Work Text:
“I’m sorry,” Oliver whispered to the sleeping boy.
Sorry he was leaving, sorry he was going to hurt him and sorry that he wasn’t nearly as brave, as strong.
There had been a small moment in time, early one the morning, before the house awoke, after they had made love for the very first time – messy, sweaty, painful, awkward, heart-stoppingly beautiful love - when he did feel strong. Strong enough to have the courage to tell his parents, and end things for good with the girl and just stay…stay…
As his hand had glided over the soft skin of Elio’s chest, where hours before he’d smeared his own cum to mark him as mine, mine, mine, it felt like his future life was right there under his finger-tips. A future he never thought would be his. A life of love and acceptance and joy with this beautiful boy and his remarkable family...
…but then the boy had woken up full of shame and regret and doubt. And although Oliver realised that it was just the manifestation of a shy seventeen-year-old’s fear, he knew in that second that the life he’d glimpsed wasn’t to be.
So they’d swam and talked – and later on fucked and kissed and cried – and Oliver knew then the moment was gone. Lost in time, like tears in rain.
In a few hours they would stuff their belongings into backpacks and head for the train station. And he would shift this past-and-present-and-future life to another dimension, taking only a book and a postcard with him – and leaving behind a blue shirt. And his heart.