He gives me one of those trademark Romeo shrugs. It’s the best one I’ve seen yet. A single shoulder rises and curls toward me at the same time. Moonlight and stardust carve out his features, highlighting his brow and high cheekbones, his soft, fleshy lips, and the daydreamy eyes that inspired a thousand oaths all those years ago.
Simply put, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Neither of us blinks. We take each other in, eyes not leaving the other. He’s fully dressed, but he looks naked. I don’t know how I look, but I know I feel naked. Eventually, he half-closes his eyes and sighs softly. Then he lifts his T-shirt by the hem and pulls it off over his head. I allow myself a second to look. To appreciate what I’m seeing. His body is defined. Hard and lean with tiny nipples that look dusky in this light. Lines dip down his middle when he raises his arms.
He drops his T-shirt in a heap on the floor. I do the same. We lose the rest of our clothing the same way. He removes something, a belt, a pair of shoes, and offers it to me. I mirror his actions until we’re both naked.
And fuck me, he’s more beautiful now, if such a thing is possible. His skin shines silver and blue from the moon. He looks smaller and bigger at the same time. He’s still the shy boy I fell in love with, but he’s also a man. A man whose face is turning upward toward mine.
It’s a soft kiss.
A gentle brush of his lips against mine. A whisper. A sonnet. A love poem I feel in my knees. His lips play with mine. A shallow kiss. A shallow kiss. And then one that’s deep. Our tongues find each other. His. Mine. We kiss until we’re lightheaded, and when we part, I keep one arm wrapped tightly around his waist. Pulling him toward me, refusing to let him go.
There’s a scarlet glint, a little flash as the light hits the sacred heart pendant around his neck. Romeo breathes in deeply as I take it in my hand and bring it up to my lips. When I release it, I follow the path of the chain with my fingertips, moving it out of my way gently, and kiss his neck. He moans on contact, and when I pull away, he looks at me in a way that makes my foolish, foolish heart break into a gallop. There are stars in his eyes, and for the first time in years, I allow myself to believe they’re there for me, not just a reflection of the night sky.
I want it to be true so badly that I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t move.
Maybe he sees it. Maybe he still knows me the way he used to know me—better than anyone else ever has—and knows I’m frozen because he takes me by the hand and leads me to the bed.
He lets go of me and lies back, moving the pillow under his head until he’s completely satisfied with its position and then spreads his legs as I watch.
The urge to cry is overwhelming. Emotion rushes up my throat, stabbing at my jaw and stinging my eyes. He opens his hand toward me and I take it, knitting our fingers together, and I cover him with my body. It’s instantly hot. Blazing. All the points where our bodies meet are on fire.
Our kisses are slow and languid as we reacquaint ourselves with each other. Our hands are everywhere. Mine are in his hair, on his arms, under his hips, pulling him closer to me. His are on my face, on my shoulders, and around my waist.
I’m lost and found. Everywhere and nowhere. All I know is him. His body. His taste. I forgot nothing and remember it all. I prep him gently, taking my time, making sure he’s ready, and when he is, he rocks his hips to help guide me in. I’m holding myself up over him, looking into his eyes when I feel myself slide past his second ring. He winces and cries out, but he doesn’t blink.
“Jude,” he whimpers. “Jude.”
He winds his legs around my waist and pulls me inside. His neck arches back, and when I’m fully seated inside him, he raises his head off the pillow and nestles it into my neck, kissing hungrily as I start to thrust.
“Jude,” he says again when we’ve been moving together for long enough that I can no longer remember a time before or after him. There’s something course in his voice. Raspy like gravel. No, not gravel, salt. “You were right. That night, the wedding, you were right. It wasn’t fucking. It was never fucking…” There’s salt in his eyes now too, and he blinks it back as he looks up at me. “It was love. Always love.”
A damn wall cracks and breaks open. Years of tears pour out of me. I’m inside him, in his arms, and he’s in mine, and I’m sobbing. I’m shuddering in pain and confusion and relief and the deepest, most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt. I don’t know how long we move together. I’m not completely aware of my body or even his. I’m aware of my soul though, and his. The essence of two people winding together. Over and under each other. Tighter and harder. Deeper.
Deeper and deeper.
Deeper until we aren’t two separate things.
We’re one.
The orgasm, when it comes, is cataclysmic. It’s earth-shattering. Heartbreaking. It’s the first time I’ve kept my eyes open at climax. His are open too. I look into them and see stars and galaxies and everything I’ve ever felt for him reflectedback at me.
Afterward, a long time later, when we’re still a tangled mass of limp arms and legs, but it’s starting to dawn on me that I’m human, I say, “What the fuck?”
He gives a dry chuckle that sounds more like someone saying, “Huh,” than an actual laugh. “That’s pretty much exactly what I’ve been asking myself for the past five years.” He’s still on his back and my head is on his shoulder. I crane my head to get a good look at him, but he turns his away from me, averting his gaze. “I always knew you were full of shit, Jude.”
His chest rises and falls beneath me several times. I want to push him, ask him, demand to know everything, but I know this is it. This is the conversation that decides the rest of our lives. Whether my heart beats or breaks. Whether I live or die.
“I knew there was no way you could stop bad things from happening to me. Obviously, no one can do that. Even at my worst, I knew it. I didn’t expect you to stop all the bad things.” He shakes his head to himself, and a silvery track glistens at the corner of his eye and streaks over his temple and into his hair. “I just never thought you’d be the bad thing.”
I lift my head and move back a little, just enough to get a decent look at his face. “What do you mean?”
“We had that one perfect summer, remember? That one summer when we were together and things were good.”
“I remember,” I whisper. “I thought it would never end.”
“I was happy. After my mom died, I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again, but I was. That summer, God, I was so happy. It was all good, and then you went back to college, and everything got fucked. One second, everything was normal, and the next, you were telling me you were on your way to Cambridge. I called and messaged all the time, and you left me on read. I knew something was off, but I tried telling myself it was all in my mind and I was overreacting. I mean, you were busy. You were in a new country, right? There was a time difference. By the time you were due to come home, I’d almost managed to convince myself that nothing was wrong, and I’d imagined the distance between us. I was so fucking excited to see you. I called your mom three times the day before you arrived.”
