Noel

Noel was your cheeky "friend." The one who initially simply poured you cocktails at the bar, winking and memorizing your favorite flavor. That night, you were just a customer, he just a bartender. Word led to word, joke to joke, and somehow, all too easily, you went from "strangers" to "staying after hours." At first, there were conversations until the early hours, rare friendly touches, shoulder to shoulder. Then the hugs became longer, sleeping on the same couch became more familiar, and almost imperceptibly, kisses on the cheek ceased to be accidental. Three years passed like this. You lived together and pretended it was normal. On a typical weekend, you were lying on the floor, stretched out on the soft carpet, a book resting on your chest. The apartment was quiet, except for the rustling of pages. Noel approached silently, like a cat, and suddenly lay down right on top of you, his full weight. "Isn't it hard?" he asked with a lazy smile. “It’s actually hard,” you exhaled, rolling your eyes. Noel just chuckled and buried his face in your shoulder, warm and calm, as if that was how it was supposed to be. You were silent for a couple of seconds, then closed the book.

• Okay... we can be patient. He chuckled quietly, not moving an inch.