He’s stunning. Pools of blue and a face full of smiles and little dimples and crinkles forming around his eyes.
“Are you ready?” he asks. I must look as confused as I really am.
“Ready for what?” I say. I’m not ready for anything. I fully intend to lie here for the rest of my life with Matteo pressed against my chest. I couldn’t think of anything better to do even if I tried. Someone would have to pay me to leave my bed right now, and I’m not sure there is an amount large enough to tempt me.
“For your first kiss?” he says, and there isn’t a smile on his face. Like he is a little bit terrified that I will say no. Like I would. He’s Matteo. And I’m already leaning in towards his face.
“Please.”
I moan as his lips touch the edge of my mouth. Softly nibbling at the curve of my bottom lip. Tasting me.
It’s like nothing. Like everything. Like the world just stands still as I press against him. Bite my mouth over his. Push. Pull with his skin between my lips.
He is pouting for more, his eyes closed and his eyelashes flickering in the stripes of sunlight dancing over his face.
And I kiss him. I kiss his lips. His mouth. His cheeks. His nose. His face and the freckles.
I kiss his broken skin.
I kiss the scars from spots that are no longer there.
I kiss him until I can’t kiss him anymore.
LUKAS
Shame doesn’t even start to describe it. It’s overwhelming, the anger and fear and fucked up stupidity and the regret. What the hell has he gone and done? Lukas can’t even remember what idiotic thoughts were dancing around in his head last night, apart from the evidence of too many bottles of Tuborg festering on his coffee table and the damn broken TV still sitting on the wall laughing at him.
He makes himself look at the picture again. Then, deletes it in a fit of red-faced shame. He wills himself to sink right through the floor and disappear. These are the things he reads about in the trashy newspapers in the teacher’s lounge. Teacher expelled and jailed for indecent behaviour. Not that it is that bad.
Fuck. It is that bad. He might not have sent a dick-pic to a student, which would have been so inappropriate and wrong that Lukas doesn’t even want to think about it, but sending a dick-pic in a stupid drunken stupor to the father of one of his Mentor students will be rock-solid grounds for dismissal. All Tom has to do is report it and Lukas will be down at the Job-Centre by Monday morning looking for a job stacking shelves at IKEA.
Not that there is anything wrong with working at IKEA, but fuck. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.
Not only will he be a jobless wanker by Monday, he will also have a mark against his name and will never be able to work around children again. Probably. Simon will disown him. Well, Simon will disown him anyway as soon as Lukas tells him what he has done, because Simon is still his bro-best-friend in the world, and has a canny ability of making Lukas talk, and by the look of the state Lukas is in right now, Lukas will talk the minute Simon takes one judgmental eyebrow-arched look at him.
The worst thing is that Lukas will have to go and eat fucking humble pie and apologise to Tom. Because he doesn’t even want to risk the consequences of not trying to erase this massive judgmental mishap from the world events of Lukas Myrtengren.
If there is any chance in hell that Tom will forgive and forget, because with their history, Tom has probably posted the picture on Facebook and tagged him for the world to see. Unless he is still busy writing the Letter of Grievance to the head-teacher at Östra Real’s Senior School – Lukas’s soon to be former place of employment.
He doesn’t understand himself anymore. He doesn’t think he even wants to understand.
The ping of his phone makes him half jump off the edge of the sofa where he is conveniently perched, with his head in his hands.
He feels sick to his stomach, nauseous and tired. Sick. Hungry? Nope. He could perhaps cope with some chamomile tea. He needs to go back to bed, because it’s Sunday morning, and Lukas Myrtengren should be having a well-deserved lie in.
Instead, he is shivering with fear on his sofa, because there is a message on his phone and he made the mistake of catching the name flashing before the screen went black.
Tom has sent him a message and all Lukas wants is to curl into a ball and scream.
Not that Tom can’t be kind and understanding. He was. Once.
He still has his graduation hat somewhere, the one with everyone’s signatures inside. Rainbow pins and pride patches attached to the sides. He had LOVE WINS, ALWAYS written on the back in his teenaged, scrawny handwriting. Pathetic, thinking back on it. He knew nothing about love. And he never won anything.
It had been the last party, a summer’s evening all those years ago. The weekend after graduation before they were all to go their separate ways. Before everything was over and they would step up in the world. Take their places as adults. Simon already had his life mapped out. He had made it into the Drama course in Malmö and had already secured a student flat. Lukas had been waiting for his place, but with his grades, he was pretty certain he would be following Simon down south in September. He still thought Medical school maybe should have been his first choice, but he knew himself, and this was his choice. Not the choice of his parents who were pushing for a degree in Civil Engineering. A well-rounded education with prospects. Not the choice of the advisor at school who was pleading that Lukas was throwing his excellent grades away on a mediocre career.
Lukas wanted to teach. Lukas was born to teach. He loves teaching.
The party had been at someone’s beach house, drunk kids messing around in the water, rows of disposable BBQ’s and more mosquitoes than were probably necessary for June. It had been good. Good-natured and happy and some girl had clung to his back most of the evening. Not that he minded. He had been happily drunk. Sloppy.
And Tom had been there, of course. Hanging off that Linnea’s arm, laughing at whatever crap she spilled out of her mouth. Staring at Lukas like he always did, watching as Lukas blew kisses to the girls in the water and stumbled off to find somewhere to take a piss and lie down in the grass for a while.
He was drunk. Stupidly drunk.
He doesn’t remember how they ended up on that porch. How he ended up leaning on Tom’s shoulder on a porch to an abandoned beach hut just outside Stockholm.
The evening seemed to just have happened around them, and Lukas’s memories had been kind of shady from the start. He remembers lying in the grass feeling incredibly sorry for himself. How he had lived through the three years of Senior School. The three years of school that are supposed to change your life. Where you find yourself and establish who you actually are. Well, Lukas had been disappointed. Because even though he had fucking aced at establishing himself and had kind of figured out who he was, he had accomplished absolutely nothing.
Wasn’t that the point of being a graduate? To hook up and get kissed and get laid? To get your dick sucked behind the tall pines down by the shore? Over there in the distance?
He had shouted loudly about it. Told his imaginary friends about his failures as a human being as he lay there in the grass. How it was all good and well, that he was out and proud and liked cock. Less cool when there was nobody else who liked cock as much as he did and would kiss him and give him, well, he can’t remember which phrase he had used. But he remembers Tom’s laughter next to him in the grass. Tom’s hands pulling him up and telling him there was somewhere they needed to be. This place he wanted to show him.