Work Text:
"Platform 4 for the 12:50 Great Western Railway service to Over Here, calling at Faraway Parkway, Farther Away Central, Somewhere Junction, Somewhere West, Over There, and Over Here... will passengers intending to join this service please board the train now, as it is ready to depart."
Basil and I rushed down the stairs towards the platform. It's just an ordinary trip - Basil was going to visit me in Over Here. I hadn't been in Faraway for a while, so I convinced my mother to let me spend a few hours there before going back. Of course, that's what I told her - in reality, a few extra hours with Basil was worth the hole it burnt in my wallet.
We had got carried away talking about everything and anything, hence why we were now running to catch the train. It wasn't the first time this had happened. A tiny, slightly guilty part of me admits that seeing Basil anxious and flustered when we're in a rush is cute.
God, I'm hopeless.
The train doors slide closed behind us. Basil leads the way in finding a seat. The seats aren't very comfortable for a journey of this length. Saturday travellers mill about to find a free seat to their preference, but it isn't really a challenge - the train is quite empty. Basil finally finds a window seat and I slide in beside him.
I see Basil maybe once, twice a year at most. But we talk very often, through texting, though we call less because Basil's very anxious about his voice. I'd rather we call more; his voice is really cute. I'd rather a lot of things. Sometimes, I have to constantly remind myself not to push his boundaries. This makes me scared sometimes. What if I do something that offends him? What if I end up hurting him?
All these insecurities, however, mean nothing as I look at Basil looking out the window, smiling. His smile is beautiful and radiant. It never fails in making my heart skip a beat.
I want to be the one to make him smile like that.
Maybe I already am. Honestly, it's very hard to tell. We flirt over text, we call each other cute, but we've never established any labels or words for what's going on between us. Basil prefers it that way. I don't really know what I want, so I let it be that way. But without the body language or visual cues, I never know if I say something that's inappropriate. Being with him here in real life alleviates that. The communication is so much easier, and the physical contact...
I'm not a physical person. I shake hands, I occasionally give hugs to Kel and Aubrey. But beyond my closest friends, I recoil at physical contact. I find it hard to be affectionate, to talk about my feelings, to compliment people, or to understand how people can be casually close. All of that goes out the window with Basil. Every time he touches me, it's like an electric shock goes through my heart, and every fibre of my body yearns for more, more, for him to hold me and tell me sweet nothings, just letting me be, telling me through his fingertips that just existing is enough, that I don't need to be good at things or get awards or scholarships or be collected to be worth something to him, to be liked-
Basil's chuckle breaks me out of my train of thought. I look over and notice I'd sidled up to him, despite the rather big gap between our seats. And that knowing smile... I wouldn't quite call it teasing. I don't think Basil likes to tease me. But it's exciting, and reassuring. It tells me that I'm not repulsive, and that he's letting me do this, even though I didn't verbally ask him whether I could. It makes me feel safe and secure. His body warmth seeps through to me. Despite the summer heat, my body only shuffles closer as if Basil was a roaring furnace in a wintry blizzard, as if his warmth was the last thing keeping me alive. And in some ways, it is - self-worth is something I find difficult still. But being pressed against his side, it's so much easier. It's proof that at least one person in this whole world will let me close. His beating heart and regular breaths reminding me that there is a living being who would care if I was gone.
I know rationally it's more than Basil. I know I have many friends, and in my times of need, a lot of them have offered to help in substantial ways. I even know that, despite past events, my mother loves me, though we are perhaps less close than we otherwise would have been. But it feels like even if that wasn't true, even if it was just Basil, it would be enough.
I know also that's an unhealthy line of thought. In the past half a decade, all the therapy and healing and medicine was aimed towards helping me regulate my thoughts. I could, if I wanted to - but I don't. I want to have that feeling of complete trust in the boy next to me.
Basil must be uncomfortable, being squeezed between me and the walls, But when I look at him, an unspoken question in my hopeful eyes, he smiles and nods, and I lay my head on his shoulder.
Basil is not the first person I've ever fallen in love with. But I've never felt comfortable enough to do this with anyone else.
I can hear his heart beating out a regular rhythm, sustaining the soul that means so much to me. I can feel his diaphragm move as he breathes, moving my body along with it. It's the closest I can get to really feeling him living. It's intimate but not inappropriate. And maybe I hope to make Basil feel the same way I do around him.
Just being alive, just breathing, just being you is enough. I will stay with you.
Hope is not an emotion I am very familiar with. I was either going to die, or I was going to fail in life, or lose all of my friends, or screw myself over due to procrastination or incompetence. I had learned to expect only the worst outcome, that nothing would ever go my way, and I would never be happy. But Basil is different. With Basil, I dare to hope. I dare to hope that one day we will have our lives together, the opinions of other people be damned. I dare to hope that I will get to spend time away from the stress of study and work, and have an actual home. I dare to hope that I will smile regularly. I dare to hope that I will sit on a couch with the boy I love and be content, be actually happy, not just the kind of happiness that comes with being complimented or being good at something or having money or good food, but because you feel you are thriving, and you wouldn't trade your life for anything in the world.
Basil's arm is pressed against mine. He looks at me again, then leans his head on me. I almost let out a whine at that.
It's okay. I'm fine with you doing this. I like you doing this. I want it too.
Being wanted is also not something I am familiar with.
I also want to be closer with you. I also want to hear your heartbeat. I also want you to know that you mean so much to me.
Reciprocation is a word I have been scared of. In my desperate struggle to feel something and find worth, I left myself only a long trail of broken hearts. And it's not any of their faults that it turned out that way. But being rejected, sometimes cruelly, over and over again makes you think that this is a pattern. That the problem is with you. That it's not worth trying to feel something, because the end result will always be bad.
It's not like that, Sunny. There's a good ending to this.
It's possible.
And that's all I need.
--
I don't know if anyone on this train is looking at us weirdly because we're two boys cuddled together, and I don't care to find out. If they think it's weird, fuck them. They don't understand how beautiful it is.
The only thing that gives me pause is that I don't know whether Basil cares. He's always been anxious, and the fact that so much of our communication is nonverbal makes me worried about whether I'm pressuring him. But I look up to him, and I see that his eyes are closed with a soft smile on his face, and all my worries evaporate into thin air again. It's an image I try so hard to burn into my memory, so I can relive it whenever possible. The serene, relieved smile that he has now. Because of my affection. Someone is happy because of me.
I want to get closer, but our hearts are already physically as close as they can possibly be. Well, unless we straddle each other, but aside from that being physically impossible on a train it would also be kind of weird.
Basil hums in response to the shift of my head. It's a beautiful sound, like a bird call in the morning signifying comfort. I nuzzle into his neck. He shifts away - and for a tiny moment I'm scared that I've overreached, pushed my luck, that something bad is going to happen now - but presses back in, so that our sides fit even more closely together, our curves fitting into one another like a puzzle piece.
His hair tickles a little bit, but I don't do anything to relieve the discomfort. Being close, being together, overrides any of the sensations that come with the nonideal environment we are in.
I have always tried to use words to talk about feelings. I write letters and diaries, I talk explicitly to people about my wants and needs, and even with Basil most of our interaction is through written communication. But in this instant, words fail me. They cannot express the wonderful bliss that is the contact and the closeness of the position we are in. It's calm and exhilarating, comforting and intense, all at the same time.
If I were to try to talk to him, I wouldn't even know how to start. But I still want to tell him how happy I am, how happy he makes me. So instead I put my hand with the palm facing upwards, a silent invitation. And for another moment of hesitation, I'm scared again that he doesn't want to. But he intertwines his arm around mine and puts his hand in mine, and our fingers intertwine.
It takes all of my restraint not to tell him I love him, not to devote my existence to him at that very moment. I know it would make him uncomfortable to put too many labels or strong words behind our feelings. So instead, I squeeze his hand. He hums again, and I can feel his smile. It's our unspoken rule - we haven't said I love you to each other, though that's a rule I desperately want to break right now - but the little signs of affection and small gestures, none of which are necessary, are our way of saying that without words and labels. We don't need to abide by conventional definitions to show each other how much we care.
My heart is clenching now. It does that whenever I feel deeply in love. In the past, this physical reaction was always associated with hurt, with unrequited love, with yearning and desperation. But now it's simply the fire of desire, because I have the proof directly next to me that what I feel is not unrequited. I don't know if Basil feels as strongly as I do, nor do I know if deep down he wants to be more. But while those are problems, they're okay, and they can wait. Basil will talk about those things when he's ready, and I don't plan on pushing him about it. No matter what the answers to those questions are, in the here and now, every squeeze of my heart is echoed by an accelerated heartbeat of his. I can feel it and hear it through our connection.
I look up again at his peaceful figure. My eyes scan over his every feature, blonde hair, emerald eyes, the freckles on his face, memorising every detail like a print scanner. This beautiful boy wants to be close to me. I still cannot believe it.
In that moment, I almost lose my self control and reach up to kiss him, but I reign myself in at the last second. That's the kind of thing I should ask verbally for, and neither of us are quite ready to do that. Basil lifts his head away at my movement in questioning, and I settle back down on his shoulder, and he leans back towards me, still holding my hand, and hums in contentness.
God, I would give anything to kiss him right now.
It's too explicit of a thing to do, too much of a signal and risks other people putting a label on it, and frankly, I'm just too cowardly to ask. But I let my imagination run wild.
A few years later, we're officially together and we go on a tour of the country, just the two of us. After exciting and exhausting days, we simply retreat to our cheap hotel room, whereever we are, and shielded from public eyes we don't need to be scared of people commenting or worried about hatred or reputation, we can show each other how much we love the other.
I would hold Basil in my arms, feeling his weight upon me, our hands intertwined. I would look over every feature of his face like I did, but he would be facing me directly, and stare back with equal intensity, as we feel our heartbeats speed up, the slow rise and fall of our lungs a living proof of our intimacy.
I would reach for his head, pull him in and kiss him. He would let out that beautiful chuckle and go in for another kiss. It doesn't need to be intensely physical, nor do we need to go further. In fact, it almost feels like going further would taint the moment. It's simply two boys being close, revelling in each other's warmth, showing each other how indispensable they are, and that things will be fine, we'll stay with each other no matter what and no matter who.
We would fall asleep, the beating of our hearts synchronised, in each other's arms, every inch of our body yearning for contact with the other. The next day we would wake each other, and I would think, God, I'm so lucky. I'm so lucky to have him. I'm so lucky to be happy.
As we keep growing in our relationship, we'll keep establishing new highs, new moments of happiness, contentedness and fulfillment. Right now, despite wanting more, I have never felt so fulfilled in my life, pressed against the boy I love, even though I've never told him explicitly that I love him, but we say as much through the squeezes of our hands and heart emojis and little smiles and the twinkle in our eyes.
--
The train pulls into the stop. Basil shakes me awake, since I have apparently fallen asleep against him.
"It's time to get off, Sunny." Basil lets go of my hand. I let out an involuntary whine.
"Sorry, but I don't really want your mom to see us like that..." Basil says apologetically.
In that moment, I feel many things.
Sadness, mourning the loss of touch and contact.
Insecurity, that Basil might not see me as good enough to let other people know of our feelings towards each other.
Gratefulness, at having been able to touch him at all, for the happiness that I felt with him.
Embarrassment, for the public display of affection, and for being so reliant.
Indignation, at the idea that my parent (or anyone really) could possibly have an issue with something so pure and beautiful.
Incredulousness, at the fact that Basil was apologetic, as if I was owed anything from him, as if just by being there he wasn't already giving me the best gift I've ever got in my life.
I don't know how to say all that in the moment, so I simply smile to let him know that it's fine and he shouldn't worry.
Back when I was young, my parents always complained that I would never smile in pictures. Especially after everything that happened, they never managed to capture a picture with a genuine smile. Sure, I would laugh, but that is different from a smile from the bottom of my heart. With time, I convinced myself that I had forgot how to smile. Basil proved me wrong with that.
Unbeknownst to either of us, at that moment my waiting mother captures a picture of us, the first ever photo of me smiling.