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There’s something magical about summer evenings, when the air is warm, and a breeze is blowing your hair, and the sun is low enough in the sky to cast long shadows off the trees.
They’re in a meadow, the two of them, surrounded by lush, pink azaleas and fallen magnolia blooms. Long, green grass covers them like a shroud. Their own, private lovers’ lane. Below them lies a checkered picnic blanket. The evening is quiet and still.
Next to Minghao is a boy, a beautiful boy, his long limbs spread over the blanket, the picture of calm. His tank top is a crisp white against golden skin. His shorts ride up just enough to reveal swaths of muscular thigh. Minghao wishes he could bite down, taste them, rub his hands up and down the smooth muscle, feel it twitch and give.
Sometimes it scares Minghao, just how much of himself he would give to this boy. He drinks in his face–-the long nose, the mole on his cheek, the bright, keen eyes, still so innocent and so unjaded. Seokmin looks at Minghao like something to be cherished, something delicate and beautiful, and it scares Minghao that he could mean so much to someone else.
The sun is orange, and the shadows off the trees around them are long, and they have an audience of one, it seems. A dragonfly flits over and makes a perch of Seokmin’s arm. Its iridescent wings glisten in the light. Their gentle buzz is the only thing disturbing the careful quiet of the afternoon. Seokmin, for all his size, and for all his flightiness, doesn’t move a muscle. He just stares at the dragonfly and smiles.
Before Seokmin, Minghao never understood what it meant to want–-what it meant to drop to his knees in reverence, what it meant to serve. Whenever Seokmin touches Minghao, it feels like an act of worship: his words a litany of praises; his careful touches each individual acts of veneration.
Today, today is for them. A quiet evening, free from time, free of anything but the grass below their feet and the cloudless sky over their heads. A reprieve; a sanctuary.
Eventually, even the dragonfly floats away, and once again, they’re alone in peaceful, blissful silence. Minghao looks back toward Seokmin, and he’s a vision. All deep-brown eyes and long lashes and the breeze pushing his black bangs off his face. Seokmin is still smiling, but he doesn’t make a single sound. Like they both know not to disrupt this rare, perfect moment.