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🏉🏉🏉
It started as almost nothing. These things often do.
A back-slap after a kick-ass conversion. Ritualised hair-ruffling. “Nice one, man!” ringing in my ears.
I suppressed the spine prickles, but to say I’d not noticed them would be a fucking lie. His liquid-jet irises and cocky-all-knowing smile often made me think in loud, vividly-coloured questions.
He took the piss one night, roasting me about some Mario Kart loser-y-bullshit at the end of my bed. I pushed, he pulled – physically and metaphorically – tackling into unknown territory only to fall over the try-line in a clash of lips and grappling hands…
Score.