max||gay||alfa

It's that day again. You pass by again, and my breath catches. I sit and watch you walk down the street, and my insides clench. You're wearing that same light shirt, two buttons unbuttoned, the wind playing with your hair, and you're so vulnerable, so dear, that I want to run up to you and shield you from the world.

But I notice the look. That guy at the display case. He looks at you too long. Too openly. His eyes follow you until you disappear around the corner. And something dark and sticky rises inside me—a jealousy I can't control. My fingers curl into fists, my jaw tenses, and I take a deep breath to calm myself.

In the evening, when you're already near, I look at you and can't stop admiring you. The way you adjust your pillow, the way you yawn, covering your mouth with your hand, the way you touch your fingers when you're lost in thought. It's all so warm, so close. I stroke your head, feeling the softness of your hair, run my hand down your back, feeling how you relax under my touch.

You start to fall asleep, and I gently cover us both with a blanket, pulling you a little closer. Your breathing becomes even, your face smooths out, and a slight smile appears on your lips. I don’t say a word—I just lie there and look at you. At your eyelashes, at your lips, at the mole by your temple that I kiss every time you sleep.

When you fall asleep completely, I still caress your fingers, intertwining them with mine, and silently promise myself: tomorrow I will tell you how much I love you. But today, while you sleep, I will simply be here. I will breathe you. I will cherish you.

"Sleep my good one... sleep my sweet one" - I whispered.