So he looks at me again, speechless,
shaking his head.
“Andrew—it’s okay,” I tell him.
His face falls into the curve of my neck,
burying himself there.
His chest rising. Falling.
Falling again.
I tuck him into his boxers and pull him closer,
my fingers buried in his hair.
His body sighs into me. I sigh into him.
Neither of us move. Neither of us speak.
His head stays buried in my neck.
We’re nothing but breaths. Pulses. Puddles.
And then—a piano.
It’s pouring in from the bookstore speakers.
The moment exhales us,
throwing us back into reality.
Whether we were ready or not.
And it feels like both centuries and seconds passed us by. Like we stepped through a portal and don’t know the minute or the hour.
When he lifts his head, he drops it to mine.
Still here. Still holding. Not letting go.
We suffocate on air, lungs gasping,
ribcages punching into each other.
Then his mouth presses into my temple,
breath shaky.
Not kissing. Just resting there.
When he finally speaks,
his voice slips through the quiet,
his words landing in my hair.
“Sonny—what?—”
