writing in tiny.

Erik hardly ever travels. Not as a child, a teen, not even in his adolescence. He only knew the four walls that made up his room, the feeling of dread that threatened to choke him when he caught sight of his aunt. His world was small, contained in a cage where the locks and bolts were plenty and the leash around his neck tightened at the smallest show of resistance.

Jovan was the first to expand his world beyond his life of captivity. He was a lover once, a best friend now and forever, he was the push of encouragement that Erik needed to step out of the abusive environment he was forced to live through. Jovan lifted him by his arms and taught him how to walk on his own.

Ivan took the edges of his world, and pushed them beyond their boundaries.

He taught him the gentleness of his touch, the kindness poured into every action, every word that spills from his mouth. Ivan taught him what devotion is, how love is unconditional and how it comes in the simplest of forms, how the feeling floats around him and laps at his soul so tenderly.

If Jovan taught him how to walk, Ivan taught him how to run and let himself fall.

Bali is nice. Quaint is the first word that came to Erik’s mind when he peeked out of the plane window. Fresh, bustling, two more that popped up when he walked out of the airport. It’s the kind of bustling that’s vastly different from the crowded streets of Jakarta. While the capital felt like he’d suffocate either from the horrendous traffic or the sea of people in the metros, there’s something about the atmosphere in Bali that made breathing less of a chore.

And while he’s never been here before, he’s aware that the little island is known for its scenic beaches and magnificent temples. Ivan already prepared an itinerary for the whole week, Erik is content with just following along.

The beach that Ivan picked isn’t as packed as Erik expected from photos he found online. There’s a few local children screaming and splashing in the water, street vendors selling wares from bottled drinks to knockoff sunglasses, and some foreign tourists lounging around by the sand, laying down on beach towels or propped up against wooden chairs.

Erik lets out a contented sigh after he takes a swig from his water bottle, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. They’re seated by a little parasol tucked away at one corner of the beach, far enough from the crowd nobody would be able to bother them, but close enough to get a full view of the human congregation enjoying themselves for vacation.

They’ve been walking about taking pictures at the beach, dipping their toes in seawater (and Ivan playfully splashing him a few times) while watching people play volleyball or make sand castles. He laughed at a funny sand sculpture, almost tripped over a body covered from chest to toe in sand, kicked sand at Ivan for snickering at him.

It’s not extravagant, no special festivities or pleasant surprises. It’s just Erik and Ivan with their pinky fingers linked together while they stroll down the beach. He’d have liked it better if they could hold hands, but considering where they are…Well, he takes what he can get.

“Tired, puppy? Do you want to go back to the hotel?”

Ivan’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and Erik shifts to face the older man. He’s reclining on his chair, head leaned against his palm and smiling gently at Erik. It’s small, with barely an upturn of his lips, but the genuine sincerity behind it never fails to make his heart leap in his chest. His eyes flit briefly to the beauty mark near his lower lip, a spot he loves to kiss. Designer shades are perched on top of his head, wisps of light blue hair fall gracefully over his shoulder. As a perpetually broke college student, Erik thinks most of Ivan’s wardrobe—while simple—looks and feels luxurious. He wears a plain navy blue shirt, the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up above his forearms. Not a far cry from what Ivan usually wears, but the slight exposure of skin makes him look more relaxed than usual (Erik will not admit to sneaking a few glances). Loose khaki shorts ending a few centimeters above his knees drape over skin almost as pale as Erik’s own.

The elegant sight tugs strongly at his heartstrings, makes Erik feel like he can fall in love all over again with the devastatingly handsome man.

“No, I’m fine,” he shakes his head, suddenly feeling very underdressed in his red tacky beach shorts Jovan bought for him on a whim. A rough breeze sweeps past, and while the sun is beating relentlessly on them, Erik shivers and gets an excuse to wrap his arms around himself. “I like it here.”

Erik means it. It’s been nice, every moment he spends with Ivan is a pleasant one. He keeps them close to his chest, rewinds them in his mind whenever they’re apart. It’s been a long time since he last felt inadequate by Ivan’s side, but the bitter reminder that they’re not ‘something’ brings the acrid taste back full force.

It’s been a year and a half and Ivan has yet to make a decision on what they are. Nobody can blame him for being insecure about the nature of their relationship, especially when they come from worlds apart. He’s been patient, he keeps telling himself eventually Ivan would give him a definite answer, that one day he’d be able to hold his hand and proudly call him a lover.

But it’s been too long, and his faith is beginning to waver. His head swirls with thoughts of them never meant to be, and it hurts more than the thought of rejection.

Ah…So much for leaving his worries behind in Jakarta.

A fluffy towel is draped over his shoulders, pulling Erik from the depths of his gloom. He lifts his head, coming face to face with Ivan and his heartthrob smile. There’s a tint of worry in his gaze, but he doesn’t voice it out loud as his hands come to land on top of the towel, barely brushing against the bare skin of his collarbone.

“I didn’t expect you to be cold with all this heat,” he says, playful, and Erik hopes his own smile would reach his eyes. He pulls the towel tighter around himself, chuckling along as best as he can with his heart barely held together with staples and scotch tape.

“The wind’s a bit harsh.” His voice cracks at the edges and he clears his throat. He doesn’t let his thoughts escape his lips, doesn’t allow himself to dampen the mood when Ivan has worked so hard to make this enjoyable for them both.

The wistful part of Erik refuses to go away. The yearning knocks painfully in his chest, begging to be soothed with a warm embrace or warmer words whispered against his chapped lips.

Their spot is beginning to empty out as the tides begin to recede, visitors migrating to the middle of the beach to lounge by the shoreline. Erik inhales the fresh ocean breeze and gazes at Ivan with hope and desperation shimmering in his jade green irises.

“Koko. Kiss me?” it comes out as a whispered plea, it makes Ivan’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He remains silent, searching for something in Erik’s guarded expression. In his fear of revealing too much, asking too much. Ivan senses the trepidation in his trembling fingers, the press of his lips somber and—indulging, always indulging in anything Erik asks him for.

Wordlessly he presses a thumb against the corner of Erik’s mouth, smoothing over his bottom lip, and tugs lightly with a wistful smile of his own. “Any time you’d want me to, Erik.”

Erik indulges in the unbearably soft pressure of their lips brushing together, drowns in the gentle caress of his cheek as Ivan tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

Erik indulges, and Erik dreams of a future where every kiss they share is a symbol of a love they acknowledge as their own.