PLATTIE

Contains sexual imagery. Please read at your own risk. You have been warned. Anyway... I thought inviting him to my house is a bad idea. Well, it was not like I would hate to have him coming over my place just because I thought it would be inappropriate. I was concerned things would get awkward between us. And, of course, I did not want that to happen. Besides, it would be troublesome too if my mother found out that I had been going out with a random male student in the school. Even though having said so, as lovers, having the other partner visiting our own place should be common among us. Yet, still I felt it was inappropriate to have Keiga coming over. I was worried he might get worked up, since i t was his first time.  He might be curious  of what drove me to invite him to my place, as we usually hang out at his place. However, I figured out, maybe this time, I should take the opportunity to offer him a visit to my place.

Every so often, love is a one-sided thing. As you proceed in life figuring out the best way to make your relationship interesting and meaningful, you realize that you have been the only person who nurtures and maintains the connection between you and your partner. It is as if all that you have done have amounted to nothing, as you come into terms that your partner has shared no concern to you. And you slowly feel the need to seek your partner’s attention. You want your partner to realize the sacrifice you have made in your partaking as well as their own share of contribution to conserve the bond of thoughts and feelings in between the two of you. What I personally deem regarding this thing called “love” – this complicated predicament Cyrille and I are in – is that it is supposedly predestined to reciprocate within the two of us. Having one restlessly managing the strength of their connection without the other member’s intervention - which is, obviously, me - would result in ...

I couldn't expect that, even though it would seem unsurprising for me, who is, of no doubt, awfully furtive, to imagine things that has just about zero possibility of happening, this nightfall of beginning autumn, when the caramel fawn leaves embark on hitting the teeming land of Paris, will not be the same as it usually used to be. “Too fancy for your style?” he glances over me, raising his eyebrow while holding his glass of perfectly nurtured Chardonnay. “No,” I reply, “I guess that would be an understatement.” He is probably not listening to me, but he plainly nods and smirks in agreement anyways.