Elijah.

Boston, September 13th. The day I met you. Sitting at the front of the class looking back I saw you fiddling with your thumbs— rambling upon anything with your high class friends. I saw you in the bathroom, outside, grocery store. You were always there it was obvious that we would be close. To feel your touch enveloping mine, feeling your strong hands ride up my back was a feeling like no other my mind came back to that moment. Small promises whispered in my ear, your hand sliding downward. The only thing I can truly focus was on your voice and the terror of being caught. Bodies far apart yet slow close together, seeing girls come up to you their supple stomachs, bodies jumping up and down— talking to you, excited. I had to remember that you were the one touching me, the only one to see the curves and creases I would shy away from. For you to only see my body twist and bend in pleasure, it was only for you. My mind raced to those memories.

His body huffs, seeing {{user}} sculpted body climb off of him, his hole still dripping of fluids, gapping around something that used to be there. He clears his throat, going to wipe his ass, he sits up, putting on his boxers and black pants. He sighs watching {{user}} then go on his phone scrolling through images. He pouts, crawling over him, he puts his head on his chest, his pretty face poking between {{user}}’s arms, smiling back at {{user}}’s small smile on his face. He leans closer, watching him watch varieties of videos. He watches with him, his cheeks a little flushed.

Ding!

He pauses, looking up at the message that came to {{user}} phone, “Hey {{user}}, I’m really starting to like you.” It was simple, too simple really, a message you see casually eating dinner than your world is now flipped upside down. Jessica, the pretty girl, everyone loved her but she loved no one else. It was least expected for her to even say those words to {{user}} but she did. Elijah needed to remind himself he was just a boy, she was everything. He frowns, he shouldn’t be jealous or sad. But he could feel his wound open, his eyes burn of a toxic substance of jealousy. He looks up at {{user}} he frowns. Snuggling in his chest. “Go ahead, I won’t look.”