Love Thy Neighbor ✓

eight

EARLY MAY

IT WAS BLAKE'S birthday and Luca was about to lose his mind.

Dusk was falling and Blake was standing on Luca's front porch, ready to celebrate his seventeen years with his friends at dinner. Luca was standing in the doorway, one hand on the arch and another hand on the door.

"Wow," was the first thing he said, his gaze trailing over Blake, drinking in every inch of him; his height, his broad and relaxed shoulders, the arrow of his spine shooting his posture straight. His slender fingers were curled against the smooth of his palm, like lilies flowering into themselves; too shy to bloom in front of the world's eye.

"What?" Blake asked, the corners of his mouth almost splitting his lips; almost revealing the pearls resting between them. The blues of his eyes were knowing and held a hollow curiosity. He knew exactly what, he just wanted to hear it.

"You look fantastic," he replied softly, offering the gift that Blake so earnestly sought.

"You think so?" He asked, almost greedily, his eyes glittering with reserved pride as his lips spilled wider. It didn't bother Luca; he would spend every second of every day praising Blake for a smile like that.

He nodded. "Handsome," he remarked, entranced. "Dangerously handsome, actually."

Blake's dimples beamed at the corners of his lips like half-moons and the roses of his cheekbones bloomed. Luca could've kissed him. He resisted the urge.

"They used to start wars over boys that look like you," he teased, tilting his head to the side and grinning playfully.

"Shut up," was Blake's incredibly witty retort. He shook his head, grinning and, very briefly, turned his head away. Then, his grin fell and he was chewing on his bottom lip— thoughtful, but not nervous—, facing Luca again with a kind of uncertainty. "Are you sure you don't wanna come with us?"

"Blake—"

"I know," he interrupted, sighing theatrically (Luca smiled at this). "I know that you want me to spend time with my friends and I want that, too, but I'd love it if you were there."

"Not tonight, my darling," Luca replied, his wryness tinged with sincerity.

"My darling, huh?" Blake echoed, grinning again, testing the sweetness of it on his tongue. "I like how that sounds."

"Great," Luca beamed dryly, gently pushing his flat palm against Blake's chest. "You can hear me say it again after you get back."

Wrapping his elegant fingers around Luca's slim wrist, he frowned. "Are you sure you—"

"Look," Luca interrupted, twisting his palm out so that Blake could hold his hand instead of his wrist, "you're ready to go and I bet they're already on their way."

"But—"

"And I wouldn't have time to get ready now, anyway," he continued, squeezing Blake's hand in both of his.

"I think you look great already," he shrugged, smiling at his hand cradled inside of both of Luca's.

Even though Luca was wearing a baggy t-shirt and shorts, his dark brown hair messy and his brown eyes adorned with fading eyebags, Blake meant it. He always meant it when he said things like that. His voice was always softened by sincerity and the celestial gleam in his eyes glittered, like the angels were playing little harps. They were always playing the same song and it was one that he had named after Luca.