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Bruno watched Pol flop over onto his back, taking up most of the space on his bed in the process. The sight of him splayed out almost made up for it: morning light slanted in through Bruno’s window and turned the hair under his navel golden, and Bruno had the sudden urge to scratch his fingers through it. Maybe Pol would wake up then, or maybe Bruno would could get his hand under Pol’s waistband and wrap a loose fist around his cock before Pol finally woke, pleased and arching against him.
More likely, Pol would let Bruno briskly jerk him off, pat him on the shoulder, and leave, maybe smiling, maybe drawn into quiet contemplation in a place too far away for Bruno to reach. Having him half-way like this hurt Bruno in a way he hadn’t expected.
I got over you this summer. Right. As though a summer was enough time to bury six years of pining, six years of easy camaraderie, six years of trading coy smiles when the other made a joke, six years of lying awake at night and wondering what it would be like to rest his head on Pol’s chest and fall asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
The truth was that Bruno had wanted Pol for longer than he’d ever wanted anyone else. As a kid he’d always been attracted to bright things - his favorite teachers were those who walked into class smiling and gave him gold star stickers whenever he answered a question correctly, and unconsciously, he suspected he’d first been inclined to befriend Tania because she had a sunny smile and a vibrant, effervescent liveliness in the way she spoke. And Bruno himself had been a bright child - always laughing with his eyes and mouth, always bubbling over with questions and smart remarks.
But Pol had been different from the start. Bruno remembered first seeing him and thinking that it was hard to look directly at him. He was like the sun itself: beautiful but volatile, something to admire from afar but never get too close to. But one day Pol made a joke in class at the teacher’s expense and Bruno reached without thinking to bump fists with him, and for the first time they looked at each other directly in the eyes. Pol had smiled, tongue pressing against the gaps where his teeth hadn’t quite grown in, hair a roguish golden halo around his head, and Bruno was hit with a wave of yearning so fierce that he ripped his hand away like Pol had burnt him.
From then on, through gradual exposure, Pol grew more bearable to be around, until finally Bruno was so used to his brightness that it was no longer hurt. After that, they were fast friends. Bruno didn’t quite understand what it was about Pol that made his stomach turn itself inside out sometimes, but he tried not to think too much about it.
Over the years, Bruno had mostly grown out of his affinity for brightness and traded it in for the more cynical veil of adolescence. But he hadn’t grown out of Pol.
It was agonizing to listen to the other boys talk about their first kisses in the locker room while Bruno sat there trying to memorize the shape of Pol’s mouth when he smiled.
But Bruno made himself forget about it, because that was the only thing he knew how to do. There was nothing to do but forget. Though he loved his mother, he couldn’t talk about these things with her. He didn’t feel like he could talk about it with anyone, in fact. So Bruno kept his silence even as he noticed more and more of his friends chasing after girls and felt more and more distant from the rest of his male peers.
He kept his silence and he kept his silence and kept it until it became a rock-solid burden weighing him down. Deep down, he was beginning to realize that if he kept it any longer it would become a noose.
Tania was the first person to know. After getting over the initial disappointment that they would never get married and run off together, she hugged him tight and promised not to tell another soul. Bruno felt lighter for a while, but Pol started dating Berta, and things got complicated again.
Pol had always openly talked about his exploits with the girls in their school, but Berta wasn’t shy and modest like the others. She kissed Pol proudly in front of her classmates and seemed to have no shame about draping herself over his lap in the presence of a teacher. Wherever Bruno went, he couldn’t seem to escape the two of them attached at mouth and hip.
Bruno didn’t dislike Berta, but seeing her and Pol together made him taste acid. He tried to be as discreet as possible about it - he even smiled in all of the right places when Pol described her breasts in explicit detail to a group of salivating teenage boys - but Tania knew. Bruno couldn’t stand the pity in her eyes when she saw him watching them. So he buried it all down even deeper and told himself to get over it, that it would never, ever happen.
But then the sleepover had had happened, and he hadn’t been able to help himself. Just once, he told himself. He would touch Pol just once for closure and then never again. That had ended badly, of course, but a part of Bruno didn’t regret it at all. At least now Pol had a small inkling of what Bruno had been holding onto in secret for all this time. It wasn’t just his own burden anymore.
Then the party had happened, and Pol was still sad about his grandmother and the beautiful life he didn’t think he would ever live, and Bruno hadn’t had it in him to push him away when he got too close. Suddenly Pol’s hand was on his dick and all rational thought and reason flew out the window, and “trying something” seemed like a brilliant idea. In the back of his mind, Bruno knew from the very start that he was just a warm body to Pol, but that wasn’t enough to stop him from indulging. Even melancholic and self-pitying, Pol was exceptionally bright. A part of Bruno couldn’t help but hope that maybe he could covet some of that brightness for his own, that maybe this one-off in an empty room overlooking the city was the start of something, that maybe Pol would realize he felt the same, maybe, maybe--
Maybe the culmination of all of those years of silence and longing and bitterness was what finally pushed Bruno to put his hand on Pol’s thigh in his room. Maybe Pol was just aching for a warm body again when he said Bruno’s name like a promise and turned his face into Bruno’s hand and kissed him back, more gently than the first time. And maybe both of them were just horny that time, but could the same excuse hold up for the next time and the next time and the next?
Pol seemed to think so. He’d woken up in Bruno’s bed twice so far, and both times they’d gone their separate ways immediately afterwards and met up in school like nothing had happened. Pol didn’t ignore him in class, but he spent more time trading friendly punches with Marc than he did sharing conspiring smiles with Bruno.
But it was okay - because occasionally Pol would fall into step beside him as they left their last class, and occasionally he’d say Bruno’s name again in a breathy half-whisper if Bruno sucked him off just right.
It occurred to Bruno that he should feel bad about lying to Pol about Nicola, but not bad enough that he thought to correct it. Nicola was real, after all, and they had fucked around a bit in Rome. But it had been just that: fucking around. They had both known it wouldn’t work long distance from the very start and agreed to have a casual arrangement throughout the summer. Nicola was looking for a rebound, and Bruno thought the sex would take his mind off of Pol. He’d been right. Unfortunately, the distraction only worked when he was actively engaged in it. The minute he asked Pol to come back to school and endured that stupidly earnest face asking him, ”You’re not in love with me anymore?” he knew he’d miscalculated.
I got over you this summer. Yeah. Maybe for a minute. But the lie was easier to tell. The lie let Pol believe that fucking around was just a no-strings-attached deal where both of them got off with zero expectations. They both got something out of it; Bruno refused to feel too guilty.
Now it was the third time, and as Bruno watched Pol mumble in his sleep - a sure sign that he would wake up soon - he wondered if this time would be different. Would Pol blink his eyes open and smile sleepily at the sight of Bruno already awake? Would he reach up to touch Bruno’s jaw and draw him in for a kiss?
Even as he wondered, Bruno knew the answer.
Pol threw a hand over his face and yawned into his palm, eyes opening and then quickly squeezing shut again. He didn’t like sunlight in the morning. A tiny, vindictive part of Bruno didn’t make a move to draw the curtains.
When he’d finally returned to consciousness enough to move, Pol rolled himself out of bed. Bruno looked away when the muscles pulled taut in Pol’s back as he stretched. The sight wasn’t worth the punch of desire he’d have to deal with after. Pol had work in the mornings on Saturdays; they didn’t have time for another round.
Pol was rooting around on the floor for his shirt when Bruno finally figured morning pleasantries wouldn't be entirely amiss.
He cleared his throat. “Good night’s sleep?”
“Okay.” Pol didn’t turn around. “Have you seen my shirt?”
Right. His work shirt. The one he’d come here in after a night of lusting after Ivan’s mom. Bruno swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat. “Check under the bed.”
A moment later, Pol was pulling out a pile of black fabric and smoothing it across his knee. When he’d determined that it was as wrinkle-free as it was going to get, he shrugged into it in one smooth motion and buttoned up his jeans. Bruno watched as Pol took his phone off the night table and slipped it into his back pocket, the last step before he inevitably left.
As predicted, Pol gave him a half-smile, said, “See you around, Bruno,” and began making his way to the door.
“Wait.”
Pol stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly, like he was afraid of what he’d find. Before things became strained, Bruno got out of bed and stepped to Pol’s side with a grace that years of dance had leant him.
“Your hair,” Bruno said quietly. He reached out and combed his fingers through the soft golden brown strands of Pol’s hair before Pol could protest. The air felt heavy around them. “You can’t go to work looking like you’ve been fucked in a barn,” he added, hoping to lighten the mood.
Pol’s sober face cracked into a smile and Bruno felt like he could breathe again. “Not very professional,” he agreed cheekily.
“Not very,” Bruno echoed, tucking strands behind Pol’s ears more meticulously than he strictly needed to. Pol’s hair looked fine, really. It pretty much always looked good no matter what he did to it, and Bruno was fairly sure the bastard knew it.
“I’ll be late,” Pol said finally, pushing away Bruno’s hands with a gentleness he rarely allowed himself.
“Miriam won’t mind.”
How could she? No one was ever mad at Pol for long.
“Even so,” said Pol. “I should...”
Though he was poised to leave, his eyes settled over Bruno’s face for the first time that morning. Their eyes met. Unbidden, a familiar smile surface on Bruno’s lips. His Pol smile - the one that was slightly crooked and a little mischievous like a smirk, but fond all the same.
The one that Pol was currently tracing with his thumb. Bruno felt a spike of heat in his stomach as his brain caught up with the proceedings. Pol was no longer looking him in the eye. Instead, his gaze followed the path of his fingertip against Bruno’s bottom lip.
Bruno was gathering his breath, the tip of Pol’s name on his tongue, when Pol abruptly cupped both hands around his jaw and pulled him into a kiss. There was no time to think. They moved against each other fluidly, lips catching and pulling with ease, used to one another’s rhythm. One kiss flowed into another and another until Bruno was dizzy with the smell and taste of him.
When they pulled apart finally, Pol’s lips were wet, his cheeks flushed with color. He looked at Bruno quickly before his gaze cut sharply to the side, but that split-second of eye contact told Bruno more than he’d learned over a years of watching Pol and wondering.
He’s keeping something from me, Bruno realized.
Pol took a few steps back from Bruno, linked his thumbs through his belt loops, and cleared his throat. He couldn’t look at Bruno as he said, “Bye.”
When he was gone, Bruno stumbled over to the bed, suddenly graceless, and sat back on his heels. Or, he thought, he’s keeping something from himself.
For the first time in a long while, something bright caught flame inside of him.