by D. V. Patton
Before Chris could speak against, Ciaran stepped into his arms and gripped him tightly, their bodies meeting in a protective layer of cloth. Ciaran buried his head against Chris’ chest. It began to move slowly left and right.
They held each other in the middle of the back street as late night shoppers passed them in the street, as the precipitation grew ever heavier. Chris smiled. “I think you might have missed your bus,” he said.
Ciaran looked up at him. “I’m so sorry I left you in Spain,” he whispered. “I just…after we spent that day together…in the caves, then being together…I freaked out. And then Mattie died. I’ve regretted it every single day.” “Do you love me, Ciaran?”
Ciaran laid his head back on Chris’ chest. “There are things about me you don’t know. I don’t know if I’m capable of love…”
Chris lifted his chin and kissed him, a full deep show of his passion. He looked up at the streetlights, at the snowflakes that fell through the rays of light. “You’re here, aren’t you?” Chris said, running his fingers through Ciaran’s blond hair. Ciaran was shaking, that habit that only manifested itself when he was emotional. Chris finally realized how he had tucked away all Ciaran’s little mannerisms the whole time.
“You won’t ever hurt me, will you, Chris?” asked Ciaran softly. Chris held him tight against his body.
“Until this moment…right now…I never realized I was searching for you my whole life.”
Chris felt Ciaran’s fingers grip him tight, and they stood embracing under the streetlights, as the snow grew ever heavier. People swerved to avoid them, and the signs in the shops threw neon light against the glass.
About The Author
D.V. Patton was born in South Africa but moved to the Europe as a child. He now lives in Dublin, Ireland. He is an avid reader and musician and lives with his partner and their much-maligned pets. Since he was a boy, D.V. has been possessed of an overactive imagination, and he hopes to build his dream house in Spain and write for a living.