Impetuous

I can't sleep. I'm nervous about all the finals, papers and Christmas gifts I'll never have the time to purchase.
My phone vibrates.
"Are you sleeping? Want to watch a movie at my place?"

It's one in the morning. I ponder for half a second, then slip out of bed, throw on a pair of jeans and a warm sweater, don't even bother to prettify my sleepy countenance, and go off in the cold, silent streets.

He has the requisite tiny student apartment, but it's so tidy and stylish, it looks more like a catalogue student apartment. I look around.
"Do you actually live here?"
He laughs.
"Yeah, I do, but since I've been interning and going out quite a lot, I have no food in the fridge to prove it."

I settle on his couch and we start talking. It's a desultory conversation, filled with un-awkward silences and the occasional yawn. We're both tired but I can tell he doesn't want to break off now, because the flow of words feels good. We talk about everything, the way you do when you get to know someone you're attracted to.

The inevitable tension settles in, and it becomes less if, than when one of us will lean in to kiss the other. But as the conversation goes on, there's no hurry. We both know, and we're old enough to enjoy the slowness, the flirtatiousness of this early morning conversation, and the curious feeling that whispering can give to perfectly innocuous words. Every movement feels momentous. Every smile feels like a secret shared. It's pretty much perfect.

And when I fell asleep in his arms, still in my jeans and sweater, it felt like the best impetuous decision I had made in a long time.