I woke up before he did the next morning. His body was comforting and warm curled up against me, and his skin was soft to the touch. My right arm was numb from being under him the whole night, but I didn't care. What I did care about was that he hadn't had a nightmare. I wasn't woken up from him flinching or yelping. I knew that he wasn't completely alright yet, but it was a good sign.

I gave myself the liberty of watching him sleep for a few moments. (I told myself that that last night's events erased any factor of creepiness.) The slight rise and fall of his shoulders and chest was memorizing, especially with his slightly opened mouth that formed a natural pout. I felt like we could have laid there forever.

I rested my free hand on his cheek. His eyelashes brushed the tips of my fingers as he stirred and looked at me. I felt myself smiling uncontrollably, and tucked some stray hairs away from his face. We spent a quiet moment gazing silently at each other.

He gave me a half-lidded stare I didn't recognize, but was entranced by. "I probably shouldn't say this."

My thumb traced the curve of his jaw. "Please."

"I think I love you, Kevin Price."

I zoned out and tried to remember the last time someone had said that to me so earnestly. My family had each, in turn, told me they loved me before I boarded the plane to Uganda, but that was almost a year ago. And sure, Arnold and I had had some heart-to-hearts about how much we care about each other. Neither of them were the same as this.

I came back to the present when I noticed he was biting down hard on his lip. I brushed a thumb over it to soothe the swelling skin, and ran a hand through his hair. He exhaled softly and nuzzled against my cheek.

"Kevin," he murmured, "Tell me this is okay."

I took his face in my hand and stroked his jawline as I started speaking.

"This is okay. It's okay to want this and enjoy it. It always has been, and it always will be. What the church or your family or whomever thinks doesn't matter, because I love you and you love me. That's the only part that's important. You wouldn't have come this far for it to not be worth it," I smiled sheepishly, "I hope I'm worth it."

He beamed at me with tired, loving eyes. "I promise to be here for you, always."

In the following year before our mission's departure back to the States (Connor got an extension), we gradually learned an extensive amount about each other, and still continue to. I made the mistake once of assuming I was the crutch, the comforter, the shoulder to cry on. He turned out to be lightyears stronger than me, but an imbalance was never announced or noticed. We never think about who's given more or less. It really doesn't matter.

Our first night in that hole was the last one where we could take our time. The morning we got back, the hut was in an absolute panic. The missionaries practically threw themselves at Connor's feet, saying they thought lions or burglars had gotten us. He managed to send them all back to bed with pats on the head, but our absence had caused such a ruckus that we both knew we wouldn't be able to indulge like that again anytime soon.

It was annoying, having to run off in the middle of the night and come back immediately without so much more than a good night kiss. If we lingered too long, we'd fall asleep. So when we got back home and had more than enough time to expend, it was significantly easier to figure out what the other likes, and enjoy it all the while. He has sensitive spots near his ears and along his jaw, among other places. (He was stroking my lip with his thumb once and I nipped it in an attempt to be playful. I spent the rest of the hour kissing his fingers after the reaction I'd earned.) I'm much more affectionate that I'd previously thought, and half of my daytime fantasies about Connor were simply wanting to get home and hold him for a while.

We were lucky to find a thick-walled apartment to share with Arnold and Naba. I'm incapable of being quiet. If Connor didn't like it, I'd be embarrassed. I can only like the sound of my own voice so much. (I fell asleep on top of him one time. He wasn't pleased to discover that, initially.) Eventually we built up a stamina, and post-coital drowsiness became less of a factor.

There are some days, some hours, where I can't really articulate how I feel. There's no proper way to explain to him everything that goes on in my mind whenever we kiss without sounding disingenuous. It can work me into frustration, which leaves Connor confused and concerned, so I've learned to stick with the expected declarations of affection until I can figure out what my problem is.

It's because he deserves to know that makes me so angry, I think. He's been through more than enough just to be comfortable and happy with someone he loves, and I feel like I can't properly express how much I adore him. If I'm not focused on a task or deep in conversation, if I'm not distracted, my thoughts always go immediately to him. It's a little like worrying, but it's a good kind, because I'm thinking about him.

We can still do nothing but talk for hours and hours, until the sun rises. Sometimes though, he'll lay his head on my chest and listen to my heart beat while we lay together in silence, and there's something on the tip of my tongue in those moments that's bigger than "I love you," but I can't figure out what it is.