A friend in need

I see a million thoughts run through his mind as he runs a hand through his hair. Such a cute habit. He's self conscious of it but I love it; intrinsically him, it's a totally natural gesture and shows off hair that only looks better for a little mussing up. Sensing my gaze he looks at me across the pillows and I ask, yet again, if he's ok. A smile, a kiss, a light squeeze from the hand resting on my inner thigh is answer enough but a verbal affirmation comes soon after.

Champagne finished we are drawn back to the pub, the cool shower before departure continues the skin tingling that began much earlier that evening, the spitting rain during the walk dampens my bedhead but it can't take the flush from my cheeks or the fullness from my lips. The brightened eyes and glowing skin of a satisfied woman, so often badly replicated with cosmetics, seem to have settled upon me tenfold and refuse to shift.

At the bar I catch appreciative smiles from men and want to answer the quizzical glances from carefully made-up beauties, tell them this isn't a look that can be bought, at least, not with cash. It's paid for through decades prior then gifted to you by a special friend just when you need it most.

We find a table, my special friend and I. Talk, touch hands, laugh, confirm each other, constantly reassuring and thanking, hash out the new rules of our relationship. The sexual tension between us finally released at just the right time, a time I most needed a friend to help me over the final hurdle of recent times, a time he most needed to be that friend.

What we were will never be again, what we will become is separate but together, supportive of each others paths mostly from a distance. Trusted confidantes swapping music and mental madnesses with no fear of our daily lives being affected by the truths in our heads.

A friend indeed.