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❧ Milo lay on his bed in just his boxer shorts, flipping idly through his book.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded right outside his door. Oliver entered from the adjoined bathroom, shirtless, toweling his damp hair.
Milo glanced up as their eyes met briefly. "How come you aren't out with the others at the river?" he asked.
Oliver just smiled with a nonchalant shrug. "I have...an allergy," he replied vaguely.
"Hmm...maybe to the same thing I'm allergic to," Milo suggested pointedly.
Oliver nodded thoughtfully before his eyes dropped to the book in Milo's hands. "Are you still reading up on Aristotle?"
Milo shook his head. "No, I've moved on to the later Stoics now - currently reading Marcus Aurelius and his meditations on self-discipline and not letting emotions rule you."
"Ah, an important topic," remarked Oliver. He shifted closer, eyes scanning the open pages though Milo doubted he could actually make out the tiny text from that distance.
Regardless, Milo felt suddenly self-conscious to have Oliver's arm brushing his as he leaned in. He froze, pulse quickening, as Oliver's shoulder pressed casually against his own.
After a strained moment, Milo cleared his throat and scooted away on the pretext of stretching out his legs. Oliver seemed not to notice the evasion, gaze still fixed with scholarly interest on the book.
"So what wisdom has Marcus Aurelius imparted so far?" He asked. "Any insights on how to maintain self-control in complicated situations?"
Milo bit his tongue. If only you knew...
He looked back down at his book, but soon heard Oliver speak up again, standing up. "Want to go for a swim, just you and me?"
Milo stalled. "Uh, maybe later..."
But Oliver was already extending a coaxing hand out to him. "Let's go now."
"Do we have to?" Milo protested weakly.
"I'm going to change," Oliver decided, grabbing his swimsuit. "What about you?"
Before Milo could respond, Oliver had already left the room. With a resigned sigh, Milo donned his own swim trunks.
But when he stepped into the bathroom, he froze at the unexpected sight of a half-dressed Oliver.
Time seemed to warp. His heart did more than jump; it hammered against his ribs like a frantic bird in a cage.
Heat flushed his cheeks, and he spun around, scrambling back into his room, hand instinctively flying to his chest as if to calm the frantic rhythm.
Milo's mind was a storm. Why was he reacting this way? He hadn't wanted this, not the confusion, the unwanted fluttering in his stomach.
