He had drank a few beers and was regretting his solitude as he sat in the empty bedroom of a home that was not his. She continued to top off her wine glass in an apartment filled with people who made her feel more distant than ever. The two were bound by a mutual loneliness that was brought on by a town that had let down all of their built up expectations.

Uninhibited minds allowed clumsy fingers to send text messages that would have, under sober circumstances, never been sent. On her way home, she stopped at the corner market after to pick up cigarettes. A few minutes later, he stopped at the same store to purchase condoms. This was not wishful thinking; he knew what would happen in the mix of circumstances of the evening. They fucked twice and spent the remainder to the night fighting the urge to fall comfortably into the familiar contours of each other’s bodies.

In the morning, with the sun peaking through the blinds and spreading patterns of warmth on the bed, they fucked again. It was good. It was always good. If sex were the only thing that mattered in a relationship, their bedroom compatibility would make for a lifetime of beautiful, passionate love. But, it’s not. After wiping the sweat from one another’s face and exchanging comments on how enjoyable the act was, they decided to indulge in a quaint breakfast. Maybe it was the light atmosphere of the place or the blissful, reminiscent thoughts of what had happened in the past ten hours, but the two laughed over coffee and looked into each other’s eyes in a way that made her feel like her soul had found what it had been searching for. Without question, she was falling in love… and she knew it. He, however, was still confused about where his heart lied. If he wasn’t falling in love by now, he never would be… and she knew it.