Everything.

I suppose leaving home doesn't seem that much of an event.
Until the move in date is next week.
And you're suddenly unsure if all the duvets you bought in a flurry of an event sale at the store will fit the new bed.
Not to mention if you can risk just piling up your clothes in your car boot, or whether to use an actual suitcase.
But you still sit there.
Half upright in bed.
Covers tucked into your armpits.
Cup of cooling tea resting against the palms of your hands.
And a lovers touch at your back.
And you can't help but think.
This is Me.
I'm an adult.
No more nights when your little sister comes barging in at 10pm and spouting some nonsense off at speeds that if you were actually listening you couldn't make out anyway.
And No more nights of your brother answering his phone with a grunt and half a grumbled sentence later it's shuffling and heavy footsteps down the stairs and out the front door.
But a part of you regards those moments fondly.
The parts you'd never change.
Suddenly your room looks bigger.
Harsher.
And you realise that it won't be your room forever.
No matter what your parents say.
Sure.
A year.
Maybe two.
Your posters will still be marking the walls.
And the crap you didn't want piled up and littering the shelves.
But not forever.

Suddenly you're swinging your legs out.
The cold air brushing up your thighs.
The hand on your back has shifted.
Dipped lower.
And onto the mattress.
Suddenly it's all springs and movement before a warm body is pressed against yours.
Fitting you in between the muscles of another's thighs.
You lean back.
Savouring the warmth.
Hands take the cup.
Place it on the bedside table.
Then come back.
Tracing idle patterns over stomach muscles under the sheets.
You smile.
It tickles.
But it's soothing what seems to be a rather irrational fear.
Lips press against your neck.
Warm breath ghosts your ears.
And as quick as it came it's gone.
The chin pressed into the junction of your collarbone.
Breath greeting the top of your shoulder.
And the slight scratch of the unshaven jaw catches along your skin with each inhale.

You could sit there for hours.
It's your haven.
But for now you grant yourself a swift press of lips to a temple.
And suddenly your standing.
Laughing as hands still grasp for you.
You pull on the jeans and slightly rumpled t-shirt.
So carelessly dropped on the floor the previous night.
The rest of your clothes are sat in one corner.
Fresh smelling.
And pressed into perfect squares.
Ready to be moved.
You've somehow managed to sneak and entire wardrobe and chest of drawers into last weeks washing.
You'll have the cleanest clothes out of the four of you moving.

Somewhere in the back of your head you've decided because all of your clothes are clean and pressed and you have bought a new pack of scented hangers.
Lavender.
Apparently calming.
And clean smelling.
That you get the bedroom with the biggest space for clothes.
And for shoving the stuff you can't put away neatly into.

You walk on over to your trainers.
Feet already encased within pac-man socks.
Shoving your feet inside each one.
Wiggling left and right.
Up and down.
Before expelling air and reaching down to pull the back of them up.
And wriggling your toes once seated comfortably.

You turn around.
And can't help but notice that the thighs which were previously pressed against you are now also clothed.
So is the chest.
And the hands are reaching back to ruffle soft hair.
Then down along the jaw catching on the shadow.

There's a stirring just below your stomach.
You can't help it.
It always happens watching them.
You tear your eyes away.
Grasping for the suitcase that lay against the wall.
And laying it down flat, you kneel and zip open the front.

Suddenly you don't know where to start.
T-shirts?
Towels?
What about your blankets?
Coloured cotton bursts into your vision.
T-shirts.
Two piles at the top.
Check.
Jeans.
Another two piles.
Check.
Towels.
Folded tightly and underneath the jeans.
Check.
Shoes.
In a separate bag. Not needed in the suitcase.
However slippers are another matter so.
Check.
Underwear.
Currently being manhandled.
Now being placed into the pockets of the suitcase.
Check.

Soon you're grateful for the lists you've made three weeks ago.
And after everything is boxed up and packed away.
You look around.
The room looks bare.
Only the odd pieces reminding you of who's room it is.
You sigh.
Shake you head.
And turn.
To be met by solid pectorals.
And a t-shirt that smells of the diesel aftershave you favour.
You bury in further.
Hands clench around the hem of the shirt.
Whilst the larger ones wrap themselves around your waist.
Thumbs circling the dimples in your back.
You sway a little.
Lips touch your forehead and pull away.
You've wasted too much time here.
It's time to go.

One hand grabs onto the suitcase handle.
The other grips a bag strap off the floor and slings it over a broad shoulder.
Following the bag strap are the keys to the new flat.
And the car.
They're loosely clenched between fingers.

You watch as the body moves itself to your door.
Pressing it open and managing to both manoeuvre the bag and suitcase out and down the stairs.
You grab one of the clear boxes.
It's light.
Bedding.
You put it down and place another on top.
This one is the majority of your DVD's and your books.
It's heavier.
But manageable.
You slowly advance down the stairs.
Head tilted around and down.
Counting each step in your head.
Knowing that you're safe when you count fourteen.
And you pad along to the front door.
Place the boxes down.
And turn.
Heading back up the stairs for the other boxes.
The sound of a front door opening and wheels rolling out heading up with you.
A car boot opens.
And then there's quiet.
And footsteps back into the house.
Something is picked up and before you know it they're back upstairs with you.
Picking up the last two boxes from your bedroom floor.
You lead this time.
Playing tetris in the car boot with the numerous bags and boxes.
Before they both fit.
And the door closes.

Suddenly you face them.
Your eyes a little too bright.
And your throat a little too dry.
And you don't want to cry.
But the lump in your chest is rising.
And you can feel yourself getting hotter.
You shut your eyes.
You will not cry.
You will not cry.
That's when lips press against yours.

And suddenly it's okay to cry.
Because thumbs rub away the tears before they've reached the apples of your cheeks.
And lips press harder against yours.
And they move.
And tell you everything will be okay.
And you believe them.
Because they've got their forehead against yours.
And you're breathing in each other.
And you can't help but think.
They're right.

You break apart.
One hand is brushed along your cheek.
Through your hair to the back of your neck.
And there's a slight squeeze.
Before the cold air rushes in.
And you suddenly wish you hadn't packed your favourite jumper.
But you're getting into the car now.
Buckling yourself into the seat.
And running through the lists in your head.

Somewhere down the roads you're mind is churning.
Somehow you still can't quite believe it.
You are leaving your home.
The one place that sheltered you for so many years.
Seen you through your dark days.
And your light.
And now it's being left behind.
But it's okay.
You're growing up.
Everyone does.
And even though there's a sense of loss within you.
There's a sense of pride.
And slowly you stop thinking of things you may need and didn't bring.
Because you've realised that all you need is with you.
You have everything here.
You glance across at the drivers seat.
And the body that's shifting lanes and gears.
With those eyes that are glancing at you.
And familiar lips wearing a muted smile.
Yes.
You have everything you need in this car.
Everything.