In the beginning, it was purely transactional. It was a common sight in which the cliche smart kid was helping the underperforming jock with homework. It wasn't exactly an abnormal sight. The boy sat across from the thin but muscular boy. The boy covered his observations with questions about precalculus, to get the boy with golden hair and a letterman jacket distracted, so he could look into the deep brown of his eyes. They contrasted beautifully with the fair of his hair.
The boy knew better. He knew that this boy was no exception, that he was not the one who could pass the test, metaphorically or literally. He knew, and yet, he hoped. He wished with each heave of his chest, with each thought in his head. Of how deeply he was so fully, undeniably, hoping, wishing with all that he was in possession. He was so fully aware of how this unrequisition would consume him, how it's already all of what he could imagine.
He was so aware that he didn't notice the fair-haired boy looking at his eyes, looking with a curiosity. He was finally aware of this when the fair-haired boy asked for guidance on his upcoming history assignment. The assignment was of Achilles and Patroclus of Ancient Greece, it was an analytical piece of their relationship. They had discussed before how the relationship was, at the very least, loving. Loving in a way that they deeply cared for and respected each other. The fair-haired boy had brought up today the last and final piece of his essay, how they were in love.
The boy stared and skimmed the last paragraph with an ache in his heart. He realized how simply it was put into words exactly the kind of love the boy felt, And he knew, almost for certain, of how this fantasy he'd created in his head was simply that: in his head. He was aware of how he knew exactly what would come from asking the boy with a golden tan to read his paragraph aloud, of how he knew that the boy's lips were a soft pink in this library light. He knew that with each breath he took it was though a dragon had laid siege upon his sternum, of how his heart beat to a drum that was beat upon senselessly. He knew with each couple glances that the brown-eyed boy made up at him from the paper what he must do.
The boy heard the other read lines of how the two heroes are deeply in love through the ways in which their descriptions are pointed to each other, that both were compared as never too far away from the other, he heard what he wanted to hear.
With one leap in his chest and from his wooden chair, the boy placed his lips sensually upon the fair-haired boy's. He could feel the surprise in the sudden stop of reading and breathing, the boy could feel an instant, instinctual jump from the tanned boy. Yet, their lips were still together for a moment, until the boy pulled away in realization. In the departure, the boy felt an instant cold, a great shame of how he should know better, but he didn't, couldn't, wouldn't ever give this away, he wouldn't any longer pretend that he wanted to do this for the small pay he asked for, wouldn't any longer have it another way. Their eyes met and there was a shimmer within the deep brown of a heightened sense of confusion, disgust, but above all, agreement. There was a way in which the light reflected from the empty library's onto his tanned face that the other couldn't quite describe as to how it enraptured a feeling of hope.
He couldn't quite describe what made him do what he did or why he now could feel the unbearable separation of their lips. The boy with the golden hair felt a rise in his own chest, of how the other boy's sudden loss of breath gave him a want, a hunger. A hunger for more, for him. The boy with a deep tan, golden hair, a letterman jacket and brown eyes jumped across the distance between them and couldn't find a space that was close enough to the other boy. The boys held each other within their arms as papers and books fell to the floor unnoticed.
The boy's hearts raced as they finally released the dragon that clogged their throats.
