Lewis

This was ridiculous.

I was acting like I’d never been kissed before. I’d kissed plenty of people. Art wasn’t the first person I’d touched, nor was he the only person who’d ever held me. He never spoke of his past relationships with me, but I didn’t need to hear any of that to know that this wasn’t his first time either.

I wanted to do this. This was finally selfish-Lewis doing his part. It went against all of my rules but—this wasn’t exactly a relationship where my rules were allowed to be set in stone.

For some unknowable reason, I’d gotten on the bed and told him determinedly that we should practice too. Well, he was the one who suggested it first.

My words were just dripping out of my mouth, like they had no filter. “I-I know I’m not exactly . . . someone who . . . you’d . . .”

Art shifted closer to me, to sit in front of me with both hands on either side of my legs, peering in slightly to look at my lowered face, “Lewis?”

I raised my head, “Art . . .”

“Are you asking about who I’d rather kiss?” He revealed a small grin, innocent as ever. He really had no idea how I’d felt towards him so long ago. What would he say to that?

Stiffly, I nodded, “Type.” I said, blurting it out.

“My type?” His eyes grew, and then relaxed. They crinkled whenever he smiled. “I . . . don’t know about that.”

Suddenly, I felt very terrible. I didn’t feel sick, I just felt like a terrible person for asking about the type of people he was interested in. That wasn’t the most respectful thing I could ask him, but my curiosity had been eating me away for ten years, ever since I spotted him in high school.

My hands scrunched at the sheets below us. “You don’t have to—”

“I like getting to know the other person, naturally.” His eyes never left mine. They were confident, cool. “That’s all.”

Getting to know people?

“O-Oh . . .” My knuckles were becoming white as I continued to grip at the blankets. “Is that so?” I said more to myself.

Art didn’t say much for a good second. There was no need to say anything. I was obviously stalling. I always did that, whenever I needed more time to think about what I was doing.

What was I going to do? Kiss him, yeah, though this newfound information was currently clouding my mind with thoughts of his type.

It shocked me. Not because it sounded sincere, but because it was similar to what I’d thought too, growing in and out of relationships in my life.

Art stayed looking at me, “May I . . .” I knew what he was gonna ask. “May I ask you, too?”

If I tell you, then you’ll figure it out.

My mouth opened automatically, until I closed it hesitantly, and then eventually replied, after giving it a bit of thought, “I like people who are . . . kind.”

I didn’t tell him, but I also liked people who were tall and gave great hugs—

Basically, he was my type.

He nodded as well, taking in this information. “Me too.”

I released a breath of air I hadn’t known I was holding. Here I was, not kissing him and asking him questions that were totally unrelated. What was I thinking?

It wasn’t wholly unrelated, though. If he found it difficult to kiss me because he had no feelings towards me, then it was possible that he could just imagine someone else.

But that sounded way too sad. It would’ve, quite literally, broken my heart if that were to come down to it. So why had I thought of it in the first place?

“Art . . .”

“I’m not hesitant.” He let me know, still calm and collected in front of me. “If that’s . . . what you may be asking.”

I blinked, surprised.

He smirked, “I’m really not.”

“But—”

“There was a time when I probably would be.” He was doing his best to assure me that all was fine between us. He was more patient than I originally assumed. “Now . . . it’s different.”

The way he was saying all of this to me sounded like he was talking about something not relating to this situation. His eyes didn’t lose that light in them, though they looked unrecognizable for a moment, before returning to his usual self.

I wanted to ask him what he was referring to, but I’d already crossed the line when I asked him about his type. Would he think badly of me?

Of all the people that I’d met and known, even though I hardly knew Art, I didn’t want him to think of me as a horrible person. I wasn’t sure why I felt that way. He was only an individual I vaguely knew before, and was starting to get to know now. It was strange how others could come into my life for only a second, and yet still impact me.

That was what he’d done. Disregarding my crush, disregarding how he was my type—I wasn’t sure why this boy, amid everyone, was the one I remembered after so many years.

Art

Lewis had grown quiet when I said that.

His expression changed from curious to concerned in an instant. He was expressive already, but it was interesting that he’d caught onto the one thing I was hiding, almost like he could see right through me.

I wasn’t sure if he was an observant person to begin with, or if he was just good at catching what people were thinking. It was definitely a power I wish I had.

It didn’t feel right to me that I’d made him worried. It wasn’t his fault that I’d thought of a past memory.

It was an event that I hadn’t told a lot of people about. I’d only brushed it off as something that happened long ago.

Lewis dropped his gaze.

All I wanted to do was lift his head. “Lewis . . .” He returned to look at me when I called him. “I . . .”

He waited.

“The reason why I want to work hard, is because I almost lost the opportunity to do that a few years ago, when I was nineteen.” This time it was my turn to look away.

That was almost 4 years ago. It didn’t trouble me as much anymore, though at times I couldn’t help but recall it. It had been my wake-up call into adulthood.

Lewis remained silent. I couldn’t tell what kind of reaction he’d have.

“It’s hard for me to say, but . . .” I sighed, “I was in an accident—a car, actually. And I was in the hospital for a while—”

So I want to cherish the time I have now.

I had no clue why I was telling him this. I only wanted him to be aware, to let him know that I was grateful for his sacrifice, in helping me to have a place to stay, as well as his consideration towards me. I knew, all along, that he was worried about me, about if I was okay with what we were doing. That empathetic side of him was visible, and admirable.

The quiet was deafening after a while. And when I peered up at Lewis, that look of concern never left.

“I’m fine now, but since we’re admitting things . . .” I smiled sheepishly at him, not embarrassed over our words, but relieved that we were comfortable around one another enough to tell each other things like this. “I thought I’d let you know why I’m so open to all of this—”

I couldn’t finish what I was saying.

Unexpectedly, Lewis reached out and slipped his arms around my neck to pull me into a hug, holding onto me like I was made of glass. Like this, it felt more like he was the one who was about to break. Not me.

It was so sudden, I was at a loss for words. This may have been the first time I’d seen Lewis shed the unbreakable, cool demeanour I constantly saw him in.

He held me, chest rising and falling shakily against mine, while his forehead lay on my shoulder. I hadn’t thought he would react like this.

“Lewis . . .”

“I’m—I’m sorry—” He said quietly. “I just . . . didn’t know. I never imagined—”

He sounded scared.

Instinctively, I held him too. I hadn’t done that since we danced. “I’m fine.” I hoped he could hear that I was smiling when I responded.

Lewis didn’t let go. “I never . . . would’ve seen . . . y—” He was speaking into my shirt, so I couldn’t hear all of what he was saying. “ . . . again. I never would’ve had the chance to . . . see . . .”

I tried to hear his reply, but it remained muffled on my shoulder. All I could do was hold him, to let him know that the event was a long time ago, and that all was well now.

But when I thought about it more, without considering his empathetic side, I noticed that Lewis was more emotional than he let on.

It made me think . . .

How would he respond to me kissing him? There was only one way to find out.

Lewis

When I finally registered that I was hugging Art, I let go as quickly as I could, though not without tipping over on my side of the bed, getting caught in the bundle of sheets.

I had no idea what came over me. When he told me about what happened, I automatically felt like someone had punched me in the gut. I hadn’t wanted to think of the worst, but I had anyway, and I grabbed onto him like he would slip away at any moment.

The thought that I probably wouldn’t have seen him ever again was painful. My body acted on its own and reached out for him, while my mind was too slow to catch up.

Art took my hand, helping me up so that we could sit face to face once more. “Enough of that, then.” He sent me a smile. I was still hung up on our previous conversation, though if he didn’t want to mention it further, then I would respect his wishes. “ . . . should we get started?”

I couldn’t reply to him.

I was ready. I also got the feeling that he hadn’t fully answered my previous question. Back when I asked about his type. And—how could I possibly recover fast enough after he’d dropped such a frightening event from his past?

He was a step ahead. Art put his hands out towards me, as if asking for my permission to touch me.

With a curt nod, I allowed him to.

A few minutes ago we were in the same position, only this time I balanced myself on my knees, hands on his arms that were clearly much stronger than mine. From this angle, I could finally look down at him.

Oh my gosh, what I am doing?

“Instead of kissing someone you don’t like . . .” I tried to change the subject. “You could maybe kiss someone you . . . do?” I wanted to know if he understood what I was getting at.

He got the gist. “I don’t dislike you.” He exhaled. “ And I don’t need to imagine anyone else, Lewis.”

“But you don’t—” I gripped at his shirt sleeves.

I wanted to say, ‘But you don’t like me, Art. It’s okay.’

There was no doubt in my mind that I was going to say it, though I was cut-off midway, and by surprise too. The arms around my waist slid further, to latch comfortably on my sides so that he could hold me more firmly, safely in my position.

It gave me the opportunity to sit comfortably—well, as comfortably as I could be on his lap as he sat back against the bedroom wall.

Art tugged at me, inching closer so that no space could come between us. This was a dangerous position, and more so dangerous when he dipped his head low, near my throat.

He stopped my words with a small nip on my neck, right on the thin, sensitive skin of my collarbone.

The sudden action made me gasp, grasping onto his shoulders but preventing myself from digging my fingers into him fiercely.

It wasn’t what I thought he’d do. I was more relieved that my voice hadn’t let out any embarrassing sounds. I just had to bite my lip so that I wouldn’t.

I sank down on him even more, craning my neck up as he mouthed softly at the base of my throat, and then excruciatingly slow as he reached the corner of my jaw, his hands dipping underneath my cotton shirt hesitantly, until I leaned closer into him, unaware of what my body wanted.

Him. I want him.

Partly releasing myself from him, I took him by his shirt collar, and dragged him forward, laying back on the bed while he caged me in with his arms.

My breathing was picking up, though not to the point where I could hear it.

I’d unintentionally forced him into this position, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I took his neck as he brought his leg in between my slightly raised ones, leaving no space again.

He looked at me in silence, like he was thinking, and then said, “Can . . . I . . . ?” His fingers tugged at the hem of my shirt.

I grabbed his hand, nodding. Which was enough because he slipped both hands beneath the flimsy cloth, our skins finally making contact.

It felt electric, honestly. I grew more relaxed as he touched me. And when he’d hooked his fingers in the belt loop of my jeans, my hips rose just a little bit higher. I restrained myself, though. As difficult as that was.

My body was cold, originally due to the air conditioning in the room, but his skin was hot, contrasting my own. Even his breath, as he tilted his head to catch my neck again with his warm lips was hot. The temperature in me, at this rate, would increase dramatically.

I let go of him suddenly when he kissed me in that sensitive area for the second time, my hands pulling at the covers of the pillow behind me.

Fuck.

Art

I was going to stick to the plan and continue with my questions, but the thought of speaking while we were in the midst of doing this didn’t sound like a good idea.

It’s not like we abandoned that train of thought. Ah—I probably had. But that didn’t mean the same for Lewis. He was figuring out where our boundaries were going to be.

Though, it looked like we wouldn’t have many. Judging by how I couldn’t prevent myself from doing more.

His breath ghosted over my lips when I met his face, cautious to close this small space and kiss him.

He was taking the initiative more than I was, which was . . . it was . . . nice.

Lewis was just really good at this. And if I made the effort to give in and kiss him, then he’d probably show me how well he could do that too.

Our noses stayed touching, as we both debated on whether or not we should go for it. It was the perfect opportunity to do it. I was holding him against me, lifting him partly off the bed because when I was kissing everywhere else, I wanted to feel him more. It still wasn’t enough.

I gave up and ran my hand along his back, fingers tracing the outline of his spine. Unbeknownst to me, I figured out I liked feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the rapid beat of his heart on mine.

Lewis took my face in his hands, blinking softly, mouth parted and lips red, like he’d bitten them restlessly.

He never failed to handle me like I was glass. Even though he didn’t love, even though this was just an act—he gazed at me like I would shatter and disappear.

I was right here. I wouldn’t go anywhere.

“Art . . .” He was close, but he’d said it so faintly, I could barely hear.

I tilted my head, asking him what it is that he wanted.

Lewis closed his eyes, fingers in my hair. He appeared dazed, almost as if he was sleepy.

It was apparent that it was time for us to stop, though something inside me wanted to continue.

Though . . .

I had to keep Lewis in mind, like he’d done for me so far.

Tempted, I spoke above his lips, our breaths mingling when our eyes met. “Thank you . . . for practicing with me.”

His grip on me strengthened as I told him that. “N-No problem . . .”

He didn’t attempt to move.

Nor did I.

This was definitely a routine I could get used to.