[ to be fair, he doesn't try to think of what it means at first. it'd been that way from the start, rocky and too quick to really consider the logic, to do more than take second seat to some rough-and-tumble, street-smart killjoy who thinks he knows better, who probably doesn't, but knows he's fast enough to pick things up on the fly given the opportunity. keith stole his car at first, looked stiff and small at first when he laid a hand on his shoulder in the alleyway. it's different than all of the dreams and daydreams, but because of them, nothing seems all that sudden when they should be: the stalking, and the fixating, and every unfortunate sign that there's something just as wrong with his head if he's humoring everything that this dumb kid's trying to do.
but it's hard to deny the effect it has on him.
nothing really explains the blind trust, how they went from that missed beat on the streets with his hand on keith's shoulder to this, all racing heartbeats and searing relief, something that feels like what he felt in a dream last night, clutching keith to his chest and hoping beyond all unexplainable hope that he'd stay safe. it still knots in his throat.
he doesn't remember this, but nothing about the feeling changes at all. not the adrenaline rushing hot in his blood, and not the zero gravity of the giddy moment, the way keith yields, breath shuttering, and he'd like nothing more than to surge into the kiss, to hold on tightly and never let keith give him that lost-eyed look again.
don't go.
but that was a dream.
the reality is this: keith is a young boy he's met some few weeks ago. he broke his window and rummaged through his things, and now he's in his bed, wearing his clothes, and any moment now, he's going to spill hot cocoa on his sheets.
he knows all of this, clear-headed as ever, and he's still slow to pull back. ]
. . . that was -
[ nice, is on the tip of his tongue. but it's probably not the joke he wants it to mean. half-lidded and bleary-eyed, he doesn't really mean the breathlessness of the murmur when he eventually finds the words.
especially when they're still only an inch away. ]
no subject
but it's hard to deny the effect it has on him.
nothing really explains the blind trust, how they went from that missed beat on the streets with his hand on keith's shoulder to this, all racing heartbeats and searing relief, something that feels like what he felt in a dream last night, clutching keith to his chest and hoping beyond all unexplainable hope that he'd stay safe. it still knots in his throat.
he doesn't remember this, but nothing about the feeling changes at all. not the adrenaline rushing hot in his blood, and not the zero gravity of the giddy moment, the way keith yields, breath shuttering, and he'd like nothing more than to surge into the kiss, to hold on tightly and never let keith give him that lost-eyed look again.
don't go.
but that was a dream.
the reality is this: keith is a young boy he's met some few weeks ago. he broke his window and rummaged through his things, and now he's in his bed, wearing his clothes, and any moment now, he's going to spill hot cocoa on his sheets.
he knows all of this, clear-headed as ever, and he's still slow to pull back. ]
. . . that was -
[ nice, is on the tip of his tongue. but it's probably not the joke he wants it to mean. half-lidded and bleary-eyed, he doesn't really mean the breathlessness of the murmur when he eventually finds the words.
especially when they're still only an inch away. ]
. . . supposed to be a test?