Living with Hope ✓ [ boyxboy ] [ Completed ]

19

Ivan Petrov

I wake up to the scent of pine and mints. My chest is pressed against his bare one, my injured arm sandwiched between our breathing torsos. Our legs are tangled with the sheets, meaning I can't untangle my legs from his without waking him up.

I'm not entirely sure I want to either.

My untied hair's a mess, falling on my face. Hope's hair is brushing against my forehead because we're that close. His hands are wrapped around my back, and my right hand is on his nape.

He's breathing steadily - I can feel his breath on my cheek. The rise and fall of his stomach is so rhythmic, I try to sync with him. My eyes are trained on his, but his eyelids are shut. I can look at him without hesitating now. No one's there to stop me, not even myself.

His beauty scars are the first thing I notice. I move on. His lips are parted, his whole face is so angular you can see the planes of his face. It's strangely symmetrical. I like it.

Then his throat - Adam's Apple bobbing with every breath. His whole body is like a monolith weathered by a waterfall. Smooth and strong and so definite. His chest, his torso, his goddamn arms... How did God allow this?

"I can pretend to sleep for longer if you want." His voice comes out hoarse and swoony. His eyes are still closed. "I know I'm pulchritudinous."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" I try to cover my shock.

He opens his eyes. Both of them. They're milder than usual. "Beautiful, that's what it means. There are very few people I'd describe with that word."

"And you just described yourself," I mumble. "I'm going to have to look up the symptoms of narcissism."

He rolls his eyes. "Is it normal for you to start your days with cussing?"

My hand on his nape falls to his back. He pretends to not notice. "For how long have you been awake? Or pretending to sleep?"

I don't need to hear him to know he's laughing. I can feel his chest bouncing with zest against my own. "Long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

"Long enough to know you'd rather spend the day wrapped around me than play basketball. Also with me."

I push my injured arm against his stomach, not really hitting him but enough for him to know I'm not pleased with his answer. And I'm not pleased because as much as I'd hate to admit it, he's right.

His hands leave my back and cup my fractured hand. His gaze is steady on the cast. "Don't move it, gosh! You're supposed to let it heal, Ivan."

Did he always say my name like that? "I only did it because you were being annoying."

He exhales and a long spell of air rushes on my neck. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be.... Saying stuff like that when I know about Dorian Gray."

He's jealous. I'd bet on it.

"We were supposed to play basketball, right?" I ask, changing the topic.

He grins. "Only if you promise to not strain this arm of yours."

I groan. "Yeah, okay. I haven't laid my hands on a basketball for ages. Can we please go."

"Liar. Bas said you were dribbling the ball in the garden."

"For five minutes!" I exclaim. "Now are we going or not?"

"We are." He presses me closer to him, tangling our legs more and buries his head in the crook of my neck. Totally normal, right? "In five minutes."