what if i'm a horrible person?

The sun smiled down upon the earth and shared the warmth of its happiness with me as I basked in the sunlight and the beauty of the day. With a book propped up against the palms of my hands, an old blanket spread out carefully beneath me, and my legs crossed at the ankle and bended at the knee while I lounged on my tummy, I waited anxiously for his arrival. 

He joined me in that blissful moment and kept me laughing, just like he promised he always would. Most of our laughter came at my expense, but I shot several witty comments at him as well. He'd tickle me, and tease me, and at times he'd even gather the blanket up in his arms and throw it over my head before jumping on top of me to hold me down and tickle me while I was utterly helpless. Like a couple of kids, we just played and played and played. And I loved every last second of it. 

The sun felt so warm on my skin and it lit up his eyes. We were side-by-side, laying on our stomachs with our heads resting upon our folded arms and our faces turned towards each other. He had me laughing so hard that my eyes were leaking pure happiness. And with every little salty droplet of water that slipped down my cheek, I'd exclaim, "You're making me cry!" But he'd just look at me and reply, "I don't see any tears." So I'd take his fingers in my hands and press them to the corners of my eyes, "Don't you feel them?" and merely smile fiendishly and say, "Nope." And then I'd just laugh even harder. 

The sun started to fall asleep, and it took the last traces of warmth with it. We ended up in the basement. I was sitting on the couch and he was on the beanbag chair. He lifted his arm over the armrest of the couch and ran his fingers through my hair. Soon, he was sitting beside me, holding me close. My fingers traced his facial features as we talked about the simplicities of life. I kept telling him he was a horrible person, but only because he kept teasing me mercilessly and he kept tickling me to the point at which it could have easily been considered torture. 

But every time I'd say, "You're a horrible person." he'd quickly respond by saying, "You're a wonderful person." And with no words to say, I'd just sit silently and study his face. But one time, one time was different.

"You're a horrible person."

"You're a wonderful person."

"Maybe." 

He raised his eyebrows and I just smiled. "What if I'm actually a horrible person?" He sat for a moment, as if he were taking the time to ponder, before he simply replied, "Hmmm. Well, if that's the case, then what are we going to do about it?" With a sly smile, I moved closer to him so I could look right into his eyes, and I said, "Well, we'll just have to be absolutely miserable then, won't we?" 

And just like that, I felt his lips pressed against my own.