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“Hipsters are characters, not people,”
He holds on to the railing and stretches his leg to the opposite bench, and his shirt rises a little so I peek at his exposed skin peripherally while keeping my focus on Theo’s grin.
It’s weird how it hurts at first; it’s weird how Theo’s talking to me to make sure I’m okay feels way better than everything else that’s happening. It’s weird how we’re learning how to do this together, how I don’t find myself counting, how I’m able to be here for him and be here for me without distraction, how I forget I have a cold.
Like Jackson and me on this odd day, or any day. I grab Jackson by the back of his neck and kiss him—not a butterfly kiss, not a caveman kiss, not an Eskimo kiss, not a zombie kiss—a straight-up kiss where my tongue finds its way into his mouth and his massages mine back.
