Hong Kong, June 1995
Their lips touch, and all John can feel is a relief so profound, his knees would buckle if he weren't already sitting down.
As kisses go, it's probably not the best. His lips are dry and hers are a bit lifeless; more peck than passion. But it's different with another person, unexpected and almost daring.
(Safe, in a way that lets him know he's normal for wanting it.)
She pulls away, and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight she makes: eyes closed, a light smile flitting over her lip-glossed mouth, her blonde hair tossing in the humid breeze. He licks his lips and can taste the flavour (strawberry) she's left behind.
"That's nice," she murmurs, opening her eyes. Brown, flecked with bits of gold.
"Mm," he agrees, turning to look out at the dim lights cast by the fishing boats out in the bay. Her hand is warm in his; sweaty, but not clammy, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. The sea salt is heavy in the air tonight. He breathes it in, imprinting it on his memory.
"You're going back, then?" Ellie asks after a moment, and John nods.
"End of term. Tour's up this year, and Dad wants me to take my A-levels back home. You?"
Ellie sighs, gazing out over the water. "I've been here half my life," she says softly. There's a faraway look in her eyes that John can't read. "I'll probably go back for uni, but Mum and Dad'll stay here, I expect. Dunno for how much longer, though."
"Maybe I'll see you there?" John says hopefully. "Back home? It's only a couple more years."
Ellie gives him a sad sort of smile; not pitying, exactly, but imbued with some secret knowledge he can't grasp. A nameless ache blossoms in his chest, and he turns his face away so she won't see the twist of his mouth.
"It never works that way," she says. "People always say they'll keep in touch, but... " Ellie shakes her head. "I've even gone to see a friend or two when we've been back on leave. It's never the same."
He nods in resigned agreement, the fringe of his hair falling into his eyes, and Ellie scoots closer on the bench. She leans forward and looks up into his downturned face.
"Doesn't mean it has to end right now, though, does it?" she says with a smile, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. John turns towards her, and he lifts his hands to her thin shoulders. He likes the feel of them under his fingers - the hard knots of bone and the soft expanse of skin. He tentatively strokes his thumbs over her clavicles, then leans close.
The second kiss is better. They're both getting the hang of it now - a wetter brushing of lips and, there at the end, the taste of something more that has his trousers tightening just a bit.
And if it isn't earth-shattering, it's a heady distraction from Typhoon Harry wreaking havoc at home; from the all the upheaval of the impending move. From having to start over again.