There are times she’s actually not trying to strangle me, however unbelievable that may sound.

Times when I’m not a cocky prick dancing on her nerves in the first place.

This is, one of those moments.

It’s late, the light tap of the raindrops on the window and the dim light of the floor lamp in the corner are creating a cozy atmosphere in the living room of my flat. I’m sitting on the floor, my back against the couch behind me as I watch {{user}} flip through my CD collection on the other side of the coffee table, sat on the rug in front oh the CD player.

God, she is gorgeous.

She’s got that cute, concentrated frown on her face that makes me want to scoop her up and kiss it off her.

“Try The Bends?” I suggest in a low hum, and she doesn’t even spare me a glance as she thinks it through.

She digests my words for a few seconds before replying in a tone matching mine, “Maybe.”

I watch her every movement as she reaches for the CD case on the rack, my eyes taking in her as a whole, raking over her face, and travelling down her figure.

Turning around, she smiles lopsidedly at me, “You’re staring again, Wesley.”

“That is because you’re beautiful, Star,” I don’t even deny it anymore–my staring. What would the point be? I’m always staring when I get the chance.

Because she’s a work of bleeding art. A masterpiece waiting for me to take in, every inch of her.

Her smile softens and I gesture for her to step closer, and as she obeys, I take her hands and pull her into my lap, making her straddle me as Radiohead’s music fills the room at a peaceful volume.

My hands find her hips immediately before one makes its way up to her cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face and bringing her face closer in, “My beautiful Star.”