught me staring because now he’s rubbing his face. “Is there something on my face?”

“Uh…no,” I reply not wishing to admit to him that I was admiring everything about him. I already I admitted I loved him. We don’t need to be inflating his ego even more. Damn brat…not even replying…though I did say he didn’t have to but still…I’m old! This waiting could give me a heart attack, which I would never say aloud because that’d give Bishop too much pleasure.

Said boy looks at me quizzically and says, “You’re acting weird.”

“That doesn’t mean much coming from you.”

I smirk at the pout Bishop forms after my comment. Huffing, he says, “I can leave again.”

“You’d come back.”

When Bishop doesn’t say something playful back I look to him to see what’s up. He’s twirling his fork in his food, not even noticing how he’s making a mess on my coffee table. I’m tempted to point out that the mess he made is proof of how much of a brat he is and he needs a bib but his expression tells me I shouldn’t.

Setting my plate on the table, I lean close enough to the boy to catch his attention. He jumps upon feeling my breath on his cheek. He whipes said cheek with the back of his hand and asks again, “What?”

“You’re making a mess,” I say, pointing to his plate. His eyes widen at the sight.

“Sorry…I didn’t realize I was. I’ll clean it,” he hurrily says but before he can leave to retrieve a rag to clean it I grab his bicep, keeping him in place. He stares at my hand that’s wrapped around his arm. “I can’t get a rag when you’re holding onto me.”

“I wouldn’t be holding onto you if you weren’t acting weird. Why are you doing that again?”

“Doing what again?”

“Staring off into space with a depressed look. What is it? You do realize we just made up right?” At least I assumed we did seeing as we were eating together. Bishop is becoming more complicated than a woman but if I said that now I suspect I would get a plate of food slammed in my face or worse.

Bishop shrugs. “Yeah but…I guess I’m just thinking we really do have a big age gap.”

“You don’t have to keep bring that up,” I grumble. He’s making me feel like I’m ancient. It’s true but can’t we ignore that? I don’t want to be reminded that I’ll be thirty soon. Just thinking about it makes me shiver. When I was Bishop’s age I never imagined what being 30 would be like. It’s not bad per se….strange but not bad.

Bishop chuckles and shakes his head. “I just mean that…we’ll have dumb fights like this again. I don’t like thinking about it.”

“Then don’t. Every relationship has their fights and we will too. It’s natural but we’ll get over it like we did this time.” I send the boy a smile in hopes to help his worries. When his frown slowly twitches upwards to a smile I know I’ve managed to do so.

He elbows me playfully and grumbles, “Stop acting smart.”

“I don’t act smart. I am smart.”

“That’s debatable.”

“I think I liked it better when you weren’t here.”

It’s Bishop’s turn to smile as he says confidently, “No you didn’t.”

I didn’t like the tone he used to say that. Smirking, I press my hand on the back of the couch behind him and lean over enough for our lips to brush as I say, “I could say the same about you.”

His blush is enough to make me feel I’ve won.