Eight
When they arrive at the breakfast hall, their hands hovering near each other, there is a message waiting for each of them on their cards. Torch's heart races, but as he looks down, he realizes it says only "Free day. Extra dessert ration."
He grins, half just happiness, half relief.
"Breakfast, then back to the room?" Eli murmurs.
"Sooner or later, we have to do something other than…"
"I know. I just think it's easier if…"
Torch nods. If they're together, alone. They don't have to be after sex to want to be away from prying eyes. Even if it's just studying, or talking, or reading, they won't be able to touch anywhere else, won't be able to hold hands or lie in each other's arms or even cast too many friendly glances.
"Breakfast, then library, then back. I want to pick up something to read." Because although sex is nice, very very nice, Torch doesn't want it to be all forbidden romance and no… well, actual romance.
Before, they were best friends. They did everything together, or as much as they were allowed to, and despite the fact that essentially every one of their days followed exactly the same pattern, they never ran out of things to talk about.
And as absolutely wonderful as being with Eli is, he doesn't want to lose that.
So as they walk into the hall, he's relieved when Eli launches into a bad joke, which segues into a lame story, which ends with them eating fried eggs and laughing hysterically as they make faces at each other.
They clean their plates- the fried eggs actually taste pretty good. Protein, the real, at-one-point-amimal-based-kind, is rare enough around here that they kind of have to. Plus, fried eggs lend themselves to that. They're designed to be sopped up with bread and have every last drop relished.
When they're done enjoying breakfast, Torch slides his tray back into its slot, and then wanders off to the library. He and Eli have come to the unspoken agreement that the less time they're seen to spend together, the better. He picks out a book from the shelves, a battered old collection of poems. Few works of literature from before the Crisis are allowed to survive. The government doesn't exactly want to be seen censoring thigns, since the constitution is technically still in place, but there's about a hundred years when almost everything is blocked out—and people don't complain. The years leading up to the Crisis were too free, too wild, and nine-tenths of the world died because of it. If it means keeping the world at a population stable enough that the species will survive, the government gets away with banning a lot of popular novels… or at least keeping them out of the sponsored libraries, which means essentially the same thing.
This book, however, dates to the second century before the crisis, which means it's circulated freely. The title, "Immortal Poems of the English Language," is printed in fading ink across a paper cover.
Torch knows it'll take him a while to get through it, but he likes poetry. The words are pretty spaced out, which makes them easier to read. And maybe he can get Eli to read him some.
Smiling to himself, he asks the librarian if he can check it out.
"Name?"
"Torch."
"ID?"
"39534."
"Great. She's all yours for another two weeks."
"Thanks!" Torch grabs his new book and skips down the hall. He smiles at people he passes on the way, finally reaching his room and Eli.
He's officially madly in love.
It's one thing to say it when he thought there was no hope of anything ever happening. The whole "being in love" thing sort of started off as a way to name his self-pitying angst, but now it's real. It's really real and he has no doubt in his mind anymore. He loves Eli, heart and soul, and he wants to be with him forever.
All but throwing the door open, he finds the other boy sitting on his (their!) bed, crouched over a textbook. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Missed you."
"For twenty minutes?"
"Yeah."
Torch chuckles at him, but he has to admit he feels the same way. Not out loud, though. "You busy studying?"
"Not too busy, why?"
"I was wondering." He feels himself blush. "Do you want to read to me?"
"What?"
"I… I saw this book of poems. And I like… y'know, I like things you read, but I'm not good at the actual reading. But you…"
"Oh. C'mere." Eli pushes the textbook away, and Torch settles half in his lap, his head resting against Eli's chest. "Anything in particular."
"Nope."
Eli flips the book open to a random page, and reads, his voice soft and strong, his chest rumbling underneath Torch.
"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death."
Torch smiles, kissing the nearest available bit of Eli- his neck, as it happens. "I love you. Thank you."
Eli doesn't say anything, just holds him close. He can feel Torch breathing, and it strikes him how precious this is.
How fleeting it might be.
