"What is love in this temporal life, if not just a distraction from the pain that doesn't seem to end."
After losing his best friend to an unexplained suicide, Mateu finds himself left to pick up the pieces with his best friend's younger brother, Fe...
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We spent all afternoon lazing around, enjoying each other's company. And by enjoying each other's company, I meant mostly fucking. I couldn't get enough of him, and so did Ferran. Was it to make up for lost time, or was I just that into him? I would never know.
Ferran loved it too, obviously. By the time we were done, he was covered in a glimmering sheen of sweat. He collapsed on my chest at the end of our third round as I cradled him with my arms. I held him close to me as the afternoon sun streamed in from the balcony, his soft hair brushing against my jaw.
"You okay?" I asked him, planting a kiss on his forehead.
"A bit sore," he giggled. "But it felt good."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
I couldn't help but chuckle. He was such a sweet little thing.
"We should probably clean up," I suggested.
"Can't we stay like this a little longer?" he said.
He pleaded, but there wasn't even a slight hint of playfulness in his tone, or the flirtatious teasing that I had grew accustomed to from Momo. No, it was that ironically familiar yet distant cool tone of his, that I have grown to be mesmerised by.
So I just cradled him in my arms as I closed my eyes, feeling the warm rays of the sun pour onto my bare skin, listening to the boy's soft breathing against my chest. I couldn't tell how long I held him like that. It could've been a few minutes. It could've been forever.
"It has been a while since someone made me feel like this," Ferran remarked as he finally got off me.
"When was the last time?" I asked him.
The boy was silent for a while, and I sat myself up beside him.
"It was you actually," he said, looking at me with those pretty eyes of his.
Now it was my turn to fall silent.
"All this months. . . you've never?"
He just shook his head.
"No," he muttered. "Yes, but not exactly."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Ferran sighed as he stood up.
"You know how I am," he said as he walked across the living room. "Boys don't like to play with broken toys."
"You're not broken," I replied.
Ferran only remained silent. We showered and cleaned up together, scrubbing each other, our hands all over our bodies once more. Ferran had always been difficult to understand, back then in school, and back then in summer. Why would now be any exception?
"They either think I'm weird and don't want to have anything to do with me," Ferran began as we dried off with the towels he had in the bathroom. "Or they try to fix me."
