In His Arms

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short story about falling in love with someone when your relationship with them isn't supposed to be anything serious.

It's also an expression of my opinion that relationships should not have to follow a certain template to be considered "correct" and my frustration with the fact that, unless you're in a cliche arrangement, your personal arrangement will never be considered something of any value and expectations from everyone else to "take the next step" will always linger. It should be about what makes you happy, not what the rule book states is correct.

Before people get the wrong end of the stick, it's told from the point of view of being cuddled whilst he sleeps and the narrator is still awake and deep in thought :)

Submitted: November 24, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 24, 2013



It shouldn’t have, but as he nuzzled his rugged face into the back of my neck, my heart raced.


This wasn’t the arrangement.


A temporary aid to take the edge off the loneliness.

An outlet for basic human needs.

The warmth on the colder nights.


That was the arrangement.



But as the undeniable warmth darted its way through my veins, I knew this couldn’t be the arrangement much longer.


I liked it how it was. We both did. We were friends; that was part of the beauty of it, and we had the perfect level of friendship for it. We weren’t close enough for it to be weird or endangering to our bond, but close enough to allow trust and enough meaning to eliminate feeling cheap.



It was ours, too. A little place no one else knew about that we could go to when we Just. Needed. Someone...

We weren’t breaking any laws and we weren’t hurting anybody, but the secrecy kept it aglow.


We wouldn’t speak for weeks, sometimes even months. But time stood still in this little place, and we’d just pick up where we left off last time.


The simplicity was bliss.


No meeting the parents. No weaving into the social circle. No paranoia, no hurt, no anxiety.

The allowance to retain my personal space played a huge factor in my attraction to the arrangement. I was granted the ability to continue my life exactly the way I liked it without having to miss out on the butterflies.


 It was ideal. Until it felt real.


I thought I’d found a loophole. It was a popular opinion that two people couldn’t toy with intimacy without eventually falling for one another, but I was adamant this was an exception. I knew what I was doing. I had this under control.


I didn’t have this under control.


I realised this the moment I was unable to gather the will power to remove myself from the nook in his arms.


The beauty of the arrangement is that it is what it is. Replacing the freedom with ropes and the warmth with cold would just be transforming the escape into the imprisonment. Were this to become anything more than what it was, it would no longer be what it was, and its unique value would crumble and scatter itself into the mess of the outside world.


I’d come to love it for what it was, but it was no longer what it was because I’d come to love it.


I had fallen into a hole I could not get out of, just as I had fallen into his arms for the hundredth time. And despite everything I had come to realise, I knew I’d fall into them a hundred times more.



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