So that’s one of the first things we did. We rode around Tokyo’s limits, two boys in each other’s arms on an empty train, the hum of metal against the tracks a foreign lullaby. The lights of the amusement park in the distance glimmered like stars in a pond of dusk blue sky.
The sky colored gold, as we sat together in that remote flower garden. The wind softly caressed at both our cheeks. Despite being fully clothed, I shivered; my body, small and lithe, drew closer to that of the northern gentleman’s, seeking his warmth like a kitten seeking milk.
A soft smile crossed his face. His strong arms wrapped about me, holding me close. “I wanted to come back to show you how beautiful it is,” he whispered, like the wind, his lips forming the words softly against my cheek.
I smiled. “At least one of us knows the language. There are so many people here,” I purred, the tips of my fingers drawing against the fur on the back of his neck.
“Yeah.” His warm, icy blue eyes gazed into my pools of melted amber. “What’d happen if I just slipped away into the crowd?”
I stopped.
My heart skipped a few beats, rapid in soothe-timing with bated breath, as the falling sakura petals drifted about us, dancing to the drifting melody of the river running beneath our loveseat on that old wooden bridge.
I closed my eyes, in wake of his. My nose, soft and moist, pressed against his, warm and tender. He smelled of sweet morning myrrh.
