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They are momentarily alone. Warmth has encouraged them, undoubtedly, but maybe it is also the blinding light that comes from behind and makes long shadows of eyelashes, the light that floods pupils, eclipsing the true source of dilation and stretching out their drowsiness until it covers them like blankets. They're tired, numb, but kissing anyway, a light pecking kiss, a nervous kiss, a kiss that isn't quite sure where it's going or why it even set out to journey in the first place. There's nothing obvious besides, no tension between them, no stereotypical signal that had ever indicated this progress. They're just here, needy and drained, but most important of all is that they are here and that this togetherness is a forever promise; the kind that puts Sean to sleep at night when he's not sure he is capable of dreaming. That they are not asleep—that there is no dream—will come to them later. Right now, this is peace. If there is a definition, which there most likely is not, it is peace. It is the only goal that either of them can imagine as they stand there in sweaty woolen costumes, panting into each other's mouths. |
