YOU [Tonick] H.H. #1

38.

"Austin?"

The incessant blow of knuckles on the whitish wood, producing a sequence of whipping resonances for the second time, caused the axis of vision of the named chestnut boy, particularly concentrated on the bathroom door, where his undue lover hid his traces of existence, to be intercepted by the calls that made his eardrums go down with fury.

Nick sighed heavily before making an unsteady decision, his hands that in some involuntary minute had clenched into fists trembling for some unknown reason as he hesitated to extend one of them to the doorknob. The organ inside his overstretched chest throbbing wildly, mistreating the particles that set off the trembling of his nerves even though he could act normally, confronting the person behind that rumbling door at that moment.

He knew that his morning had not been entirely fruitful and that despite having stood up against the tedious feeling that having been kidnapped injected him, outside of the animation of his most colorful dreams, his mind was still agitated between two mountain points: the cloying fondling that Tony gave him upon waking and the indelible frames of the night before that circled his imagination.

Then he remembered that the infernal burning in his butt had not yet ceased and he hit himself mentally, opening that door would be like giving an invitation to the devil to consume his peace of mind.

The brown-haired boy knew that he had to stop hiding with Tony, under the world, every time they wanted to be alone. Once again to caress that romanticism that they built between them, so as not to stay away from it for a long time, to wrap themselves inside that sheet that separated reality with fantasy and that once they disentangled themselves from it, everything returned to normal, leaving them with a pleasant and at the same time, an insipid taste in their mouths.

They could deal with their love carefree, in front of that wave of bitter commentators, amid the curiosity of their closest friends, and yet Nick would have no reason to be concerned. Anyway, how could he define that imaginary thread that entangled him to Tony? How could he define that relationship? They were not official boyfriends to jump into a pool without water, no, even worse, to jump into the open sea without a lifeguard. And even though the opportunity to ask him had come up countless times, he was still not ready to fully determine his dilemma.

He made sure of his feelings, he knew he loved that stupid dancer like he had never loved another person before, but... he was afraid.

He was not afraid of criticism, he was not afraid of the monster of gossip and rumors, he was not afraid of the repudiable gaze of other students, he was not afraid of anything at all as long as the love of his life was attached to his side, clinging to him with all his might and testifying that there were no aces up his sleeve that promised a disappointing escape, but he knew there was some dread hidden within his heart. And it screwed him more than not being able to specify the origin of it to reach a solution.

Taking some of the drowned oxygen accumulated in his bedroom, the blue-eyed teenager decided to take the latch once and for all and turn it down, his security system emitting a mechanical click, which told him without words that the door had been unlocked and there was no going back.

He steeled himself and wore his best sleepy expression as he found himself squarely with the owner of the exhausting stubbornness, carving his eyes with his soft knuckles.

"What the fuck do you want, Chase?" He questioned sharply, glaring at him through the silky brown strands that fell from his hair, shyly golden and superficially blonde. "It's fucking nine in the morning."

"Is that your way of receiving your elders?" The green-eyed boy crossed his arms over his flattened chest as he returned the same gaze.

"Just because you're the height of a skyscraper doesn't mean you're older than me," In disbelief, he faced him. His eyes could dare to defy any offensive comment he found in his path but behind that orbital hypocrisy, bewilderment haunted him, "I'm still older for two years."