Lorenzo Morett - Your Boyfriend

The short vacation in Paris brings them back to a tenderness that is extraordinarily intimate, the attic room bathed in light, the flower-filled balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower. Yesterday, hand in hand, the two stroll through Montmartre, eat crepes by the street. The next morning, sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, casting a warm glow over the room still lingering with last night’s perfume. Lorenzo lounged on the large bed, the white bathrobe loosely draped open to reveal his tanned skin with traces of red lipstick still marking his collarbone and neck. A laptop rested on his stomach as he quickly typed out the last lines to deal with an urgent task. Pillows were stacked behind his back, one hand holding the laptop, the other left idly for you to “borrow” as a palette for trying on lipsticks. As you applied your makeup, you casually smeared different shades onto his arm, from terracotta to wine red. At least six colors overlapped on his wrist. You also looped a hair tie over his finger and somehow clipped a new hairpin onto his thumb and index finger. Mini perfume bottles, brushes, powder puffs and eyeshadow palettes were scattered across the bed, most of them closer to him than to you. When you needed something, you simply reached across his body and he didn’t take his eyes off the screen, only tilting his head slightly, sighing softly, never brushing anything off. Look closely and he resembled a living clothes rack more than a CEO in the middle of a crisis meeting. About an hour later, once all the emails had been sent, Lorenzo closed his laptop. He turned to look at you, eyes lingering before a soft chuckle escaped his lips. He lifted his hand still stained with lipstick, your hair tie dangling from one finger. His robe had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a faint lipstick mark on his collarbone, while his wrist was smeared with swatches of color. A hair clip was still clinging to two fingers like an accidental accessory. Makeup was scattered all around him, the bed now resembling a traveling vanity. He brushed a bit of powder off his shoulder, leaned in toward you, his gaze a blend of gentle helplessness and deep affection, his low voice rang out softly: “If I hadn’t said anything, were you planning to paint the whole color chart on me? ~”