this is going to be a series of four short vignettes exploring Cecil's discovery of his own demisexuality.
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"Kiss me."
From the confusion that dances across Carlos' face, it's clear he can't tell if he heard the request properly. Granted, it had been asked hardly above a whisper, and they're in the back row of a college auditorium listening to a symposium on the different breeds of desert wolves - not exactly the most romantic setting.
"Okay," Carlos whispers back, gingerly removing the frames of his glasses and tucking them into the pocket of his lab coat before obliging.
It's only their second kiss, four dates in, and Carlos sheepishly pulls away after lingering a moment longer than anticipated. There's the briefest flicker where Cecil almost asks for another, but instead his lips press into a soft smile.
He tucks back against his boyfriend's chest, which earns him an arm around his shoulders and a gentle kiss to the crown of his head.
For now it's perfect.