From Fat to Skinny

Sometimes things are bad.

But sometimes things are fucking amazing.

Right now I’ve got a lightly dozing Sebastian in my lap and Slaughterhouse Five in my hand. The book’s hard enough to follow on good days, but as distracted as I am by the weight of his body pressed against my legs and his breath breezing across my skin, it’s damn impossible to concentrate on anything but.

My eyes keep dropping to trace the contours of his face, the hard angles and cheekbones carved from starvation. His lips are full, delicately shaped like a cupid’s bow, but pale and chapped. His long, dark lashes cast soft shadows. His hair, gelled back to show his squared hairline and accentuate the shape of his bony face, has started to rebel against the pomade, a few stray strands breaking free to sweep across his forehead.

I bend down and plant a tender kiss on his brow.

He blinks blearily and stares up at me, confusion glinting in his sleep-clouded eyes. In the half-light of a setting sun, they are a smoky gray. I smile at him, and he returns the expression, slipping easily back into his slumber.

Before he completely goes under he mumbles, “I think I love you” against my thigh.

Yeah.

Sometimes things are bad, but sometimes things are fucking amazing.