One could say nothing changed, and everything changed at the same time. Lazy summer afternoons were ceaselessly running through our fingers, just the way they always had. The filmmakers, the models, the outfits we were working on, the sketches. It all stayed the same.

Longing stares leading the eyes towards a familiar silhouette of the cherished one. Palms brushing each other, feet touching under the table, supposedly by accident. Bodies getting closer during everyday activities. Subtly, so that no-one could see.  It was all almost new, but somehow simple and known, as if we were doing it since  forever, not even noticing.

These days I was living somewhere between reality and the trails of coal on the chalk paper of my sketchbook. I was slowly learning him by heart. I already knew the angles of his sharp cheekbones, the length of his nose, the exact amount of space between his eyes, the width and height of his plump lips. 

I was tracing the rays of sun staining his cheeks. That lovely blush of his skin was driving me crazy. I was eager to know him more, drawing his figure from every possible angle. I wanted to see his chest, and armpits, his thighs and buttocks, damp soft skin under his knees, even earthy soles of his feet. As if these frames taking him apart were the only real thing that was about to be left when he finally leaves. And I was almost fine just looking, just sketching, just caressing the pages with my fingertips. 

The mattresses stayed on the floor since the night of our drunken escapade. Neither of us questioned the new order of things. Our hands were reaching out at night, impatient but not naughty, as we were slowly getting acquainted with each other's arms. I could always withdraw, take some space, take a step back. I was safe sharing these midnight hours with him. We could talk till the break of day, exchanging silly anecdotes, laughing voicelessly, whispering  each other's names like they were a spell. Or we could stay quiet, satisfied with the sole presence of another.

I was hoping nobody would notice our newly discovered affection. Their looks weren't revealing anything. Maybe except for Paolina… I felt her stare on the back of my head each afternoon we were spending out with her and others. The girl was smirking at me, sending meaningful glances, while enjoying her cigarettes. She kept offering me a pack of Marlboros each time she smoked, and I was rejecting it time and time again. 

“I suppose you have a better drug to use these days,” she summed me up one time.

She was right. No drug could touch the strings Marcel’s presence was touching. Excitement and uncertainty were mixing with a sense of security, a sense of belonging. I was getting to know him, and I was wanting him more, craving his presence and touch, his words of passion and caress. It was an addiction without a doubt. 

The more I clinged to him, the more I worried about what may lay ahead. Though it wasn't his intention to hurt me, I realized I would end up hurt anyway. Not with acts or words, but with the emptiness that will swallow me after he's gone. 

There were times I was taking a step back, reconsidering my position. Wondering about consequences. When the moment comes, I was thinking, would I rather suffer because of the happiness I embraced and lost, or the happiness I never had the courage to reach for? It was for the taking now…

And then I was coming back to him. Snuggled in his embrace, I was begging in my thoughts - hurt me all you want. Let me explore whatever we have. I'll be fine no matter how it ends. I'll treat fondly the emptiness you’ll leave me. It’ll be my pain, my agony, my dearest keepsake. 

I could cling to the shreds of common sense, praying not to lose sanity whenever he was getting near me. But I couldn't run away forever. It was clear one of us would break at last, cracking open the doors to desires we haven't yet reached for. 

The night was hot. Dry July air was gushing through the window, blowing the curtains in. All I was able to focus on was that terrible heat, pressing at me from every direction. A tiny layer of sweat between our bodies was driving me crazy. I couldn't move, yet I wasn't able to stay still.

Marcel was sleeping, and my mind was drifting away into dangerous places. Every cell of my skin touching him was screaming with lust. I hid my face in the moisture of his neck, pressing my burning lips against his collarbone. Did he notice my groin growing hard alarmingly close to his crotch? 

“You’re still awake?” He rasped, stupid with sleep. My squirming must have woken him up. “Can’t sleep? What are you thinking about?”

The voice in my head was tempting me to say dirty, dirty things... There was nothing to be ashamed of, right? It was just us. It was dark and hot. And I was almost drunk. Drunk with the smell of our bodies blending into one another. 

“These sheets you're sleeping in,” I whispered under my breath, “I humped them the other day when you were away.” I finished the sentence with my heart beating so loud, I was sure he could hear it.

“Yeah?” He groaned out, moving his hand down my back. “Wanna show me how?” 

I raised my head, and we were now staring into each other's eyes. Nose to nose, forehead to forehead. His breath quickened. His palm rested on my loins, pulling my hips closer. He gasped, feeling my erection pushing on his stomach. I was sensing his length shamelessly hardening next to mine. 

“Can I touch you?” A warm whisper escaped my mouth before I could even think. 

He uttered a quiet yes, and I reached into his pants with a trembling hand. He was warm, and so stiff I was losing my mind. His palm moved from my back to my face. His thumb was drawing circles on my cheek. I freezed with my fingers clenched around his hard-on. 

“May I kiss you?” He asked, and I clinged to his lips without a single word.

It was nothing like I imagined. But what was it that I imagined to begin with? I didn't know anymore, I didn't care. There was no better feeling in this world than the moisture of his skin, the softness of his lips, the quiet moans of pleasure leaving his mouth. 

“More…” 

“More…”

“More…”

“Don't you ever stop.”

Before the end of the night, awakening would come on us time and time again, as if we were in a trance. Wakefulness turned to dreaming, dreams were reality. I kept opening my eyes, like I needed confirmation that the mattresses are still on the floor, that Marcel's hand is on my hip, that my cheek rests against his chest. Each time I was done checking the surroundings, I would kiss his lips to assure myself they weren't an illusion. And he would return the caress, giving me the final affirmation.