When Love Is Bitter (1) NOT CANON (Patreon)

Love is bitter like dark coffee, sits in the stomach in the acidic way that it does, and clings to the back of the tongue until it's brushed away.

I've had coffee made too sweet, cold and undesirable when the warmth leaves it, and more milky white than dark at all;

And still, I wake with it.

—

"I always wish that I liked coffee," Nic's eyes are bright and green like summer foliage.  They light with laughter when I glance down at him. I lean further in my seat next to the diner window, let him tug at my sleeve until he can sniff exaggeratedly at the warm mug between my palms, "You make it look good."

"Get out of my space," I push his head away from my shoulder, ignoring the way his wild bits of soft, short hair curl under my fingers, "eat your pancakes."

"So defensive over your hot bean water," He teases, and I hum, watch his mole spotted neck as he tilts his head. He can carry a conversation all on his own.  He doesn't need coffee. He's always awake, always thrumming with energy and happiness, content without it. "Don't look at me like that, not everyone is an addict like you are."

He quiets for a moment and swipes at his cup of water in front of him, pulls it to his mouth.  His lips are wet when they pull into another wild smile. I want to kiss him but I won't.

I take another sip, and it's warm in my chest.

When love is bitter, it sits on the back of the tongue. Very seldom do I think to brush it away.