Raphael /BoyxBoy/

||Eighteen||

And I had no idea how.

"You should go home," he said, moving away to grab the pizza. Standing so crumbs of its crust tumbled down his shirt and to the worn out rug at our feet. "It's late."

I stood up.

"And talk to him," he said, still turning away. Still walking away, but faster now. Until his voice trailed away as he disappeared to the kitchen. "He must be worried at this point."

"Are you sure?"

He re-emerged, leaning against one of his walls, arms drawn across his chest.

Raphael shrugged. "I'm not your boyfriend."

"Right."

Because kissing you and only you, touching you and only you, wanting you while everything turned to fog in comparison did not amount for anything.

Because the feeling that started to seize my chest with an iron grip was nothing.

He couldn't have been kissing other boys, other men. I would have known. I would have noticed.

"But he could be yours," he said, interrupting my messy thoughts. "You're in love with him. Still. And that's something you can't throw away. You shouldn't."

I felt dazed, but my head nodded. I nodded. I agreed, and his eyes turned to examine the ceiling.

"So go home," he said.

I held my breath. This was it. "Do you want me to?"

He must not have expected that response, because his eyes fell sharply to mine before going back to the ceiling.

"He's been waiting for over a week."

"He didn't notice," I said, taking a step forward. "And you didn't answer my question."

"I know I would be worried," his arms tightened around himself. And in his cramped, dark apartment, he never looked more alone.

"But you don't want me to go. Why can't you say it?"

"Go."

I swiftly grabbed my jacket. "Fine."

Outside, under the orange glow of the streetlights, I shuddered from the cold.

I shuddered at the image of him more alone now. Standing still in his apartment.

I didn't understand it. Why he would want me to go away so badly. If it was my fault for hurting him. If he'd just simply gotten sick of being around me and this was the only way he could tell me to leave.

This lie. Because we both knew that whatever I felt for Nate was over before I kissed his lips for the first time, before he took me to bed, before I relished under the morning sunlight while his body slowly began to mold with mine.

—
Back at the apartment, alone it seemed as all the rooms made no sound, I signed into my email for the first time in days.

Hey,

I'm happy to hear that everyone's well. I miss everyone back home-

I held my breath. No.

I miss being with you.

Fuck. My eyes skimmed the rest of the email.

I lied to you...holding you...I need you...Kiss-

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My inbox was filled with confused replies from Nate. Of "is this a joke" and "call me" or "email me" or "we need to talk."