I woke up some time in the middle of the night with silvery moonlight spilled on my bedroom floor and him sitting down quietly on my bed, his wide almost shimmering eyes looking down at me. His boxers, his ripped jeans, my newly laundered comforter, my red smiley-patterned pajamas, and my boxers between us.

It’s there yet again, the lasting mystery of his too pretty sly, almost smirking smile. His gaze skimming down my neck and all of my energy focused on restraint.

Five mere layers and yet I felt it, the indubitable warmth of us touching - a pale reflection of fireworks exploding high in the night sky, of our mouths busy exploring each other - from that one summer we were on tour in Japan.

I was certain then that I was madly in love with him, I always have been.

And even more and more now.