Jace felt oddly discontent. Kyle was in the bed beside him staring up at the ceiling, perfectly still aside from the slow rise and fall of his chest. “I don’t really know anything about you,” Jace remarked.
Kyle’s head turned slightly, eyes drifted toward Jace like they were searching for him through a fog. A slight shrug. “There’s not much to know.”
“I doubt it,” Jace said. He curled into Kyle’s warm body and let his hand trace the contours of his skin, the lines of his tattoo, the faint scars the marked him. “How long have you lived in the city?”
Kyle sighed heavily, but not exasperated. “About five years.”
Jace smiled. “Where did you live before that?”
A slight giggle, “Really?”
Kyle’s jaw tensed. He turned back to look at the ceiling. “This is a bad idea.”
“No,” Jace said, pulling closer, stroking Kyle’s cheek. “I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just hard to picture. I don’t think I’ve ever even meet someone from Nebraska before. It’s like the middle of nowhere, right?”
Kyle was still tense, but didn’t pull away. “Kinda.”
“What’s it like?”
That rigid body relaxed, turned slightly toward Jace. “Not like here,” Kyle answered.
* * *
Story by Gregory M. Fox
Photo by Ketut Subiyanto from Pexels