Near or Far — P Martens

“Come with me,” P whispers.

A soft smile curls over your lips. “You know I can’t.”

It’s early morning, the duvet is over your heads. It’s (usually) moments like these you live for. The ones when the two of you are somewhat half-awake, when the words tumble from your mouths with such ease.

“I want you to.”

P’s arm wraps around your waist, they instantly pull you closer and you begin to realise that for the next two weeks you won’t have this.

They’re taking a trip to the Netherlands, to visit their family they haven’t seen in over a year. They’re going to a small town, the small magical town that they find themselves missing every few months. P misses their dad mostly.

You bring your hand up to P’s face, brushing away a stray eyelash that’s on their cheek. You’re almost tempted to tell them to make a wish until your thumb rests on their face.

“Are you all packed up already?”

“Hm,” P hums with a nod.

You know the answer already, P’s insanely organised. Their mind was already deciding what to pack as soon as they bought their plane ticket. They planned the times they would try calling you when they landed.

“We still have a few hours before you need to leave,” you mumble.

P’s eyes glimmer a little. Their fingertips dance over you skin, it’s a feather-light, intoxicating, you want their hand on the small of your back for eternity.

“There’s a lot we can do in a few hours.” The suggestive tone in P’s voice is evident. Their gaze says it all, the way their eyes scan over you, the adoration for you shines and it’s enough to pull you in.

Enough to crash your lips theirs.

Enough for P to let out a soft moan and roll on top of you.

Enough for them to murmur, “I adore you.”

—

A few hours has turned into one—the same way pecks turned to passionate kisses, the way breathy moans grew louder when hands roamed over exposed skin.

Despite time ticking away, P still made breakfast; they still murmured their warning of, “if something supernatural happens, feel free to call me, love.” And, like always, you give them the same reassuring smile and tell them not to worry.

Their suitcases are by the door, P’s slipping a watch on their wrist, and now being without them seems a bit more real.

“I might actually miss you, P,” you tease, pulling a smile out of them as they glance from their watch to you.

“Might?” they question, taking a step forward towards you. “Only might, darling?”

Their arms circle around your waist, and that feeling of a warm and safe embrace is back. You know how they make you feel, and whilst P’s extremely open with their emotions, there’s some they keep to themselves. The ones that rattle their insides by merely looking at you, the same emotions that make P want to reach out and hold your hand until their palms get sweaty.

The feelings that brew the love confessions on the tip of their tongue. P’s internal battle of whether they’re being too affectionate, too clingy, too much—but every time you’re there to meet them halfway. To match their love and desire. To let them know how what the two of you have is okay to claim and adore.

A chuckle escapes you as your arms go around P too. “A lot,” you answer. “I’ll miss you a lot. And now I’m wondering whether I’d fit in your suitcase so I can come with you.”

P’s hands cup your cheeks. Their eyes study your features as if it’s going to be the last time they’ll see you again; even though they’re going to FaceTime you as soon as they land and get settled.

“You won’t even miss me, I'll be annoying you every day I’m there.”

You blink. “One of these days you’re going to get it, P.”

“Get what?” they question.

“That I’m so madly in love with you that you could never annoy me with your presence.”

The corners of their mouth twitched upwards. “That isn’t entirely true. Yesterday weren’t you frustrated when I—“

Your eyes roll. “Don’t ruin it.”

Admittedly, this is one of your favourite things about them. Their humour that many don’t get to see, the parts of their personality that P keeps hidden away until someone gains enough of them to peel back some layers.

Their warm hands stay on your cheeks and P will do anything not to let go. “I left you something in our room,” they blurt out.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

You’re almost certain that they won’t tell you, but P has a way of being unpredictable. “A sketch. A drawing. I've been working on it for days.”

Your grin widens. “Is it one of those drawings that move?”

P nods. “Of course.”

You know what it is, a kind of statement from P where they’re saying “I’ll be with you even when I’m not here”; the same way they put x’s on the end of their texts. A mark to left to let you know their love for you will never fade.

No matter whether you’re near or far.