builds the scaffold to that ever-closer escape hatch.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally want to be surprising, or that he doesn’t need to burn out the itching in his skin that comes from holding everything ugly coiled so tightly in his body. He has many secrets, many barbs digging into him from all sides, and only one safe space where he can lessen the torture a little.
Milo wants Andrew to know because Andrew will always be a part of him, even when he’s across the country starting a new life. Milo was the first person Andrew came out to five years ago, and the trust he demonstrated was a dear gift—to know Andrew in a way no one else ever had. Milo wants to give this to Andrew, too. While Milo tries not to think about it and succeeds most of the time, he worries that Andrew might still have feelings for him. Despite their agreement to erase that one day over a year and a half ago—that one brilliant, stunning kiss—from their lives, its shape lingers inside the lines of Milo’s lips, a burning what if that frightens as much as beguiles. Sometimes he catches a glimpse of Andrew—the way his hair is butter-colored in the sunlight or how his limbs take on a fleeting grace that hints at the potential of Andrew’s future body—it can be anything—and yearns , wondering if Andrew’s lips taste like unanswered questions too.
Neither of them has ever pressured the other to think through what happened, because they’ve operated with the tacit understanding that Milo is straight. The truth is that he’s not unsure; there’s no maybe. He has passed the phase of denial he coasted on for years, and he’s traveled that road without ever hinting to Andrew, because it was Andrew’s kiss that truly began to erode the lies Milo had been telling himself. It woke him up, made it impossible for Milo to continue to ignore his own physical desire. Andrew’s kiss popped that numb little bubble, and in its wake fantasies of desire and love and sex all sharpened, until ignoring the truth became impossible.
He wants to share this with his best friend, but knows he’s walking a tightrope—on all sides he risks hurting Andrew. Somehow he has to fit in a smooth, non-hurtful or self-centered, “I’m gay, but hey, not for you,” sort of vibe. It’s not that he doesn’t think Andrew is attractive: he is really very much attractive. Not pretty, or classically good looking. But there’s something slinky and sensual to his movements, a delicate openness to his face when he’s at rest and something light and playful, most of the time.
Milo loves Andrew, too—maybe too much, and definitely in ways he doesn’t understand. Andrew is his ballast, and the thought of entertaining longing or desire for more seems like a spark too reckless. One wrong breath and Milo will have burned everything down.
°
“This is what you picked?” Andrew frowns at the outfit laid out on the bed.
“What?” Milo pulls on his own shirt. “Those jeans look really good on you.” Andrew flits a look at him, assesses Milo’s own outfit.
“Wow, that shirt is tight,” he says, swallows and turns away. Milo’s always been a bigger guy, naturally built like an athlete. But his muscles… fuck . “Have you stepped up training or something?”
Milo tugs at his shirt. “Yeah. New system I read about online, tailored for swimmers. Seems to be working.”
“Tell me about it,” Andrew whispers under his breath.
“Is it too tight?”
“Depends on how you feel about being hit on tonight,” Andrew jokes. He’s absorbed in his reflection, fiddling with his hair in the mirror. “Ugh, I can never get this to do what I want it to do under stress.”
“It looks great, you look great, come on ,” Milo whines, spraying Andrew with cologne while he’s not looking, earning himself a yelp and a smacked arm.
Andrew gladly lets Milo drive his car; he hates driving, especially when he can play radio DJ and watch the scenery go by. He looks
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally want to be surprising, or that he doesn’t need to burn out the itching in his skin that comes from holding everything ugly coiled so tightly in his body. He has many secrets, many barbs digging into him from all sides, and only one safe space where he can lessen the torture a little.
Milo wants Andrew to know because Andrew will always be a part of him, even when he’s across the country starting a new life. Milo was the first person Andrew came out to five years ago, and the trust he demonstrated was a dear gift—to know Andrew in a way no one else ever had. Milo wants to give this to Andrew, too. While Milo tries not to think about it and succeeds most of the time, he worries that Andrew might still have feelings for him. Despite their agreement to erase that one day over a year and a half ago—that one brilliant, stunning kiss—from their lives, its shape lingers inside the lines of Milo’s lips, a burning what if that frightens as much as beguiles. Sometimes he catches a glimpse of Andrew—the way his hair is butter-colored in the sunlight or how his limbs take on a fleeting grace that hints at the potential of Andrew’s future body—it can be anything—and yearns , wondering if Andrew’s lips taste like unanswered questions too.
Neither of them has ever pressured the other to think through what happened, because they’ve operated with the tacit understanding that Milo is straight. The truth is that he’s not unsure; there’s no maybe. He has passed the phase of denial he coasted on for years, and he’s traveled that road without ever hinting to Andrew, because it was Andrew’s kiss that truly began to erode the lies Milo had been telling himself. It woke him up, made it impossible for Milo to continue to ignore his own physical desire. Andrew’s kiss popped that numb little bubble, and in its wake fantasies of desire and love and sex all sharpened, until ignoring the truth became impossible.
He wants to share this with his best friend, but knows he’s walking a tightrope—on all sides he risks hurting Andrew. Somehow he has to fit in a smooth, non-hurtful or self-centered, “I’m gay, but hey, not for you,” sort of vibe. It’s not that he doesn’t think Andrew is attractive: he is really very much attractive. Not pretty, or classically good looking. But there’s something slinky and sensual to his movements, a delicate openness to his face when he’s at rest and something light and playful, most of the time.
Milo loves Andrew, too—maybe too much, and definitely in ways he doesn’t understand. Andrew is his ballast, and the thought of entertaining longing or desire for more seems like a spark too reckless. One wrong breath and Milo will have burned everything down.
°
“This is what you picked?” Andrew frowns at the outfit laid out on the bed.
“What?” Milo pulls on his own shirt. “Those jeans look really good on you.” Andrew flits a look at him, assesses Milo’s own outfit.
“Wow, that shirt is tight,” he says, swallows and turns away. Milo’s always been a bigger guy, naturally built like an athlete. But his muscles… fuck . “Have you stepped up training or something?”
Milo tugs at his shirt. “Yeah. New system I read about online, tailored for swimmers. Seems to be working.”
“Tell me about it,” Andrew whispers under his breath.
“Is it too tight?”
“Depends on how you feel about being hit on tonight,” Andrew jokes. He’s absorbed in his reflection, fiddling with his hair in the mirror. “Ugh, I can never get this to do what I want it to do under stress.”
“It looks great, you look great, come on ,” Milo whines, spraying Andrew with cologne while he’s not looking, earning himself a yelp and a smacked arm.
Andrew gladly lets Milo drive his car; he hates driving, especially when he can play radio DJ and watch the scenery go by. He looks
Similar Books
