Stay

"I have to go," I turned quickly. The tears were brimming, threatening to fall fast.

He reached out, catching my sleeve in both hands. He held the cotton between his fingers, like a child clutches a security blanket.

"Stay," he whispered, "Stay with me."

If I stayed, I knew my heart would break. But, looking at him in the dark hallway outside of his roommate's door, it already began to crack into a crevice with a magnitude only scientists and poets cared to measure.

"Please," his voice cracked. His eyes glinted.

I pulled him into an embrace. It was the sort that was timid, and slow. The lingering, pining sort. He held me back, tightly. He did not cry, but he trembled.

"Stay," he insisted through his sorrow.

"You're leaving tomorrow. I ... I don't want to watch you go."

He rested his forehead against mine. Our noses touched. We breathed the same air—I could feel each of his exhales on my lips.

He kissed me, slowly. It was sad, longing. It ached to kiss him. I pulled him closer.

His lips moved drunkenly against my sober set. It didn't matter. That look in his eyes ... it made me feel full in my chest. It was warm and comforting in his arms.

I knew he loved me then. It was obvious I loved him. We were in deeper than infatuation. We were soaked in our new love and it dripped over every aspect of our lives.

I nibbled his neck. He emitted a deep sigh of content.

He led me into his room, carefully picking his way over packed bags. I navigated easily by walking around.

He peeled off his clothes with minimal hesitation. I closed his bedroom door.

He tucked himself in, wriggling to settle in deeper. A peaceful expression rested atop his beauty. His breathing had already slowed once I crawled in myself only minutes later.

In his sleep, he reached for me. I allowed him to hold me. Once I was safe inside his spoon, he sighed like it was all he ever wanted.

A tear slipped from my eye.