"Did you enjoy the steak you had?"
Once again, there was silence. This had been the third time I had tried addressing him and he refused to respond. He was obviously upset; his face was set in a stern expression, and he was clutching the steering wheel extremely tight. He hadn't even been like this until the moment we left the restaurant; during our double-date, everything had been fine. I was becoming irritated with his silence.
He made a left turn into an empty parking lot.
"Hey, where the hell are you going?" I exclaimed with frustration. "If you are just going to ignore me, the least you could do is just take me home."
David parked the car and turned off the engine. He sat there for a moment, before turning to me and asking, "Why wouldn't you let me hold your hand?"
I was taken by surprise. "Wh--what?"
"The entire time during dinner, I kept trying to hold your hand under the table. But you wouldn't let me. At one point you even put your hand on top of the table, and when I tried to hold it there, you got out of it by reaching over and touching Savannah's hair!"
I was literally at a loss of words. "I...I'm sorry...?"
David sighed. "I just want to know why. It's not even that big of a deal, but it was just irritating that you would keep avoiding my hand..."
Honestly, I hadn't even noticed I had been doing it. But now that he pointed it out, I could easily remember me shaking off his grasp numerous times. A pang of guilt hit me in my stomach. "I don't know, I didn't really notice I was doing it...But I've told you before that I don't like public display of attention," I ended with, trying to defend myself.
He chuckled. "Holding hands is considered public display of affection?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, it is a way of showing affection, and if you're doing it in public--"
"If I can't hold hands in public with my girlfriend of five months, then there's a problem," David said sternly, cutting my off.
I looked at him closely. He was leaning against his door, with his head propped up against his hand. He's actually upset about this...?
I took his right hand into my grasp, brought it up to my lips and kissed the top of it.
"I'm sorry," I said solemnly. "I didn't think it was such a big deal to you..." My voice trailed off.
There was silence for a moment before he responded. "I mean, it's not. I just want to be able to hold your hand in public, that's all. Fuck, I don't know why I'm making such a big deal about this."
I kissed his had again and rubbed it against my cheek. "No, it's okay. You're right, really. I'm sorry." I paused for a moment, before adding, "Sometimes I forget how sensitive you really are."
The next moment, his hand was absent from where it had previously been against my face. Puzzled, I looked up. He was now facing me, with the serious expression still on his face. "I am NOT sensitive," he said firmly.
At this, I couldn't help but to laugh. I could see him struggling not to smile, which made me laugh even more.
"It's not funny! I'm not sensitive!"
"Okay, okay! Whatever you say," I said, still smiling menacingly.
At that, he furrowed his brows and slightly pouted as he turned the engine on. While he pulled out of the parking lot, I inwardly continued to chuckle, and started remembering that this was one of the very reasons I had fallen for this boy. But I reminded myself that if I had any intentions of keeping him, I have to be warm and attentive to every last one of his needs.
Because the simple fact is: guys are sensitive, too.
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