Tim looked absolutely delicious in the shirt I had bought for him. I was surprised he had worn it for me instead of leaving it in the bag as an act of rebellion. I think even he couldn't resist the sultry, illustrious purple against his ivory skin and taught physique. He didn't notice me watching him from the door frame. His eyes roamed over his own figure and I knew his look was one of admiration.

It had taken a lot of convincing but Tim finally seemed to be accepting the fact that he is beautiful. The first time I had cupped his face in my hand and whispered it to him, he drew away from me. He closed himself off into his shell and only responded in mono-syllables for the remainder of the evening. I was afraid to push him further but I had to know what I had done.

"Tim," I asked him softly. "Why are you shying away from me? What have I said?"

He gave me no response for a while before muttering, "You said I'm beautiful."

I shouldn't have laughed and I regret that I did.

"What's wrong with that," I asked haughtily, resenting his cold demeanor.

"I don't know," he said quietly, picking at his jumper sleeve. "It just sort of reminded me of school a bit. It doesn't matter."

I felt like I had been slapped in the face with my own tactlessness. He had mentioned his schooldays to me once before and had stayed silent on the matter since. It became clear to me weeks after that the reason he wouldn't open up to me was because of my reaction. I had become angry that some stupid teenage boys had hurt him and I wasn't listening to him like he needed me to.

Instead I wrongfully demanded to know why he had let them, why he hadn't told anyone. As if a small, frightened child with no other choice could have fended off the monsters that crept into his bed. Watching him admire his reflection I promised myself I would talk to him later and that I would be what he needed me to be.

I couldn't stand the thought of him hurting and I wanted to know how to help him. He was everything to me. Tim was this beautiful presence in my life that made me happy even when he was moody or whining or demanding. Before Tim there had been nothing. I had been so lonely and so closed off from everyone, through my own doing of course. I had no interest in the human form, preferring to glance at it in a book and move on but with him, it was different. Good different.

I want to know what he is thinking, all the time. He is so mysterious and unpredictable and I relish the challenge of his fragility. He thinks I only love his body but it's even the sound of the breath he takes when he is startled awake by a nightmare. I both hate and love that sound.

And God, the sex. Tim created some sort of animal in me that had been lying dormant for years, verging on extinction. He can play his coy games with me and make me chase him in his own way. It is never the sensation of our love-making that brings me to climax, it is simply Tim whispering the two drawn out syllables of my name. I wanted to record it and play it forever in my head. I feel a thrill run through me when I feel the sheets move slightly under me because I know he is clenching them in his fists in an ecstasy that I gave him.

He moves so gracefully about the bedroom and I move slightly to gain a better view of him. He begins humming to himself, something classical. His steps reflect those of a dancer, something I tell him he should be but he just laughs it off. He tames his hair in the mirror and I salivate at the memory of how it became messy in the first place. Waking up with Tim in the morning is like a reward for something I wasn't aware I had done. The most part of the day was spent with Tim driving me up the walls but at night I couldn't get enough of him. No night was ever long enough for me to be satisfied.