you know you should absolutely not be doing this. the voice in the back of your head, the one that tries to be sensible and guide you to good decisions is screaming at you to stop and think about what you're doing. but really it's far too late.

even after agreeing that nothing would happen, everything has been building to this since you got here, and not just the lingering looks on the beach or the careless excuses to touch each other each time you talk. even before you got here, all the late night conversations and facetiming, the occasional chances you've had to be in the same city at the same time. you want this just as badly as you know how horribly it could all end up. more, really, if you're willing to push sanity aside to reach for it.

eventually the chant of want drowns out your conscience, right around the same time that you wind up in his bed.

you've been here before during this trip but strictly to talk, an innocent continuation of what you normally do when you aren't together, even if it only helped to further increase the tension between you. but you're not talking anymore.

everything exploding between you is colored in need, in fire, in finally and please. there's no space for anything but frenzied grabbing and bruising kisses, no room in your brain for anything but the burning all along your skin, each nerve ending catching a spark, rational thoughts pushed aside for feeling. there's hardly time for exploring though you think (no, hope) later.

you exhaust yourselves, falling back to the bed breathless with contented sighs. you laugh softly, not uncomfortably but almost shyly, uncertain in your happiness at how much lighter you suddenly feel without the weight of all those desires on your chest. instead, they're replaced by lips searching over your skin for yours, quieting your nerves, bringing you back to the warmth of this bubble, a bed away from anything in the real world, real concerns, real worries, real reasons this is incredibly foolish, to think even this changes anything.

eventually you fall asleep, your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, a tenderness that would only further confuse you if you were in any state to think anything through.

do you...

propose an idea?

or

panic?

it's almost startling to open your eyes in the morning to discover it was not just a vivid dream, a figment of your imagination after too much sun and sugary drinks, even without any alcohol. you're in his room, but you half expected to find him gone. he's not.

at some point in the night you shifted, laying beside him instead of resting your head against his shoulder, and your smile is immediate as you blink only to find him watching you. you whisper good morning, too afraid to disturb the hush of your shared space. with the morning light streaking through the room you feel more self-conscious then you had the night before, more uncertain. but there's no denying you're still in his bed, still bare beneath the sheets, one of your long legs unconsciously brushing against his. or that his taste is now familiar when you kiss, even if you don't know who initiated it this time.

all you know really is that you don't want it to end.

"you know," you start, practically mumble against his lips, your hands already wandering with a mind of their own suddenly. it's probably not fair, not to yourself but especially not to him, not to offer this suggestion now, not under these circumstances, but it's genuinely the only thought in your head, the only way you can imagine this continuing and you need for it to continue. "this could be a vacation thing. whatever we want, while we're here. and everything goes back to normal when we get home." even as you press the words to his skin you know he's going to agree.

the rest of your days are spent at the beach, laying together in the sand, chasing each other through the surf, exploring and getting lost on both the island and in each other. and you know with an astounding amount of clarity that this was the stupidest idea you've ever had.

there's no going back to "normal" for you.