His smiles throw me off and his laugh is simply musical to the point of my own symphonic release.
I shove girls against bathroom walls and pin them between myself and bed covers. They say my name, but it's nowhere near the tone of angelic notes like his and I hate it.
I know he hears. I know it disgusts his virgin self. I know I should stop. They're simply distractions anyway.
But I don't. Girls talk and more come and I'm preoccupied and I'm not thinking of him, but only I am so I make no sound and they stop coming. They're not stupid. They know just like I know just like he knows that I'm only using them.
Hands slap my cheek. Doors slam in my face. I'm left with nothing but myself, a stinging cheek, and the thoughts that betray me.
We're dancing in the snow, all giggles and red faces. James is sick and Peter is studying. We're alone.
My whole existence sways on the boundaries of life and death as I take a risk, tackle him down, press my lips against the warm pink ones like how I'd dreamt of for so long.
He pushes me off, stares me down, stands, and brushes himself off as he turns and leaves wordlessly.
Tear-stained faces and cold hearts, the lover dares to love no more.