starface

i was drunk. and i never get drunk.

i liked the feeling of it going down my throat, it almost felt soft. it was addicting in the way that you like the feeling of ice cold water on your hands so you keep putting them under the faucet. it coated my insides with a film, it felt nice. i didnt like the taste at all. i didnt like the taste of the cold brown bottle when i was 8 and my dad tilted it my way at the dinner table- why would i like it now. the night just gets fuzzy as you drink, but howd i know, i never got drunk before.

and so now im laying in a random bed (or i think its a bed, all i can really feel are the sheets). the sun is warm on my skin, and not in a cat laying by the window kind of way. i needed to turn my cheek the other way to stop the burning sensation. and as soon as i turn i see another person, something, as one would expect, unexpected. my eyes are still tired, and although he's inches away from my face everything is just kinda blurry. i need new glasses.

from what i can make out, he has dark hair. i think its curly, but it could be the illusion of one of the many pillows underneath our heads. i think its curly. he has nice skin. he has nice skin for someone who, much like myself, has just woken up from a strenuous and sweat inducing night (to jump to conclusions). his eyes are still closed. i wonder if he's awake. my eyes have focused a bit since the last couple seconds passing by, but still i take off my glasses and attempt to wipe them off with my dirty, week old goodwill sweater. nothing much changes, except when i put them back on and look at the person in front of me, i see another set of eyes.

i assume i've been giving him a confused look, as he mimics one back to me, but with a slight smile. we are terrifyingly close to each other. and normally, i wouldn't necessarily like that but i still have some sort of alcohol in my system, although i dont know what it is, and that gives me a small amount of confidence.

"hello." he says, his voice raspy and barely audible voice, now that i think about it in retrospect. i think if i was even a few centimeters away, i wouldnt have been able to reply.

"hi." i whisper back. theres a subconscious conversational decision to examine each other properly, i see him move his eyes around while i move mine. he's quite pretty, i notice. i like his eyes, theyre slightly sunken. and his lips drape down, similar to mine. and just as fast as we examine each other, he begins to speak again.

"so where were you last night?" he asks, voice still raspy as ever.

i think about answering. not whether or not i should, but what to say. the last thing i could remember was being with my friends, somewhere in the upper east side. it was a bar or a restaurant, im not sure. and thats just about the amount that my brain has the capacity to recall. so i look around the room while i think, but i know that there will be nothing else that comes to mind.

"i was drunk. and i never get drunk." i end up finally saying.

he gives out a small laugh, more of an exhale through his nose with a smile, an implication of a laugh.

"i would tell you where i was but i dont think i can remember." he says. "probably something similar to you."

"i like your face." i say. "your stars." he's wearing the same acne patches i am, but he wears two.

"i like yours."

he inches slightly closer to me, maybe not intentionally, more of an act to make himself more comfortable on the pillow his head is on. still, now we're closer to each other, something i really didnt think was possible. we remain in silence for a bit, or i suppose physical silence-my mind is racing. i really want to know more about him, more about what led us both here, where "here" is. its hot, or maybe thats just the sun. the sheets are cold, in comparison to the sun they are. his hair is nice, i think it is curly, or wavy at least. focusing on the silence makes me hear the fan above us. at least there's something keeping us cool. i think i want to touch his face.

it takes a little bit of my hungover courage to even look him in the eye again, but soon enough that courage builds. i reach my hand up to his head and hold a bit of his hair. he seems confused but doesnt say anything about it, he just continues to look at me, looking at him. his hair is, as i imagined it to be, soft. with my fingertips i begin caressing his hair, more toward the scalp. he takes a breath as i do so. i play with his hair some more, gently and with smooth motions. its quiet in the world, in this room. everything seems so gentle and tender. it was scary just reaching out to him, but its more natural now, with my hand on him. my fingers still in his hair, my thumb drags along his forehead, not consciously. really everything i do seems like the body is telling me to do it, not my own self.

my thumb repetitively caresses his forehead and around his eyes. my breath is still heavy, and i don't remember if i had intentions before i reached out to touch him. his skin is delicate. i cant help but smile as i touch it. he smiles back, i look back at him.

"what are you doing?" he asks, but i hope he doesnt expect an answer, i dont give him one. i just keep touching his face, almost petting it. he takes another deep breath before his hand reached out as well. but he doesnt touch my hair, in fact id say hes more ambitious.

i feel his hand cup my cheek, fingers wrapped behind my ear and barely touching my neck. i dont know what he thinks, but he keeps it there. something about the thumbs, i knew i wasnt crazy. i feel him move it back and forth, like those petting motions i mentioned before. he closes his eyes, takes another breath.

i dont know what to say, but i want to say something. hes so pretty, i dont want to move, dont what to disturb him. hes like a cat. gentle and mysterious. he opens his eyes again.

"so do you do this with all of the people you sleep with?"

i dont think we slept together, did we? i would be shocked, but my body tells me not to, just to keep petting him and pushing my fingers through his hair.

"do what." i say, concentrated on every little movement.

"make everyone that you wake up with on a sunny, confusing morning fall in love with you?" he admits.

i dont know what to say. i keep petting.

"because i think right now i want to kiss you, or hold you or something," he inches a little closer. i think our noses are touching. "and im the most hungover i think ive ever been in my life." his voice is so quiet and sincere, i feel like we've been a couple for years and he knows just what to do to make me happy.

i giggle, another form of nose exhalation. hes so pretty.

"you can kiss me if you want. i just want to touch your face."

"you can touch my face." he says with a giggle.

his hand is still of my cheek while he kisses me. much like everything else he does, he is gentle and sincere. much more of a peck. many small little, and paced pecks. i enjoy it. he kisses around my cheeks and my nose, it kinda tickles. i end up resting my hand somewhere in the depths of his dark curls and star studded skin.

"i dont think i want to leave you." he whispers to me amongst kisses.

"i think that we're hungover in a place we dont know." i play with his curls again.

"that too."

"we can stay here for a while though." i reassure him. i have nothing to do.

"right here?"

i give him a small nod and grab his face, similar to how he's holding mine.

"youre so pretty." i say aloud. "if i turned the other way, would you put your arms and legs between mine and rest your head in the nape of my neck."

"turn around." he answers.

so we lay. i can feel his face in the nape of my neck and his arms and legs tangled between mine. i dont know how long he'll lay like this, or how long it will take for someone to enter a room that is rightfully theirs. but im happy to be laying with this stranger with the same acne patches as mine, the warmth of his body counteracting the warmth of the sun. i have a pretty boy between my legs and the quietness of a cemetery surrounding us. ill miss him.