His skin smelled like coffee. His hair was rough, yet soft under my fingers. His stubble pressed against my cheek. His strong chest was pressed against my back. His ankles crossed over mine down the length of the bed. One strong arm was curled around my waist protectively, while the other was lifted so that a calloused fingertip could capture a tear that slid from my eye. His own emerald eyes were filled with tears as well, in reaction to my own.

His coffee scent enveloped me comfortingly. They say that your sense of smell is linked directly to your memory. I believed that in this moment. I could remember every single medium drip ordered, every single cookie shared, every single kiss stolen, every single 'I love you' whispered. I could remember every single moment we shared.

His hair curled loosely around my fingers as I held onto them as if holding him in place. Don't leave me, my hands said. I need you right now. I couldn't live without him. I couldn't breathe without him. It was every clich� in the book, but it was true. He was the best thing that ever happened to me.

The roughness of his cheek against mine only made him more real to me. It was familiar and wonderful. It was a sign that he wasn't perfect—to anyone but me. His so called 'flaws' made him even more unbelievable. That the idea of 'perfect' itself was completely imperfect. The way he refused to wake up before nine on the weekends, or the way he tended to miss the last step on the back staircase, because it had one more than the front. Even when he got angry about little things, it just made me love him more.

I could feel his heart beating through the thin fabrics of our shirts, strong and sure of who he was. He might as well have my heart in there as well. It was his as much as mine. I could feel his chest expand and contract as he breathed, each breath a little ragged with confusion at my sudden burst of emotion.

His socked ankle against mine made me want to cry even harder. There was something so strangely loving about the feeling. So comforting, so simple. I couldn't bring myself to move, in fear that his leg would break away from mine. I needed the comfort that came from that. It was helping keep me grounded.

His arm flexed around my torso, holding on as if I was about to get up and walk away. This was another simple thing that blew my mind. His thumb stroked my ribcage, and a new flow of tears poured down my face. I just didn't get it. What was this?

"Kurt, what is it? What's wrong?" His voice cracked, and I hiccuped on my tears, turning around in his hold to lay my head against his shoulder. I gripped the fabric of his shirt so tightly that the fabric nearly ripped.

"I... I just..." I chocked on my words, not really sure of how to explain what I was feeling. Especially since I didn't understand it myself. "I—I don't, I c-can't..."

"Shhh," he attempted to soothe me, though he was just as confused as I was. I could tell.

"I just love you so much," I gasped. Was that what this was? Love?

I knew I loved him already, but I wasn't prepared for how purely intense it could be. My chest almost hurt with the amount of emotion that was flooding through it. I was starting to feel light headed.

"Breathe, Kurt," he reminded me, and I complied, drawing in a ragged breath. It helped a little, but I was still drowning. Drowning in a sea of barely-understood emotion.

"I know," his voice cracked again, and his hands smoothed up and down my back. "I know."

So this is love.