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“You do that too much.” He said. I looked at him with a questionable look.
“Stroking your hair, I mean. You do that all the time and if you do, always twice.” He said while continuing stroking my hair. I hadn't even noticed, I don't think anyone has ever noticed. Except for him.
I moved my thumbs, in a circular motion. He looked down at his thighs, seeing I had my hand on them. He was sitting on waist height, he was also taller than me, which made him even taller; but somehow, I didn't feel like he was dominant. I felt like could pick him up and bend him over on any given platform.
Or
A story where a string of bad events lead to something beautiful. A story about two boys who figure out who they are and what they want. Read as they struggle with who they are and who they want to be and sometimes, bring themselves at risk.

