Sometimes certain memories don't fade. They only deepen. Like the ones with Nate. All I had to do was close my eyes, and there we were back in the dorm, me with my books, him with a bottle of water and that tired look after a workout. When he walked into the room, it got brighter. Or maybe just warmer.
Nate was one of those guys who did everything "just for fun." Hugs, tickles, showering together after the gym. But I saw more. His hands would linger on my shoulder a split second too long. His gaze would drift over me when he thought I wasn't looking. Once in the showers, I saw him glance at the other guys. He wasn't following them with his eyes, but there was a tension to it. As if he were fighting with himself. And then he'd always look at me. Briefly. Intensely. And he'd leave first.
We never talked about it. It was too easy to ruin everything. There wasn't much room for conversations about desires that didn't fit the image of college athletes. I was already sidelined back then, in my own quiet way. There was always some fiancée around whose name nobody remembered.
And then suddenly he left for the army. Without saying goodbye. A few messages that stopped after the first month. For years I thought he'd vanished. Until today, when the phone vibrated and I saw his name, my heart skipped a beat.
"Matt?" I heard in the receiver. His voice was deeper than I remembered. Rough, but warm. "I'm in town. Just for a little while. I thought… I had to see you."
I was silent for a moment. Then just one word:
"Come over."
Before I had a chance to think about how to get ready, I heard the doorbell ring. I opened the door and for a second I couldn't breathe. There he was. Nate. A little different, but exactly as I remembered him, only more so. His face was more mature, a shadow of stubble, his neck tanned, and his shoulders… damn. He was wearing uniform pants and a tight gray T-shirt that clung to his chest as if on purpose. His body told the whole story of the past few years.
"Hey, man," he said with a smile, and before I could answer, he put his arms around me.
That hug… It was tighter than I remembered. Firm, warm, familiar. For a second, I felt his breath on my neck. His chest pressed against mine. I didn't move. I just accepted him as he was, more real than ever.
"It's been five years…" he murmured and pulled back slightly, but his hand still rested on my shoulder.
"I thought you'd disappeared," I replied, looking into his eyes. They had a different shade than before. Deeper. As if he'd seen more. Or lost more.
We went inside. He took off his shoes, looking around the apartment. "This place… it's very 'you,'" he laughed. "Minimalist, but there's something to it. As if you left space only for the important things."
"Or for those who come back," I said too quickly. Too honestly.
We sat down in the kitchen. I made tea, but he didn't touch his cup. Instead, he talked. About the army. About the routine. Morning roll calls, running in the rain, commanders who'd clearly seen too much, and buddies struggling under the pressure.
"But it gives you discipline," he said finally. "It's nice to feel like you're in control of your own body. That you can push it further. That it trusts you."
I looked at his tense forearms as he raised the mug to his lips. At the veins that stood out beneath his skin. At his neck, which I knew by heart, even though I'd never touched it. His voice was lower, smoother. And it affected me more than it should have.
"You've changed too," he said suddenly and touched my bicep. His hand lingered for a split second too long. "You haven't been slacking off, have you?"
"I'm keeping in shape," I replied. "Just like you."
He smiled. But there was something more to that smile. As if he were testing my reaction. As if he were waiting for me to say something. Or do something.
I didn't say anything. But my heart raced.
After dinner, a soft silence fell. Nate leaned back comfortably in his chair, looked at me with the same gaze I knew from the dorm, a little shy, as if he were hiding something. He ran his hand over the back of his neck, looked to the side.
"Matt..." he began, but hesitated. "I don't know if this is stupid, but... I don't have a place to stay right now. I thought I could crash with some friends from the unit, but it didn't work out. Could I stay with you?"
I didn't hesitate for a moment. "Stay as long as you want. Seriously," I replied calmly, but something stirred inside me before I could name it.
He smiled with relief. "Thanks. It… means more than you think."
The evening moved to the living room. The lights were dimmed. He settled onto the couch in sweatpants and a T-shirt that had already shed its military tone. I sat down next to him, a mug of beer in my hand. The distance between us was symbolic. His thigh brushed against mine. He didn't pull away.
"It's nice here. Quiet. No pressure," he said after a long moment. "I've missed something like this."
"And I've missed you," I thought, but I didn't say it out loud. Instead, I took a sip of beer and asked:
"Have you ever thought about college?"
"All the time," he replied without hesitation. "About what we could have done differently. About what we didn't say."
We fell silent. Some calm music was playing in the background, which I hadn't even chosen consciously. It suited the moment. Nate moved a little closer. Now his arm was resting against mine.
"Do you remember when we used to sleep together on that damn mattress in the dorm?" he asked, looking me straight in the eyes.
"I remember," I replied. "You were snoring back then, and I couldn't fall asleep. Because you were lying so close. And you smelled like a forest after the rain."
He laughed softly. "Did you really think that?"
I nodded. "Really."
He smiled again. But now that smile was different. Quieter. Deeper. As if he was finally allowing himself to feel everything he'd kept inside for years. He looked at me for a few seconds. He didn't look away. And neither did I.
It wasn't just a conversation. It was a silence that revealed something. Glances that asked something. And answers that were yet to come.
We sat in the twilight, our beers long since empty, the conversation suspended. But the silence between us wasn't heavy. Rather… full. Saturated with something that had been hanging over us for years.
Nate leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. He tucked his head between his shoulders, as if something inside him were tightening. And then, quietly, almost in a whisper, he said:
"Matt… I've always wanted to tell you something. But I was afraid."
I didn't move. I didn't interrupt. I let him speak. There was a roughness in his voice I hadn't known before. As if every word had been polished by years of silence.
"Back then, in college… There was something. Something inside me. But I couldn't put a name to it. I was afraid of everything. My father's reaction, he was a cop, you know the kind. I was afraid of my friends at the gym. I was afraid of myself."
I was silent, but my body was listening for me. Every word dug into my skin.
"And you were… I don't know. Different. Free. But not a stranger. I felt with you like… like in a place I knew before I got there." He spoke those words as if he'd been carrying them for a long time. "I looked at you and thought, 'Fuck, why can't this be easier?'"
He looked at me. His eyes were glistening with tears he hadn't let fall yet.
"I liked you. From the start. Your body. Your voice. The way you laughed. The way you looked at me. The way you smelled after practice. The way you looked in the shower..." He fell silent, as if embarrassed, but he didn't look away. "And how you hugged me. Always. Without asking. As if you knew I needed it."
My heart was beating too fast. But I was calm. Because what he was saying wasn't new. It had just finally found words.
"I'm sorry I stayed silent," he added. "But now… I'm here. And I don't want to run away anymore."
He looked away and lowered his head. I could see his shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly. He didn't want to cry. But he was breaking down. Right here, in front of me. Nate, the soldier, strong, tanned, muscular. He was breaking down because something inside him had finally snapped.
He didn't need forgiveness. He needed presence. And a touch that said, "I'm with you."
I didn't say anything. I just reached for his hand. It was large, warm, slightly damp with tension. I clasped my fingers around his. He didn't pull his hand away. He looked at our clasped hands as if he couldn't believe this was really happening.
"Nate..." I began softly. "You have nothing to apologize for. I was afraid, too. I felt it, too. But I didn't know what a glance that lasts a second too long meant. I didn't want to lose you."
He looked up. There was no fear left in his eyes. There was only relief. And something else, a need. For closeness. For acknowledgment. For touch.
"You're here now," I added. "And if you really want to, we can make up for everything. Slowly. Just the way we need to."
He smiled through his tears. "I'll stay… as long as you let me."
He sat closer. Our knees touched. His fingers traced my wrist, as if he were getting to know me all over again. Then his hand rested on my neck. Warmth washed over my entire body. I breathed deeper. Slowly. I could feel he was too.
He leaned in. Nose to nose. Forehead to forehead. We stayed like that for a moment, until the tension became too thick to bear.
The first kiss was uncertain. Trembling. His tongue brushed mine for just a moment. Like a wordless question. I answered by running my hand down his neck, pulling him closer. Then the kiss grew deeper. Passionate. The muscles in his arms tensed as he pulled me closer.
The kisses were like memories that could wait no longer. As if each one were another year of silence that could finally be broken.
His hand slid down my back. Mine onto his chest. Our bodies pressed against each other, warm, hungry, yet restrained. Not out of shame. Out of respect for the moment.
He pulled away slightly, whispering, without any distance: "I just wanted to talk to you… But I couldn't stop looking at your lips."
I closed my eyes and replied softly:
"And I couldn't stop looking at yours."
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