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Summary
“You going?”
Krester scoffs through the blue shirt currently stuck over his head, “I’m already late”
He stretches out a hand at Krester, the sliver of skin opening between his low-rise jeans and Tshirt feels like a magnet to Ángel's fingers. “Five thirty, how can that be late to anything at all?”. No answer, just that kind tired smile and a kiss before Krester slings his backpack over his shoulder and disappears through the door to their bedroom. A few moments later the sound of the front door opening and closing softly can be heard.
With a deep sigh Ángel sinks back against the pillows.