Categories > Original > Romance > Untitled Song
Third Song
A famous singer finds a boy laying in the snow. He decides to bring him home. He soon discovers that he has developed feelings for him, but he has trouble reaching out to the mentally ill boy.
?Blocked
I woke him up a few hours later and took him out as he'd wanted. I bought him ice cream with liquorice toppings and clothes he liked, perhaps to compensate. Not that he made me feel like I owed that to him, but rather that I wanted to, because he never asked for anything. He walked in front of me, his walk not so heavy now that I'd made him wear sneakers. He knew he shouldn't stand out in the crowd when he was with me. I didn't want him to create headlines. I imagined it would hurt him if that happened. Therefore he didn't object when I put Nike sneakers and jeans and a Vivienne Westwood T-shirt on him. He hated those clothes. I hated them too, they didn't suit him. I wasn't used to it, and he didn't look beautiful in them; there was no fairy dust in his aura when he had them on.
I'd had to battle him down on the unkind Persian carpet in the living room to put those clothes on him, and he battled back playfully. His skin that touched the surface of the carpet slowly turned pink. He could never win over me because his body was too weak. His body was so weak it didn't produce sperm any more, so weak he'd grow tired and start huffing only after five minutes of our game, so weak I was afraid to crush him with my weight if I'd let it rest on him. The drugs made him like this, but he needed those. The drugs were unavoidable, both the good and the bad ones. The good ones that the doctors gave him made him function, made him able to live another day, and the bad ones were the ones that let him feel happiness once in a while, let him feel like other teenagers in his age. But he didn't do what others did in his age. He didn't go to school because he couldn't concentrate, he didn't hang out with friends, he didn't even eat like them. That made him weak too, the irregular eating habits.
Tender Ayah, lying under me, curled up, clean and a little wet. I held his hands and looked at the shadow his sunshine eyelashes cast on his always-pale cheeks and then bent down to put a kiss on his collarbone. The kiss made him start laughing again, and I started tickling him again. "Aaaah! Stop, you asshole!!!" Pearls of laughter were ringing in my ears.
I'd had to battle him down on the unkind Persian carpet in the living room to put those clothes on him, and he battled back playfully. His skin that touched the surface of the carpet slowly turned pink. He could never win over me because his body was too weak. His body was so weak it didn't produce sperm any more, so weak he'd grow tired and start huffing only after five minutes of our game, so weak I was afraid to crush him with my weight if I'd let it rest on him. The drugs made him like this, but he needed those. The drugs were unavoidable, both the good and the bad ones. The good ones that the doctors gave him made him function, made him able to live another day, and the bad ones were the ones that let him feel happiness once in a while, let him feel like other teenagers in his age. But he didn't do what others did in his age. He didn't go to school because he couldn't concentrate, he didn't hang out with friends, he didn't even eat like them. That made him weak too, the irregular eating habits.
Tender Ayah, lying under me, curled up, clean and a little wet. I held his hands and looked at the shadow his sunshine eyelashes cast on his always-pale cheeks and then bent down to put a kiss on his collarbone. The kiss made him start laughing again, and I started tickling him again. "Aaaah! Stop, you asshole!!!" Pearls of laughter were ringing in my ears.
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