“I really want you to—”

“Rest a little more—I know, Charlie.” Damon told his roommate. “But my story—”

“But your story needs to be worked on—I understand, Damon.” Charlie finished his sentence, quirking a brow at the writer.

It wasn’t uncommon to walk up to their loft, only to find their door wide open invitingly, with Damon on either the couch or the dining room table working, whilst Charlie begged him to think about his health before writing.

They were both capable of finishing each other’s sentences so easily, at first I’d assumed they were already dating. Of course, that was false. They were merely friends, very good friends that knew each other incredibly well.

I stood at the entrance, arms crossed and leaning against the frame, simply staring at them. Theo was by my side, head on my shoulder as he gazed at them too, eyes narrowed like he was trying to understand how they were talking over one another without difficulty.

When he looked up at me, he sent me that same confused look that said, ‘Are you sure they aren’t married?’

To which I replied just as wordlessly with, ‘They aren’t, but it certainly doesn’t stop them from doing that.’

I’d shown up there to tell them the news about our little trip we’d planned for everyone in the building. It was Theo’s spontaneous idea, and one in which I fully and wholeheartedly accepted. A change in scenery sounded like something great to unsettle the normalcy that this boarding house offered. And with the summer temperatures rising, the cool, breezy coast was like a safe haven.

Unfortunately, with this news being so sudden, my dear cousin was having trouble deciding whether or not joining us was a good idea or a bad one. I understood he had a deadline, and that work to him was what he’d preferred over most things, though at the same time I gladly agreed with Charlie that the man needed to rest.

Growing up with Damon, I saw how much he’d improved with his work. I was afraid that he cherished those books of his more than his own blood. I’d thought like that for a long time, watching him as a child, as a teenager, and then as an adult—nothing but writing had reached my ears. It was tiresome at one point.

The only time I ever heard him discuss anything else, was when Charlie entered his life. It wasn’t a dramatic change, but one that you could hardly notice if you weren’t paying attention. I was eternally grateful he’d influenced my cousin to be a bit more sane. Though it was still hard to get Damon to understand that there was a life outside of his fictional one.

Those damn writers. I thought. I’ll never understand them.

Charlie ran his hands through his dark hair, glasses slipping off the edge of his nose like he’d forgotten they were there. I’d known from the start that it would’ve most likely been impossible for him to come as well. He was, like Damon, drowning in work. But unlike my cousin, Charlie had Tommy to worry over.

I grinned when I saw him glance at his son for a second, as if considering the very thoughts that’d passed through my head. It was interesting to watch all three of them in such a domestic setting, because I’d only ever seen them from afar. Witnessing them up close like this was incredibly informative.

Tommy, unbothered by the conversation held between the two adults, continued lounging on the ground before us, flipping through the pages of a book that was probably Damon’s.

Theo crossed into the threshold, as comfortable and as friendly as ever. He’d become acquainted with all of them on the very first day of living here with me. There was no possible way Theo couldn’t befriend anyone. Even Damon, the recluse he was, liked Theo very much, so much that I was afraid he’d incorporate him into one of his stories.

My roommate walked into the kitchen, observing the opened laptop on the dining table. It was enough for Damon to abandon his spot in the living room to show Theo whatever was on the screen. Charlie followed suit, rubbing his temples as he sat on the chair farthest from them.

For a good amount of time, as the sun set behind me, only Tommy and I remained where everyone had previously been. In a way, we were both abandoned unintentionally.

I was about to go in there and pull Theo out of the dining room, so that we could finish loading up the car for our trip tomorrow morning, but I was interrupted by the young child on the floor.

Tommy sat up, making it clear that he was watching me.

He was an observant kid. I recognized that the moment I met him. He looked like his father, though it was evident he was quite different on the inside.

Gathering my wits, I waved a hand at him nonchalantly, “Ask me whatever you desire.”

It seemed like that was what he’d wanted me to tell him. “Felix . . .”

“Yes?”

He closed the book he was reading. “Why do all the adults in this place lie so much?”

Those simple words both shocked and amused me. It was a question no kid had ever asked of me. But this was Tommy, so I wasn’t too startled. In fact, I was quite proud at how he was able to pick up on our adult habits with ease.

I shrugged. “That is what adults do.”

“Is that what I’ll do?”

“Even as an adult, you’ll be incapable of telling any lies. I assure you.” I promised him. He was too blunt already. I hardly thought it’d change with age and time.

Tommy sat in silence for a bit. For a while I thought our conversation had ended, though I found I was wrong. I hadn’t exchanged many words with children, so this was unfamiliar territory for me. I wasn’t like Theo with kids. He could get along well with anyone of any age.

He spoke up, “You’re different.” And then added, “From the other adults.”

I wasn’t flattered. “Pray tell me why?”

“You’re not lying with words.” He pointed to his face. “You’re lying with your smile.”

The scowl that grew on my face as he’d said that couldn’t be prevented. As much as I envied his observations, I was also scared of them too. I thought about how Theo and I shared qualities, but I additionally kept in mind that we differed.

I liked people, to play with them in a sociable atmosphere because that was just how I was. Theo liked helping people, and he was already naturally sociable to begin with. He was genuine, whereas I was not. It was easy for me to lie with sugar-coated words, though not completely perfectly, as stated by this twelve year-old.

Bending down, I tousled his messy hair, “I don’t understand the language of children.”

He thought quietly to himself, and responded, “I could try speaking French.”

“Even if you did, I still wouldn’t understand you.” I released his head to stand up against the door again.

I would have to make sure that this child wouldn’t spill any of my secrets to Theo. If Tommy could see that I was lying through my smiles, then he’d probably see that I was lying to my heart as well. I couldn’t have him telling my crush that I was in love.

Weren’t children supposed to be preoccupied with their own troubles? Like middle school or video games? Was Charlie aware that his son was unusually bright?

Without being obvious, I stole a look at Theo, still speaking with Damon animatedly at the table, only this time with Charlie joining them, all discussing the progress of that book.

I was, without a doubt, yearning.

Sighing, I called for Tommy, “Have you explored the entire house?”

That was what I’d done when I was his age, in my own homes that I’d lived in. Maybe changing the subject would prevent him from dwelling on my case further.

He shook his head, “No. Is it haunted?”

“Oh, very much so.” I looked around the room, somewhat dramatically. “I also heard that there’re a few tunnels beneath us, though I wouldn’t advise searching for those. They’re quite dangerous if you reach a crossroads.”

His eyes widened. “Cool.”

These sounded like lies, but I truly wasn’t lying to him. I wouldn’t dare do that. He could see through all of it, anyway.

It made me trust his statements even more.

It felt bad knowing I didn’t fully believe that I deserved what I wanted. There was once a time when I strived to enjoy every single pleasure there was that life offered, but as I’d grown older, and as I’d witnessed people who were much more deserving and even less deserving than me—I found that maybe it was time for me to realize that maybe I wasn’t supposed to feel the same happiness as everyone else.

I wasn’t sure why I thought this way. I’d worked hard, I’d moved across the sea, I’d taken up the major responsibilities that my grandmother had left, so why was it that I remained doubtful of what I was capable of doing?

The homesickness was what ultimately knocked me down. I’d never been this weak before. In fact, before, I had worked tirelessly to achieve what I wanted. Nowadays, if things fell apart before me, I spared no hesitation in falling apart along with it as well.

It wasn’t a lifestyle I encouraged, nor wanted. I much preferred the person I was before, rather than the adult-me that’d grown and had become detached from what I used to believe in. 

I was never this pessimistic. It was infuriating. I was afraid all of my persona had changed too much. It wasn’t so relevant to others, but I could see for myself how much I’d transformed. 

The only individual who recognized my struggle and constantly motivated me to see that I deserved to take care of myself and be happy, was none other than my roommate. 

I wasn’t sure if he knew how much I appreciated his friendship. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever know. I only hoped that I could translate that appreciation in some way. How? That question would stay unanswered.

Most of that was partially because I didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness. Having romantic feelings for him didn’t help the guilt I was experiencing either.

For once, in my passionate life, I was holding back.

I didn’t like that at all.

And I wouldn’t force him to do anything with me. I wouldn’t even dare to try and flirt with him more than what I was doing now. It was wearisome already, admitting to him that it was hard for me to fall in love properly. Theo was trying his best to help me out with that, but I was afraid that I’d reveal what was in my heart if he continued to do so.

But then again . . . even if I wanted to spare him from my terrible-self, I still thought it was important to tell him my feelings. It was crucial to me to let my loved ones know how much I cared for them, so that I wouldn’t regret it in the end.

Theo was a sort of an enigma amid all of that. I was scared to confess to him. I cherished him too much. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. And—

I believed I didn’t deserve the happiness I felt when I received his love.

This internal crisis I was having was undoubtedly idiotic of me. All of this thinking was useless in the end, especially when I could use that valuable time to spend it with the person I adored. I had to snap out of this gloomy state of mind.

So I did just that. I was laying in bed, eyes unfocused at first, but clearing slightly when I paid attention to the outline of Theo. He was picking at the fray threads of my cotton shirt, staring up at me with big brown eyes when he saw that I was looking at him wistfully.

It wasn’t uncommon that he’d come into my bed, but lately it had occurred more often. Rather than using words, I came to the conclusion that he was attempting to make me fall for him through other means. He really was working hard.

I took his fingers before he could totally detach the threads of my shirt, “I'm impressed, mon cher. You're as restless as I am.”

He merely jutted his lower lip out, not pouting, but almost there. “What if I am?”

That made me laugh, “It is late.”

“So?”

“We may not be thinking too clearly.” I warned him, eyeing his form as he scooted closer to me, obliterating whatever space there was between us.

Theo sent me the tiniest eye-roll, annoyed. It made me scoff.

He rested a hand over my cheek, “Just close your eyes.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll kiss you.” He whispered.

I rose to lean on my elbow, looking down at him, “Why can’t I kiss you first?”

His brows creased. This was a competition I hadn’t known would happen. Theo was determined to kiss me, but I wanted to kiss him first. I’d told him a few days back that I would steal a few. Had he forgotten?

Theo grasped my collar, hand traveling up and over my neck, so that he could rise to knock our noses together. He smelled faintly like mint, like the toothpaste he’d used only moments ago.

Unconsciously, I snaked my arm around his waist, feeling the lines of his smaller body on my own. It took all of my strength not to try and study every bit of him, to know every inch of him, from top to bottom.

“Will you really kiss me?” That pout I was waiting for was now in full display.

Last time, I hadn’t kissed him. I kept myself from devouring him completely. Though, I couldn’t say the same for this time.

I smirked, “Only if you—”

Whatever was going to be said, was left unfinished.

Theo took my face gingerly, reaching up to place a chaste kiss to my lips, lingering there.

The sudden action caught me by surprise.

With little hesitation, he stole a second kiss, just as softly as the first one.

The grip I had on his waist tightened, and as he lifted himself to peck at my lips for the third time, I pressed his body on mine, tracing my fingers on the exposed skin that I could find.

I wasn’t kissing him back. I was only allowing him to do whatever he wanted to me, to see how long my self-restraint could last.

“ . . . that was our first kiss.” He said, giving me a fourth kiss immediately afterwards. “Now that was our fourth.”

He was counting them.

It was impossible not to go ahead and kiss him ravenously.

I drew his shirt up, elevating him above me so that I could take the back of his neck and bring him in for a fifth, searing kiss.

His lips were parted, barely breaking away from me as he went in for six, seven, and then eight . . .

Impatiently, I got up, pinning him down on the bed and sliding my fingertips playfully beneath the waistband of his pants. He gasped softly as my cold skin traced down his warm hips, which gave me the opportunity to taste his lips for the ninth time, tenth—eliciting as many sweet noises I could from him.

He pressed his body up to reach mine, knees knocking on my own. I fisted my other hand into the sheets below, staying above him so that he could continue reaching up to kiss me repeatedly, delectably, still tugging at my sleeves for more. 

I spoke on his lips, unaware of the number count so far. Did it matter?

“Je suis follement amoreux de toi . . .” Breathless. I was breathless.

His arms held me securely, bringing me close, kissing me gently as I did the same, though much hungrier than he. It was possible he hadn’t understood me, or chose to ignore it all for the sake of this.

I didn’t care about words anyway. I cared about him.

I loved him.

I love him.