Choosing Happiness
For months, the tension between me and Nathan had been an electric current running through the classroom. I was the tall, dark-haired one with blue eyes; he was the golden boy, all blonde curls and piercing green eyes. We spoke in a language of stolen glances and secret winks, a silent agreement that existed only in the periphery of our social circles.
The first time it broke was in the school restroom. The air was thick with humidity and the scent of soap. Nathan had tried to play it off with a joke, questioning our mutual attraction, but the bravado was a mask. I didn’t let him retreat. I pressed him against the cold tiles, the scent of his fresh breath mixing with the heat of our bodies.
When I kissed him, it was desperate and hungry. Despite his initial hesitation, his body betrayed him, hardening against mine. We clung to each other, a frantic tangle of limbs and longing, until the world outside the door ceased to exist. In that moment, the risk of discovery was nothing compared to the electricity of his skin against mine.