I want to be

I want to be your favourite hello

And I want to be your hardest goodbye I want to be the one who never makes you cry,

The one who puts that sparkle in your eye.

I want to be the one you trust,

And I want to be the one you can tell all your secrets to.

I want to be the one you trust,

And I want to be the one you can tell all your secrets to.

I want to be the one always by your side,

The one you're stuck to like glue.

I want to be the one who makes you happy,

And I want to be the one who makes you smile.

I want to be the one waiting for you as you're walking down the aisle,

The one to whom you'd say, "For you, I'd walk a thousand miles."

I want to be the one you truly love,

And I want to be the one who fills your heart.

I want to be the one who's always there to hold you in the dark,

The one who loved you from the start.

- Deshaun Roberts

Matthew

A cry.

A taste.

A kiss.

A beg.

Yellow & Crimson.

Shade and Color.

"Matthew"

"What?"

"More"

A day or two crying and not quite ignoring him, face lingering. Weight off his shoulder in every physical sense, I suppose he finally broke up with her. She could taste her middle finger lodged between a wall of concrete for all that concerned me.

Jealous, was the print on my skin that I drew in blue highlighter to memorise my guilt. Tested on my patience, examined on my haste, his taste.

He was coming over that night so I drew the stars of my diy jeans off of YouTube, a trend. Sprayed every scent that would make him rest within me, never further that I second apart. My hair in a headband to shift the blame of glistens and joy onto his gazes (the sweet ones).

A knock on the front door, I gasp at the mirror tasting mint refreshers at my tongue. I hear him come up the stairs as his mother began chatting away with mine. Mind hazy, yet drowning in thought.

A knock on my door, I gasp my bed tasting a tongue at my teeth.

"Matthew, can I come in?"

"Sure" with haste

A soft chuckle as though he felt my anxiety, with him smiling down at me.

"I've not seen you like this, I think I prefer it."

"Don't don't get used to me."

"Why"

He looked with a wide grin, sat and pulled me into a hug. A huge taste of my skin at his nostril, his hand grasping my back.

"You smell nice."

I, " you too, wanna watch something?" he nodded as my fingers trailed along wrinkled sheets.

"Faye told me of a good movie, it's called

Call me by your name."

He smiled, I didn't know of it, aside from those odd talks when it was popular. My parent's disapproval in scowls and head-turning off an ad before I could know more than Call me by your name so I can call you by mine.

"Cool."

Some 2 hours passed, I tasted despair beside him begging Oliver to come back. I tasted happiness each kiss landed upon the other neck, cheek, lips. I learnt French. Italian. I felt some distaste when I found out the age difference.

"You're still crying he smiled, dried tears clinging to his rose cheeks (blushed from pain)."

"Why did he leave," I almost broke down a sec-eleventh time.

He looked at me wiping away my tears, "You're such a kid, had you not had a cute face and a stupid charm I swear."

I chuckled.

"A charm, would it earn me a kiss."

"Yup," he smiled leaning "on the cheek."

He leaned in touched my cheek ever-so-slightly, turned me pink at the touch of his cold fingers at my earlobe. He circled it, touched my hair as I sat still, completely silent and content. Leaning into his touch.

Soft chuckle as my head in his hand, pulling away from the side of my face. He came to look at me. To see if something in my eyes would show him a place in Saturn and blue skies.

I closed my eyes for a second drifting into his touches as the shore and sea danced upon horizon. Open, my eyes I saw him leaning into my neck. He gave it a peck before coming back up to my lips awaiting his chapstick smeared across. Like my crayons or pencil or acrylic something, across a canvas. Layers upon layers until it dried in honey.

"Elio Elio Elio Elio," his breath deep as though tasting real oxygen in the millimetres apart (myself and him).

Eyelids drift apart, low breath.

"Oliver," I whisper "I remember everything."

He opened his eyes for the first time, " You idiot."

Lips fell, intertwined with the ropes of Scarlett tying me into him. I grasped his hair as he pushed me down into my bed. Legs at either side of me, arms at either side of me, hand in his hair.

Bliss.

Every Shade and Color.

"Matthew," whispers for my ears only.

"What"

"More"

With that I flipped us over (clumsily), pulled legs around my hips. Gaining a quiet gasp from lips rouge. His hand latched to neck almost bruising it but never as much as lips that I bit, that he picked at. Lucky if they didn't cover our nose and blues.

Meaning that shade we cry after midnight.

Meaning the color he laughed, gasped and lived.

We would take a break, every minute or so as neither of us could manage without air. Sadly. But those moments left us gazing and almost pondering at the secrets between irises, the tales between lashes. Why we turned so red in the cheek? Why we wanted to turn his skin into our own so that even those molecules that separates us became distant in thought?

Why did love look so good next to his name?

Why shouldn't I give him love even if he loves himself for two people?

Why do I care so fucking much?

"Elio"

"Oliver"

We whispered so that even atoms couldn't hear between us, so that we couldn't tell one voice from the other. I leaned in again, kissing his head soft then his lips (soft). Taste me in blueberry kisses and love letters restored by Cupid.

Taste.

Touch.

Feel.

Hear.

"Matthew, James come down stares dinner's ready," my mother intruded intrusive thoughts of his untamed sweat down his naked hips below the waist. As I was rocking in-

"Okay we'll down soon," he screamed head turned to amplify him.

He looked to me, laughed out a breath (whilst simultaneously being out of them) then covered his eyes.

"How are we to hide this"

I shrugged, hair in disarray lips pink purple and damn near green. Neck throbbing like that other place I dear not mention.

"They won't suspect anything and if so just say we did the Kylie Jenner trend or something."

He looks at me with a 'don't be stupid' taunt "You mean the trend old as me."

We both chuckled.

I got off him so he sat up and messed with his hair till he felt it looked okay. Turned to me with a questioning look, I quite honestly found him attractive regardless of hair, I nodded approval. Fixed my headband and a mask, placed them carefully upon my face let them highlight my monotony.

Becoming a boy yet to taste manhood that lay just out his grasp. Becoming the boy that would become my father's son, the one with the cuter grandkids. The one he taught to change diapers and talk to women.

I became Roberts before Matthew again.

A son, and a brother, never an individual.

"So what were you two doing upstairs."

His mom looked up at me, not interrogating but it felt as such with the tearing of food. Clacks of cutlery.

"Nothing much, " I swallowed food at my tongue " we did this old trend for..when we were younger, that's why our lips are so big."

He snickered before I had chance to finish.

His mother's eyebrows knit together, searching the room and his muffled laugh for answers.

"How's junior year going, James, " my mother asked.

"Great actually, " he began " Y'know a bit stressful but it's not as hard as I expected. I just can't wait to get certain exams done and that."

My mother talked of something I either blocked from my head or was too occupied by other things to remember her words. Only when I reached under the table and grabbed his thigh.

He gasps behind his chewed food, laughing it off as it going down the wrong pipe.

Hand lifting from his knife he came to touch my resting hands, that was until I interlocked them (mine, his). Touching the decade and some, adolescent. Love.

I let go as though that second would be the last we shared. As though I had to run back to my fathers house in grass and a draping skirt, pulling it with both hands.

Say see you one day my love, and run.

As we went back to my room a question crossed my mind until it became the size of a boulder or rather the pits of hell in which my guts lay.

He sat down and looked to me, waiting.

"James"

"Hm"

"Doyouwannagoonadate or something we some have to if you don't want, I don't want to put pressure onto you. You know what was what I said too much because I feel like it was we can forget I even opened my mouth."

He smiled, eyebrows knitted together. I saw his mother's warm eyes.

"I hardly understood what you said, " he rose touched the side of my chin as he shone brightly from the peeps of sunlight " calm down, I'm going anywhere."

"Do you wanna go out with me, on a date."

Eyebrows rose, eyes dropped to the floor.

"I'm sorry did I, too early right. We can wait if you want because I understand that-"

He pulled my head into his almost giving me a concussion. Kissed me vibrant blue. Made sure I heard those little gasps and groan. Pulled me down into my bed.

"Sure," he said breathlessly.

"What, you knocked my head a little. Don't know if I got that answer."

Together.

We felt the edging of our sanity with a string of the other's hair to our throat. Not being able to blur lines of reality and fiction. Tasting stupidity in our waltz. I would taste my newness, my naivety to him and the curves of his head, waist, in the way I lunged after him. The way he said I kissed like I wanted to give his face off.

"Mathew"

"What"

"I want your name, and I want you to have mine"

"Okay"

"James"

"Matthew."