Synchronised Motion (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 14

It's 9:42 and my arm is sore from throwing the ball at my roof.

10:14: I've swapped to my other arm.

11:31: It's loud. People partying, music thumping, and walls vibrating. I've stopped throwing the ball now.

11:40: Oliver's drifting asleep. I'm struggling not to look over at him. To not notice that he parts his lips when he sleeps and his eyelashes fan his cheeks. My chest feels heavy.

By 12:04, I've had enough.

I push off my bed.

Oliver's head is lolled to the side, his eyes fluttered close, lips still slightly parted. Still looking like an angel fallen from heaven. A devil angel.

A part of me doesn't want to disturb him, he looks so peaceful asleep—but the other part is pissed.

Pissed—because there's no way I'm getting to sleep with Oliver in my dorm room. It's not happening. Not when this stupid dorm room is already too small. I'm practically suffocating in his proximity and his cologne.

Fuck he smells good. I make conscious effort to not breath so deeply, my head gets dizzy when I do.

His presence makes it impossible for me to think straight.

I almost hate myself for considering to wake him up, he looks so relaxed, so peaceful and content.
And hell, he's gorgeous.

I spent way too long staring at his face, at him, trying to pick out all the flaws. But it just leaves me feeling very small and imperfect in the end.
Leaves a heat in my lower belly.

It takes a minute, but I manage to muster up the will to do it.
To wake him up.

Come on Beau, you won't get any sleep otherwise if he's here—and lord knows you need sleep.

I step closer grimacing. But the closer I get, the better I see. Oliver moves his head to the side slightly, a curl falling onto his forehead. I also see how tired he looks, almost like he too has been having trouble sleeping.

Something poking out of his pocket catches my eye. It's half hanging out of his pocket, multiple keys. One key, in particular, catches my attention though...

Without letting myself overthink it, I grab the keys, quietly, careful to not wake him up.

Let's hope he stays asleep for a while.

***

The water is cold and the pool is eerily quiet. The bright white lights almost make it look like the perfect horror scene location... I try not to think too much about that as I swim laps.

It helps that when I swim, I usually don't think. I just let my body take control, let it flow through me and I go with it. I have never been the type of person to go with the flow—except when it comes to swimming.

I swim length after length. I get bored, it's boring. But it's a comforting boring, a boring I know I am good. A boring that feels as familiar as breathing.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I don't swim to win. I don't swim so I can be the best. I don't swim so I can beat Oliver or to have the glory.

I simply swim because: I like it.

And fuck if that isn't crazy. I can't remember the last time I did something without external-based motives, and just because it was fun.

Somewhere along the line swimming stopped being fun. Stopped being for my soul and started being for the medal. For the badge of honour, the glory, the respect and adoration. So I could feel like I was worth something.