Or maybe not...
I'm curled up on my thin mattress, the room dim and hushed. My phone rests warm in my hands, and the BL drama plays—pulling me gently out of myself.
The scene unfolds slowly. Aston wanders through the school library, his fingers trailing across worn book spines. A group of boys barrels past, chaos in their wake. Just as Aston's about to be knocked over, the male lead grabs his arm, pulling him close.
Their faces hover inches apart. Breath mingles. Eyes widen.
My heart skips.
Aston blinks—startled, wide-eyed. His dimple flashes—quick and unassuming, like it wasn't meant to be seen. He looks so shy. So beautifully unsure. The kind of boy I used to watch from across the classroom, hoping he'd glance my way... but never brave enough to meet his eyes.
I pause the video. My chest fills with warmth and aching—tender and fragile. This feeling… it exists only inside the screen. And maybe inside me.
This moment is my secret joy—tucked like sunlight into the dry cloth of my working days. When everything else feels muted, this is the spark. The flutter. The pulse.
How I wish he were real. How I wish I had been braver in school. Instead of wearing that "don't mess with me" face like armor, maybe I could've let someone see me. Dropped a smile. Given a hint. Whispered something as simple as "Hey."
But I didn't. And those missed chances play over and over, like reruns from a story I never got to star in.
My fingers drift from the phone, tracing the curve of my belly—warm and soft beneath the thin cotton of my shirt. Aston's eyes—wide, gentle, yearning—linger in my mind, curling through me like smoke.
I exhale. Long. Slow.
I imagine it now: him leaning in. The soft brush of his knuckles against mine. The tremble in his voice betraying something unspoken. The warmth of his breath near my neck. The kiss that almost happens. The kiss that does.
My hand moves—slowly. Curiously. A thumb grazing the line between skin and waistband. Not for relief. Not even for pleasure. Just to feel.
To remember.
This is the part I never say out loud—the part I keep for myself. The part that reminds me I can still feel deeply, long quietly, ache for gentleness even if no one's there to give it.
Because sometimes... the fantasy is softer than reality. And sometimes... soft is enough.