#meep morp quick brainfart scene for the neverending 'bla bla alberto religious guilt' au

[skypied]

It’s Sunday morning and you’re pretending you aren’t awake, pretending you don’t know Alberto isn’t asleep.

It’s getting more impossible with each sleepover, because his breath is never as slow and easy as it is when he’s tucked into your chest, because his fingers are shyly tracing the lines in your palm, because it’s clear as day but evaporates in the light. 

You want to say so much. You want to tell him everything. You want to tell him things you don’t have the words for. You want to show him, feel him, see him; you want him to show you, feel you, see you. You want the animal you sense deep in his eyes, the one he’s holding underwater, hoping to one day drown it by his own hand so he won’t take yours.

Saying anything at all would ruin everything.

So you don’t.

You say nothing and try to absorb and remember all the rightness; the indescribable sky-soaring feeling of closeness, the grounding safety of his gravity, the sunflower unfolding in your heart.

It’s Sunday morning and until your mother knocks on the door and Alberto slams against the wall to get away from you quick enough you can pretend you don’t know; pretend he doesn’t know; pretend you aren’t pretending; pretend that it might ever be enough.