He loved him. Right from the first sleepover at his house in freshman year, a night he willed himself to forget, when he had to shut his eyes, ears and mind tight to the sounds of them, his best friend and the man he loved as they boinked themselves to ecstasy in the dark room, while he lay repulsed by the touch of the fat ogre.

His first attempt at telling him how much he loved him had been absolutely subpar, and he had been a topic for caricature by his friends who learned about it. It had been an embarrassing moment, but he knew he still loved him.

He observed him from the corners of his eyes, he knew certain things about him; more things than he should have known. He was fascinated mostly by the way he fluctuated from baritone to alto whenever he laughed, throwing his head backward. He also loved his fashion signature looks, his tidiness and benevolence.

Most times when he lay lonely on his bed, denied of sleep, he thought about him; the lusciousness of his lips and what it’d feel like to kiss them, and run his fingers down his smooth, hairless back, and through the sprinkles of black hair on his athletic chest. He imagined his handsome coffee-coloured face, with his spectacles pushed farther up the bridge of his small nose.

They’d both had a couple of boyfriends, but he had been mostly unfortunate, simply because they failed to be like this man he loved, one way or another, which infuriated and irritated him. But the man he loved was luckier, or so it seemed. He was a lover of beauty. So he found himself admiring his boyfriends instead of loathing them. They became his friends too, instead of his enemies, and he often wondered if it wasn’t sheer stupidity.

Three years have gone by, and the feelings are still strong like the first night, even though they are simply just friends now. Very good friends, just the way he’d rather them be. The man he loved was the man he’d now rather not date.

So instead, he watches over him like a god, this man he loves, as he goes about his life, unaware of the feelings he stokes in him. Which is best, he believes. Because a lot of things, he yet believes, are best left the way they were.

Written by Peaches

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