His hands slipped through mine, clutching them sweetly.
His kisses were soft as they brushed against my cheek. He was too shy to do anything more. Burying his head in my shoulder, cheeks ablaze.
Sweet, darling Nicky.
He smelled of clove cigarettes, and cake and something else. Something heady and musky and very much boy.
We were the closest friends, as friends can be without crossing the line.
He took me everywhere, like I was his child, and bought me lunch and brushed crumbs off my shirt. At times, he curled inwards toward me when he was scared or insecure and I held him like he was mine.
I think of all my relationships, ours was the most innocent. The most decadent.
One day,I fell asleep next to him in the sun; in a garden of flowers. We napped for hours, then I woke up and made him a flower crown and he wore it all day. He smiled at me as he placed it on his head, like the purest rarest gold. Then he covered my hand with his in thank you.
So gentle. Like he was touching a baby bird.