August
He was fighting with guilt, but not in the way he would have assumed he would be. Rather than fighting guilt off, August was begging himself to feel it. He’d walked back to his own room, wet and uncomfortable, used like a tissue to catch someone else’s body fluids, his own smearing with each step…and felt elated beyond comprehension. His lips were bruised and swollen, and he couldn’t stop his tongue from dipping out to taste them again and again.
The door between their rooms was still open, August could hear Doren in the shower, his voice sweet and light as he sang along to the radio. He heard Doren drop the soap and curse it, chasing it in the oversized tub, a notion that he found endearing and hilarious at the same time, and had to force himself not to climb on to his own bed an
