'i struggle with the idea of anyone loving me unconditionally.'
he was made of stories, of poetry and gentle words / accepting
Slender fingers run back and forth through chestnut locks, over and over, with the utmost affection and care. The distance between bodies of two lovers long gone, legs intertwined together in a Gordian knot. An arm wrapped around a man of a smaller, more fragile frame, with the other hand gently caressing the back, feeling bumps of the spine. Pouring unconditional love into the one he cherishes more than anyone else, his lips searching restlessly for Feliciano’s to ensure them once again they’re craved, they’re sweeter than nectar, sweeter than honey. Once free to speak, they utter words that cut through Gunnar’s intestines like a blade. His eyebrows draw together in a soft frown, and he wishes eye contact was possible in their setting. Instead, he decides to lower his voice and whisper into the silence of the room.
“ Feliciano ... ” there is a tone of resigned heartache in his voice. “ Don’t invalidate my feelings for you. I chose you, out of all the people... and I remain firm and convinced about my choice being correct. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I ... I don’t know what else to do if you don’t feel sure about it. ”
The hold feels tighter now than it used to as if he wanted them both to merge into one presence, into one body with one compounded heart beating in one rhythm, singing the anthem of devotion and yearning, of warmth and security. He lets out a sigh to subtly announce his downcasted mood. The tenderness did not cease, quite the contrary; a worried boy who would give up his life for the love of his life, Lord oh Lord, was he not doing enough?