"It's up to you babe. Ideally I would like you to stay."

"Ideally," I scoff. "What does that even mean Zayn? He's still fighting for you. That's what he texted you. You're not even fucking fighting for me right now."

I chuck the notebook onto the bedside table and his eyes widen in fear.

He's scared.

He's scared of my doubt. He's scared I'm giving up on us when he's the one drifting away.

"I can't decide for you Harry. If your heart is in it you should take the job."

He has my heart. Or at least I thought he did. Now I'm not so certain.

"You have him to crawl back to," I hiss through gritted teeth. "If I'm in another country he can have you. That's what he wants right?"

"Harry!"

I'm trembling in rage. I just want to swing my fist, want it to connect with a brick wall.

"That isn't what I want. You know that. What has gotten into you? Babe," he murmurs.

His arms are strong and warm and safe.

"It's alright. You're okay. Just relax, yeah? I think we should go home. This trip has been hard on you. This isn't what I intended."

"I am home," my voice sounds strangled. "You're home."

His fingers massage my scalp and my eyelids flutter closed, a small whimper escaping my mouth.

"You've always had such a bad temper. Remember when I lied and told you if you got another tardy, I would make you-"

"Stop," I chuckle.

"You told me to fuck off and proceeded to put your feet up on the desk."

"Yeah well...you had wet dreams that involved fucking me over your desk."

I pull back with a smirk, thinking I've won the argument.

"Would you have been up for it?" His tongue runs along his bottom lip.

"Possibly."

He kisses me gently, so soft his lips are barely there but my hands cup his cheeks, deepening the kiss. It isn't the time to be timid. It's time to trail more poems on my tongue, time for him to make waves in my heart, ripples in my soul.

My teeth catch his bottom lip and his moan hits the back of my throat.

He's prompting me to take control, asking me to get rougher and I oblige, pushing him back onto the bed. He's all lashes and cheekbones and deep brooding looks. And more importantly he's mine. He's fire and flesh and bone all compressed. A bird trapped in a cage, fluttering his wings. I can set him free. I can make him fly.

"Did you always bottom with him?"

"Don't wanna talk about him," he mumbles.

He's beneath my body.

I tug down his underwear, my lips kissing his inner thighs before I suck love bites there. He gasps as I lick at his entrance, his back lifting up off the bed. My tongue swirls and swirls before flicking over his ring and delving in.

"Harry," he pants. I draw back, the taste of poetry in my mouth.

"It's been awhile hasn't it? Suck my fingers babe."

He doesn't question it and I feel the warmness of the inside of his mouth. So soft and so good, his tongue moistening my fingers. I pull out, his lips making a tiny pop around me. I press my finger to his entrance, stretching him slowly. He tenses a bit and gets flustered, his cheeks flushing.

"I...usually I take it better than this." He bites his lip as he adjusts and I insert another finger.

He ends up with three inside of him, hitting a bundle of nerves, my fingers flicking eagerly. He hums, his eyelids closing, head falling onto the pillow. He's so tight. I hit his spot again and again until a moan falls from his lips and sends shivers down my spine.

"Oh god Harry."

Harreh. Harreh. Harreh.

I line my cock with his entrance, there's already a sheen of sweat on his tan skin, his hair a messy halo on the pillow. His teeth sink deeper into his bottom lip as I push in.

"Jesus. Move."

I do, slow thrusts at first but his breathing is steady and he doesn't protest. So my hips find a rhythm and I quicken the pace.

Maybe I should have gone slower, started out with some foreplay, licking a stripe up his shaft teasingly, peppering him with kisses.

It's hurried and frenzied and passionate but still intimate because his mouth falls open and his heart quickens when mine does. I can feel his pulse and a strand of hair falls over his forehead. I'm quick to tuck it behind his ear and he opens his eyes.

He stares underneath my skin. He sees my inside, how his name is tangled up in my heart among poetry and kiwis and the color yellow.

And he releases as my thrusts grow lazy, completely blissed out.

I live for these moments, the ones I don't snap pictures of. The ones I tuck away in my memory. I try to remember everything, my milky white skin against his. His amber eyes and long lashes grazing his cheeks. The way his legs tremble and toes curl and a pool of sweat collects at his hairline.

I live for poetry but my heart only truly knows two poems. One about my many mistakes and one about the only thing in my life that isn't a mistake.

Zayn.

He comes. Fast and hard and when he catches his breath has already found the right words to say.

"When you choose to be a poet.

When you choose to spill like this, bleed like this, cry like this.

Your pain becomes an exhibit.

A place for people to walk through and then leave when they are ready.

No one ever asks a museum if it's okay."

"Rudy Francisco?"

He hums a yes against my skin.

This time, I draw him into my arms.

I hope he knows his arms are the one place I'm never alone. And I hope he feels the same about mine.

lonliness is a rumor

that spreads through my bones

i don't want to be alone

i've poured myself into him

he has never let a drop

hit the pavement

never watched me splatter

he has made me look

that lonliness in the face

and it's a hideous thing

to look at

"Mason and I never did that."

"What?"

"Made love," he whispers. "It was mindless. It didn't mean anything. I didn't even care either. Things are different with you. I feel everything so deeply. I can see a future with you, us reading poetry and drinking bitter coffee and getting up to watch the sunrise, you snapping pictures and two beautiful children making a mess all around us. When I close my eyes I can envision it all. And I want it too. I want it so bad Harry."

Ideally, that should happen.

But reality can really screw you over.