Pathos [Gay/BL]

Chapter XV

CHAPTER XV: New Year's

I woke up with the sound of a soft breathing. I slowly opened my eyes, kind of disoriented. My mind was a mix of the events of last night, blurred and darkened. Before my eyes, there was my room, the same as always... Except for the pile of quilts beside my bed. Suddenly, all kinds of images came to my mind at once: Eric drunk in the street, Shad and the rage in his eyes, Summer in her dress... I turned around slowly and found myself next to Eric's undisturbed face.

His eyes were closed, his lips were half-open and his shirt was off. I remembered him taking it off in the middle of the night, mumbling that it was too hot inside my bed. He had one hand under his cheek, which made a tiny wrinkle on his eye that looked very cute. His hair was messier than usual, lightened by the sun that came from behind the curtains, and the chain on his neck hugged his skin softly. I couldn't help but smile. He looked so beautiful.

That night, after I said that I could never hate Eric, he hugged me and didn't let go for at least one hour. He fell asleep and, shortly after, I did too. It had been so incredibly beautiful. I had missed him so much, even if I kept on denying it to myself, even if I kept on bringing up what he did. I couldn't deny it any longer: I still liked Eric Croft. Which meant that our relationship was in real danger. 

I reached my hand to his face and softly brushed my fingertips through his cheek. His freckles seemed to be even more noticeable that way. He scowled, half-asleep, as if he had felt the touch. He was in the threshold of dreams, where things that happened in real life traveled to your mind and were placed strategically in your dreams, as if it were a chess game.

He slowly opened his eyes, suddenly realizing that my touch was real, that it wasn't a dream. I rapidly removed my hand from his face and stared into his honey-brown eyes. He stared back intensely, analyzing every inch of my face, trying to figure out if he was still dreaming. His scowl hadn't gone away and I knew he was processing what had happened last night. 

"Good morning," I said with a tiny voice.

"Hi..." he answered, his eyes still fixed on mine.

"How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts a little and I feel my stomach upset."

"It's normal, you drank a lot last night," I explained to him. Suddenly, an anxious thought came into my head: what if he didn't remember anything? What if he thought we had... gone too far?

"I know... I remember," he clarified, to which I sighed with relief.

"Do you feel like having breakfast?" I proposed. He suddenly looked away from me and sat up. I sat up too with confusion.

"I... I don't think it's necessary. I... I better get going," he said in a rush and got up from my bed.

"Wait," I said and reached his wrist. He couldn't look at me. "Do you remember everything? Like... all  of it?"

"I remember until the 'can't-hate-you' thing. Was there something else I don't remember?" he said with a sudden tone of fright.

"No, no, no. That... that was all... Um, so you remember our conversation?"

"Yes..."

He looked at me. And we stared at each other for some time. The light of the sun was now hitting him completely, litting him up in an orangey tone. His muscles weren't something insane or too prominent, but he still wore them in a really attractive way. Fuck, he was so hot. After some seconds, he looked away and put on his shirt. I stayed there, sitting on my bed and watching him as he approached the door. He stopped.