He boosts you up as you struggle tensely, breathlessly to reach up an unlocked window; from beneath his feet rustle alarmingly loud noises: metal and plastic. The whites of sharp eyes piercing through the blurry darkness looks up nervously, urging you on. His shoulders are round and slippery and, if he feels any pain, he chooses not to say anything. There are no gasps of pain or discomfort.

A reassurance with his catlike grin, fingers quivering around your ankles. It tickles, and so does the brightening sunlight.

Climbing into your room, you feel the house stir towards awakening. For the final time, your hands slide into his outstretched palms; these, he kisses, for your face is now a universe away. He is quiet, but you will hear his voice with all its weightless melodies again because, even after the sneaking and the hiding and the unbearably unquenched longing, his eyes whisper to yours.

I'll see you soon.