the message

🌙

6 September 2020

Tonight is the second night I'm staying at Alex's father's home in Austin, and ̶i̶̶t̶̶'̶̶s̶̶ ̶̶r̶̶e̶̶a̶̶l̶̶l̶̶y̶̶ ̶̶n̶̶i̶̶c̶̶e̶ it's everything.

We got raunchy in the bunk bed last night after everyone settled in. The window was open and there was a warm breeze and it was so wonderful not to have anyone "strongly suggest" it be kept closed. We were only snogging at first, then things got heated and I moaned a little into his mouth. He shushed me and his eyes darted to the door, then we laughed into each other's necks. I thought it in full then. It was at the forefront of my mind.

When he spread his legs the moonlight seemed to shine on him and only him, like he was the message and it was just the messenger. The light was so quiet, but his beauty. His beauty is the loudest thing in this world. I swallowed him down but as I caught his gaze I thought it again, and I thought maybe I could just say it, muffled, with him in my mouth, and he wouldn't even understand. We could tuck it away in the folds of the quilt underneath us, never to be heard of again. But of course, I didn't say it. I couldn't even keep my eyes on him, I had to look away. That was new. I instead occupied my tongue with the taste of the absolute miracle of a man before me.

He tasted like humid air and lush grass and the smell of his father's cooking, and he was so, so warm. Why is he always so warm?

Afterwards he threaded his fingers through mine. He did it with the steady sureness of a man, but the sweet, soft innocence of a boy. We folded into each other and I felt if I could hold onto his persistent warmth forever, I'd never need clothes again.

What am I to do now? I'm in far deeper than I realised.

I realised when he ran after Nora into the lake with a grin on his face, tearing his shirt off as he went. He squinted in the sunlight which then hit his back, turning his entire body into a beacon and I swear in that moment I was like a moth drawn to a flame. Except I stayed right where I was and just imagined myself dipping into the water after him and telling him, then and there.

I realised as he started cheering when I bit into a piece of meat, thoroughly amused by my hesitation and subsequent bravery. He's delighted by the simplest things I do. But then again he delights me, too. I imagined myself pressing a kiss to his cheek, maybe smearing some sauce on the smooth skin there, and lingering just long enough to whisper it in his ear. I'd pull away and he'd look at me with that wide-eyed expression of his, and the other three would be oblivious to the exchange. And then maybe later that night he'd say it back to me, too.

I keep on waiting for the thing. There always is one. The thing to turn me off, to deter me. But every time I learn something new about him it only makes me want to know more, and more. And the trouble is... he isn't backing down either.

But I'm happy here and he's happy here and I feel so fucking free. Tell me, when was the last time I felt like this? Can't recall? Yeah, neither can I. If this is how he makes me feel, then every second is worth it, no matter how or when it may end. I refuse to let these thoughts bog me down, and I refuse to not enjoy this time with him, however fleeting, and I'm going to befriend his family, and I'm going to befriend his friends, because I fucking deserve this, if nothing else, and since I'm already on a roll here I might as well just come out and say it. ̶N̶̶o̶̶ ̶̶o̶̶n̶̶e̶̶'̶̶s̶̶ ̶̶e̶̶v̶̶e̶̶r̶̶ ̶̶g̶̶o̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶̶ ̶̶t̶̶o̶̶ ̶̶r̶̶e̶̶a̶̶d̶̶ ̶̶t̶̶h̶̶i̶̶s̶̶ ̶̶a̶̶n̶̶y̶̶w̶̶a̶̶y̶̶,̶̶ ̶̶a̶̶n̶̶d̶̶ ̶̶t̶̶o̶̶ ̶̶b̶̶e̶̶ ̶̶c̶̶o̶̶m̶̶p̶̶l̶̶e̶̶t̶̶e̶̶l̶̶y̶̶ ̶̶h̶̶o̶̶n̶̶e̶̶s̶̶t̶̶ ̶̶i̶̶f̶̶ ̶̶I̶̶ ̶̶d̶̶o̶̶n̶̶'̶̶t̶̶ ̶̶l̶̶e̶̶t̶̶ ̶̶i̶̶t̶̶ ̶̶o̶̶u̶̶t̶̶ ̶̶I̶̶ ̶̶m̶̶i̶̶g̶̶h̶̶t̶̶ ̶̶j̶̶u̶̶s̶̶t̶̶ ̶̶s̶̶a̶̶y̶̶ ̶̶i̶̶t̶̶ ̶̶t̶̶o̶̶ ̶̶h̶̶i̶̶m̶̶,̶̶ ̶̶s̶̶o̶̶:̶

I love him.

I love Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz. That man owns my heart and I will allow him to continue to do so for as long as he desires.

̷A̷ ̷n̷ ̷d̷ ̷ ̷ ̷I̷ ̷'̷ ̷l̷ ̷l̷ ̷ ̷ ̷s̷ ̷a̷ ̷y̷ ̷ ̷ ̷i̷ ̷t̷ ̷ ̷ ̷a̷ ̷s̷ ̷ ̷ ̷m̷ ̷a̷ ̷n̷ ̷y̷ ̷ ̷ ̷t̷ ̷i̷ ̷m̷ ̷e̷ ̷s̷ ̷ ̷ ̷a̷ ̷s̷ ̷ ̷ ̷I̷ ̷ ̷ ̷d̷ ̷a̷ ̷m̷ ̷n̷ ̷ ̷ ̷w̷ ̷e̷ ̷l̷ ̷l̷ ̷ ̷ ̷w̷ ̷a̷ ̷n̷ ̷t̷ ̷,̷ ̷ ̷ ̷b̷ ̷e̷ ̷c̷ ̷a̷ ̷u̷ ̷s̷ ̷e̷ ̷ ̷ ̷I̷ ̷ ̷ ̷k̷ ̷n̷ ̷o̷ ̷w̷ ̷ ̷ ̷h̷ ̷e̷ ̷'̷ ̷s̷ ̷ ̷ ̷n̷ ̷e̷ ̷v̷ ̷e̷ ̷r̷ ̷ ̷ ̷g̷ ̷o̷ ̷i̷ ̷n̷ ̷g̷ ̷ ̷ ̷t̷ ̷o̷ ̷ ̷ ̷h̷ ̷e̷ ̷a̷ ̷r̷ ̷ ̷ ̷i̷ ̷t̷ ̷.̷ ̷I̷ ̷ ̷ ̷l̷ ̷o̷ ̷v̷ ̷e̷ ̷ ̷ ̷h̷ ̷i̷ ̷m̷ ̷ ̷ ̷I̷ ̷ ̷ ̷l̷ ̷o̷ ̷v̷ ̷e̷ ̷ ̷ ̷h̷ ̷i̷ ̷m̷ ̷ ̷ ̷I̷ ̷ ̷ ̷l̷ ̷o̷ ̷v̷ ̷e̷ ̷h̷ ̷i̷ ̷m̷ ̷̷ ̷ ̷ ̷ ̷ ̷I̷ ̷ ̷ ̷l̷ ̷o̷ ̷v̷ ̷e̷ ̷ ̷ ̷h̷ ̷i̷ ̷m̷ ̷ ̷ ̷I̷ ̷ ̷ ̷l̷ ̷o̷ ̷v̷ ̷e̷ ̷ ̷ ̷h̷ ̷i̷ ̷m̷ ̷ ̷ ̷I̷ ̷ ̷ ̷l̷ ̷o̷

"H?" he whispers. "You awake?"

I sigh. "Always."

We sneak through the grass in hushed voices past one of the PPOs dozing on the porch, racing down the pier, shoving at each other's shoulders.