Dear friend,

Forgive me for that slight interruption, I am back now! And with the best news, too! The prosthetic I received is well made! Granted, I suppose that was to be expected—I did pay over a thousand dollars to get one custom fitted, after all; it being horrendous, would have been scandalous.

But, I digress! Returning to where we left off last time, friend: once David and I were both finished with our meal, neither of us wanted to watch a movie, for we were both still a tad jittery, and sensitive, from our previous frolicking.

Despite this, David ushered me into our living room with a swift, motion of his palm. For the instance of a second, I was confused—especially when he began to shuffle around a partially open drawer for his phone, then connected the device to a nearby speaker. “David?” I raised a brow. “What—”

My lover put on a soft, slow ballad. He dimmed the lights,  then held out his hand for me to take. I locked our fingers together, yet frowned, nevertheless. “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

I admit, I was flustered; in the window behind us was a billboard with an advert that was covered in stars. This should not have seemed romantic to me—however, coupled with the muted, orange glow of the room, I could not help but think it to be quite charming, as my lover stepped forward, then pressed his hand to my back; his chest, to my body.

“Does there need to be a reason?” David asked me. “To show you”—his palm slid down to the curve of my waist—“that I appreciate the person that you are, Alexander?”

Friend, honestly, I wanted to reply with something that would show him I was calm, yet, David’s response had taken me aback. In the face of it—in the face of how sweet he was being to me—I could only laugh in a rather awkward manner. Then mumble the words, “Truly, you are a fool,” before I pressed my lips to his neck; hugged him in turn, as we began to sway from side to side, to the steady beat of a man’s voice who sun about Spring, and all that came with it.

David cleared his throat, after a moment. “Do you think…” he muttered. “Wait, actually—never mind.”

I pinched his sides. I furrowed my brows. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What—” He made a strange sound, that I could only compare to a muted yelp. He tensed against me. We were still dancing. Our movements were much less fluid than before, though. “W-why are you assuming something’s wrong?”

To this, I shrugged. Grew quiet, then listened to the next song that played—a woman who belted out words about being young forever, and never forgetting her first love—before I decided to say, “I don’t know. But you seem hesitant. That’s usually a sign.”

“N-no,” David blurted. “I-I’m not…” He pulled away from me. His hands were still on my waist; I wrapped mine around his neck. Looked into his eyes. It was true, that my lover did not seem uncertain or afraid. Flustered was the best way to describe it. His cheeks were peppered a dark mahogany red. His neck, too, was flushed. I had not seen this side of him in a while, and friend, believe me when I say, that I enjoyed every single second of it.

“Then,” I smirked, and left a chaste kiss against his pretty little lips. “Tell me what’s going through that lovely mind of yours, David.” I lowered my voice, drew circles into his back, across the thin, fabric of his shirt. “I’d love to hear it—what you’re thinking about.”