Oliver stops in mid-sentence when an unexpected, warm touch brushes his hand. His cheeks heat up and he looks away, butterflies stirring inside him, but the hand that now holds his does not leave. After a while the French looks up and meets sky-blue eyes that studies him with open affection. Enrique smiles, and Oliver marvels his courage; even on a day like this, when the sun is shining and the ice cream is too good not to share, he himself would never dare…
But Enrique dares, and the kiss is warm, sweet and soft like the spring afternoon.
It tickles his nose in the morning, waking him up to rays of sunshine through the curtains and arms that warm him better than the duvet. There is birdsong outside his window. Oliver yawns sleepily and buries his fingers deeper into the shaggy fur, earning a content murmur from the beast that takes up half of his bed. This is a place to stay forever, but not even the morning hours can last that long. “Lupinex…time to get up.”
The fur ball grumbles and rolls over, almost offended to be woken up so early, and Oliver lets him win.