His voice is close. Not in his room, not in this room, but in between.
I twist the doorknob. The bathroom light falls across Malcolm’s face. He leans against the doorjamb, looking at me with doleful eyes. I open my mouth to ask what’s up, but nothing comes out.
His eyes flicker towards the floor, then back to my face, then his eyelashes flutter shut.
“I -- I...”
All of a sudden I know what he wants. I think I know. Recklessly, I lean forward and press my lips against his.
There’s a single, suspended second of nothingness. Just our mouths colliding, just Malcolm’s impossible stillness. He’s not kissing me back, oh my God, I’ve done the wrong thing.
He staggers forward, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. He moans deep in his throat. I open my mouth, more out of shock than anything else, and he falls forward into the space it opens up.
I pull back. Malcolm opens his eyes wide.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He drops his arms from around me.
“W-why are you sorry?”
He scrutinizes my face, breathing hard.
“Is this a dream?” he asks.
“Are you sure?”
He reaches out, hand shaking, and runs his fingers down my chest. I don’t know what to do so I wrap my arms around his waist like he did to me. Our bodies line up from hip to chest.
“Then don’t stop.”