Cocoa and a crush, the Charged edge of a Situationship

Ten minutes. That was how long I had before Liam knocked on the peeling door of my door.

I spun around my tiny, cinderblock dorm room, trying to find the point where cozy intersected with casually available but emotionally guarded. My pulse felt like a frantic hummingbird trapped in my throat. I had just thrown a chunky, cream-colored throw over the pile of clean laundry and jammed three half-read books onto the bookshelf to suggest I was intellectually stimulated, not emotionally unstable.

Hot chocolate? That’s all he’d asked. Not a date. Not a conversation. Just hot chocolate, a shared warmth against the cold, drizzly December night.

I collapsed onto the purple comforter on my bed, the familiar, dizzying rush of Leo-confusion washing over me. This was the curse of the situationship: every moment felt like a loaded question, every simple act, like asking for cocoa, a potential code for something massive.

I thought back to the floor party an hour ago. He was laughing with his friends, draped in that black wool coat that made him look too mature for this place. I was halfway through making my escape when our eyes met across the crowded common room. He detached himself immediately, walking straight toward me.

“Hey, River,” he’d said, his voice a low, familiar rumble that always felt like a private conspiracy. “It’s freezing out. And you look like you need... ummm... about ten pounds of sugar. Hot chocolate in ten?”

The way he’d said hot chocolate made it sound like an invitation to the moon.

“I, uh, yeah. Sure,” I tried to sound cool, but actually feeling like I’d just been yanked back into his orbit after months of drifting away.

Months. That’s how long it had been.

I met him last semester through a common friend who lived on our floor. I didn't even find him THAT attractive. I mean I guess I just wanted something casual at the time. So I had flirted. He didn't flirt back. He was just nice. Or more like charming. So I forgot about it.

Then we ran into each other in the corridor - honestly I was dressed well that day. And he more than showed me that he was into me - with an electric , late-night dorm room make-out session. And then another one just the next week. And another one. It seemed he couldn't get enough of me. But then - silence. End of semester exams. Then, the freeze - all throughout summer.

This semester, he’d start saying "Hi" in the hallway next semester, all casual and friendly, as if we hadn't just used his twin bed to make the room heater useless while it snowed outside. That simple, easy greeting felt like a profound rejection. 

Maybe he doesn't want anyone to see us together, I concluded. Confusion had turned into a defense mechanism. He only wants the dark. So, I’d started walking faster, acting absorbed in my phone, returning his greetings with a clipped, busy nod.

And then, all of a sudden, he remembered me one evening, calling me out of the blue, telling me he was into me, begging me to go out with him. What? I was back in the confused state.

The one date he’d begged for - *“River, please. Wherever you want, just say yes.” - *had been everything I'd never asked for, or imagined. We’d gone to the university's most popular rooftop cafe, he seemed to be literally showing me off to the whole campus. He'd been a gentleman, complimenting me, making me laugh, then walked back to the dorm, arm in arm, season's first snow falling on our hair.

I felt him looking at me even when I wasn't. I had closed my heart, but he had somehow managed to make it feel something again. It was intimate, heartfelt, and devastatingly romantic, and it ended with what could barely qualify as a kiss. I had replayed it in my mind over and over again since, leaving my skin buzzing and my heart believing things that weren't true.

And then, silence. Again. A profound, crushing silence that told me I'd misinterpreted the entire equation.

So yeah, it had been months since the Out-of-This-World Date, the only official one we’d ever had.

Now, the timer was almost up, and I was determined not to feel things again. I looked at the mug I’d chosen for him, the one with the chipped rim that I always use because it feels warm in my hands. I’d added a dusting of cinnamon to the cocoa mix, a detail he once mentioned he liked. Why was I doing these things? Why was I allowing myself to feel this way again?

Why was I looking in the mirror again and again, fixing my mascara, taming my hair?

Knock. Knock.

The sound was sharp, final. I took a single, deep, shaky breath, opening the door and letting the sharp, cold winter air into the room, followed by Liam. He smiled, not the polite hallway smile, but a genuine, slightly nervous smile that reached his eyes.

He stepped inside, shedding his coat and scarf, bringing with him the smell of fresh air and something clean and masculine.

“It’s cozy in here,” he said, his gaze lingering on me for a second too long.

“I make a mean cinnamon cocoa,” I managed, handing him the chipped mug.

We settled onto the couch, the purple comforter separating us, but the air still thick. We talked about the party, a professor, the upcoming break - the usual, safe, surface things. But every time his knee grazed mine, a current arced between us, a reminder of the history they were carefully trying to ignore.

Knock. Knock. Another knock. I opened the door - it was our floor mate Kiaan. "Oh, sorry to disturb you on your date!" he said, looking at the two of us.

"See you tomorrow then!" he had already walked off, by the time I had finished saying, "It is not a date."

I was just rolling my eyes, when Liam replied from behind, "Ouch!" I turned to look at him, confused; my smile faded.

"Is this a date?" I was sheepish, trying not to dream about things I wasn't supposed to. He just smiled, eyes mischievous. I tried to guess the dynamic. With him, it was best to just play along - I had wanted to keep things casual before, and he had always kept them that way.

"If this were a date, we wouldn't be having hot chocolate," I laughed, getting to the desk to place the empty mugs. He walked up behind me and touched my hair, that mischievous smile still reaching up to his eyes.

"What would we be doing then?" he asked, inching closer, touching my lips tenderly. "This?"

My stomach got all sorts of butterflies fluttering at his touch - something I hadn't allowed myself to feel all these months.

He was close enough for me now to see the deep hazel of his eyes. He brought his hands to my waist, cupping it entirely, tightly, pressing me against the wall. I could feel his gaze on me, but I dropped mine.

He brought his lips closer to mine, almost kissing them. I wanted him to go on, more than anything, but I couldn't. I had to protect myself before I was in any deeper. So I broke the silence. "And then what? You'll disappear for months again, right?" I asked, looking up from his lips into his eyes.

I had expected him to take his hands off of my waist and walk away, but instead he wrapped his arms around me. His expression was earnest, completely dropping the casual facade.

“You're right, River, maybe we need to stop doing this,” he said, his voice quiet and intense.

My stomach plummeted. Here it comes. The ‘I just want to be friends’ speech. Or maybe he's with someone? I braced myself, breaking free of his grip, bringing my arms closer to my body, nodding stiffly. “Stop what?”

“This, this dance. The hot-and-cold. The silence after a great night. The hallway thing. I feel like I’ve been driving us off a cliff for six months because I’m too afraid.”

My confusion was back. What was he saying? I walked over to the bed and sat down. “Afraid of what, Liam?”

He walked closer, and sat down on the chair next to me, eliminating the space between us once again, his hazel eyes dark and unwavering. “Terrified of what happens if I admit that the time I spent with you was the most important of my entire life, is all I think about, and that you don't feel the same.”

I was dizzy with feelings. "I..." I didn't even know what to say.

He reached out, cupping my cheek just like he had in his room months ago, but this time, not to walk away and disappear for months.

“I was so obsessed with not messing up our casual thing that I messed up everything. I acted cool when I was panicking because I’m completely gone for you, River. I’m not asking for hot chocolate. I’m asking if you’ll stop acting busy and finally let me take you out again. Properly. For good. Let me see you. Everyday.”

The dam broke. The relief, the overwhelming certainty, was dizzying. All the months of pining and confusion evaporated.

“You’re an idiot, Liam,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes, but a wide, relieved smile curving my lips.

“I know,” he agreed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I’m about to be an even bigger one.” He moved to sit on the bed next to me and grabbed my hand, and with the other, tucked my hair behind my ear.

His lips found mine with a new urgency, a fierce, hungry need that wiped away the cold, the confusion, and the silence. It wasn't the hesitant peck of a first kiss or the desperate grab of a hookup; it was the deep, consuming kiss of two people who had finally found the courage to claim what was already theirs.

His hands moved from my face to my waist, pulling me over the separating cushions and onto his lap. He took off his sweater and unbuttoned mine, placing them on the side of the bed. He kissed my ear, tenderly, then moved to my cheek, then to my neck, and my collarbone. It was so intense that none of our previous make-out sessions compared. What was it about this time? Other than the confession, of course? Maybe it was that he couldnt' help himself. That raw desire...

I took his face in my hands and at a loss for words, hoped he'd just feel that I felt something for him too - something stronger than I had ever felt or expected to feel. The thick wool of his sweater and my soft fleece clashed perfectly, creating a cocoon of intense warmth. He deepened the kiss, his intention clear, his touch certain. All the pent-up tension of the last six months was pouring out, fierce and undeniable.

When he finally pulled back, resting my head against his chest, we were both breathless. The room felt suddenly extra cozy.

“So, was this a date?” he murmured, his thumb tracing my cheekbone, while his other hand played with my hair.

I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his familiar, intoxicating scent. “This...," I smiled, "-- was definitely a date. And more.”

He tightened his arms around me, holding me securely, and it wasn't just a make-out session; it was a cuddle, a confession, and the sweetest, warmest resolution to the long, confusing winter.

#lovestory #firstlove #romance #fiction #shortstory #raunchyreading #DormLife #Situationship #CampusRomance #DecemberNights #YoungLove