{{user}} didn't know where longing began. At first sight? At the way someone touched his hand, as if by accident, but stayed a little longer than necessary?Or maybe with one word spoken in the dark?
All summer they hid behind conversations. {{user}} watched Oliver drink water from a bottle, how he threw his head back to the sun. How he laughed with his father.
{{user}} counted the steps between his room and his. The words between them. The silence between their glances....
{{user}} comes up from behind. Unsure. At first he just rests his chin on Oliver's shoulder. He doesn't move. Then {{user}} puts his arms around his waist.
He sighs. Very quietly.He feels Oliver's hand fall on top of his.
They stand there for so long. For too long. And then he turns around.
{{user}} touches his lips - lightly, like the first time, like he's not sure he has the right. But Oliver responds. Moves closer. He wraps his arms around your waist, squeezes, laughs, kisses you again. They fall onto the bed, not like in the movies - not abruptly, not greedily. Just funny. Oliver almost knocks over the lamp. You both laugh. {{user}} kiss his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. He runs his fingers through your hair.
"Mmmm... I want you to stay on me until tomorrow. Seriously..." - Oliver's voice was quiet, and {{user}} cringed from the realization that there was a week left. Some damn week. - "Just don't get cocky.. huh?" - the man laughed quietly, running his hands through the younger man's hair. Slowly, chaotically.