by >>Jae

It's like being at the movies, you think.

You tried to be discreet at the beginning, but there's only so much time even you can spend in your bunk and it's your bus too. You worked yourself up into a righteous stance, but once you started hanging out with them again you realized that they didn't really act differently. Chris still crowed over the Playstation and leapt across the room in triumph, Justin still sulked and pouted until Chris tackled him to the floor. They weren't even being particularly considerate, you think, it was just their way.

So there are no big romantic scenes, it's not like you ever catch them in a compromising clinch. But sometimes you'll be on the couch and Justin will laugh and tilt his head back to look for Chris, smile instinctively widening when he meets Chris' eyes. Or Chris will haul Justin from the floor, hand lingering on the soft curve of his waist, Justin flushing a little and studying Chris through lowered lashes. And suddenly it's like you're sitting in the dark watching something larger than life, something that seems both more foreign and more familiar than anything you've ever had.

Then it passes. Chris will say something to make Justin laugh louder, or Justin will dart away, leaving Chris to chase him, and suddenly you're stepping out blinking into harsh sunlight, unsure for one dizzying moment if two seconds have gone by or two hours.

It doesn't hurt that they're both beautiful men, not just Justin but Chris too. Both of them are so poignantly perfect at these times that they seem almost a different species, or perhaps just a newer version of human, refined and slightly better than you. They don't do it for show; you're not even sure they're aware of it. You think it's not so much that they forget you as that for a moment they're on a different plane where no one else exists or ever has. You imagine that if you tried to touch them then, your fingers would press against a flat soft screen and you'd see the shadow of your hand darkening their bright pale skin.

Something about watching them makes you feel sentimental and vaguely dissatisfied. You tell yourself that there's something exaggerated and overly intense, hothouse, about what they have. It's something you watch idly to while away the endless hours of travel. It's not real life.

But somehow when you're with Bobbee, your kisses seem strangely artificial, something smaller and dimmer than love.

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