Laughter spills from our lips as they meet. As his lips touch mine. As my tongue seeks and finds his. It rumbles between us, fizzing out of us and filling the space between us with good things.
The spark I felt the first time I saw him comes alive. It explodes into being. A current, a bolt, a force so powerful it knocks the breath out of both of us and makes us jerk apart.
“Is that…? Was that okay?” Connor asks, lips moving cautiously around the words.
Connor, when he’s been kissed, is a knee-knocking sight. A beautiful sight that feels like being kicked in the chest and flung high in the air. It’s the kind of thing that makes my head spin and my body lurch forward.
I grab his face with both hands and pull him roughly toward me.
His mouth is wide open and waiting when our lips meet again. So is mine.
We’re not laughing now.
My tongue thrusts hungrily into his mouth, loosening a long, soft moan that comes from him and then from me. We pass it back and forth between us, holding on to each other and kissing until the world spins and we’re both gasping for air.
Then we kiss some more.
We kiss and kiss and kiss until the spark between us isn’t only between us. It’s in the air, in the blue. It’s in the earth, in the foundation of the building beneath us. It’s all around us. Everywhere.
When we finally break apart, we do so blinking and panting in shock.
I don’t know what he sees in my eyes, but in his I see refuge. I see a safe place. I breathe it in, and when I exhale, Connor turns his head and looks at the horizon. The lines and curves of his profile are lit by a soft golden light, and I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think the light might be coming from him.
I look at him for a beat, imprinting the image into my memory for keeps, and then follow his gaze.
An impressionist and a realist have joined forces. Loose, visible brush strokes play with perfect, controlled ones. Gallons and gallons of paint have been skillfully mixed and splashed in the sky. Hot pink, yolk yellow, and every color in between.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
“Holy shit,” says Connor.
His hand is still in mine, our fingers intertwined tightly. It has a nice weight to it, his hand. A nice meaty thickness that’s unfamiliar in a very familiar way. I sigh and squeeze it, bringing it up to my mouth so I can stamp my lips against his knuckles in silent agreement.
39
Lennon
“Shit,”Imumbleintohis hair. “Do you know what day it is?”
We’re still on the roof, and we’ve been here for so long that I can’t remember when we got here. What day, what week, what year. The only thing I know for sure is that I like kissing Connor, and I like how he feels in my arms.
He’s backed up against the railing, and behind him, I note that the sun has risen well above the horizon. The sky is bright blue, the morning clear and set in. It worries me in a distant sort of way.
“It’s Thursday,” he tells me.
Reality comes rushing at me. “Thursday!? Oh Jesus! I’m late for work.”
Thankfully, work is great. The students are lovely. Anna is lovely. Bev is lovely. Blake is lovely adjacent.
I think I’ve gotten used to working in the housing department because it’s honestly not nearly as bad as it used to be. As far as work goes, it’s not too bad. The only bad thing about it is that time has broken. I don’t think the housing department can be blamed for that, though, so I’m not mad about it. Feels like more of an external issue than an internal one. Probably more of a university-at-large thing than the fault of a particular department.
It’s weird. Time stopped moving completely this morning and then sped up really fast around midday for a while. It’s four p.m. now, and it has been for at least two or three days.
It’s fine. I’m using the time to reread messages Connor has sent me over the past few weeks, and that’s a super worthwhile activity.
“You okay, hun?” Bev asks.
“Oh yes,” I reply, and for the first time in a while, I’m pretty sure I mean it.
