Soft. - by Caramel

Love is weird. There he was, a correct Igbo man confounded by the caramel-skinned beauty on the bed before him. The thought was jarring the first time it came to his head. But that was a while ago and now, Praise had come to a grudging acceptance with it. He liked Femi.He had comforted himself with the fact that it wasn’t men in general that turned his heart to a blistering mess, just this one. Just this brilliant, creative man wrapped up in brown sun kissed skin."Are you staring?" Femi asked, but Praise couldn’t tell you when or how because it took him a minute to process the words, a few seconds more for him to appreciate the deep bass of it. There is supposed to be shame here right?In the way he looked at Femi, the way he felt about him. There’s something that supposed to be shameful about it. But Praise couldn’t find it. Funny how that’s where the shame was.“You don chop?” he asked the boy on his bed. He wanted the answer to be no. partly because he wanted an excuse to leave there and also because he wanted to take care of him. Cook for him, be responsible for something happening inside Femi.It was scary. These feelings he felt. He couldn’t breathe but was breathing. It was killing him yet keeping him alive at the same time. Femi. He turned his fine face from his phone. Praise could swear the world moved around him to create space. “You wan cook?” Femi asked with that smile on his face. It wasn’t fair.Praise shrugged, the corners of his lips lifting up in an identical smile before he could help it. Unfair. “If I cook rubbish, you go chop am shey?”Femi laughed, it was easy, rich, genuine, and he reached out to slap praise’s knee. But his hands stayed there.And praise didn’t know what to do with that. He glanced down at the hand and then up, met Femi’s eyes and didn’t look away.He let him see it. Everything. The weight in his chest. The want. The fear.He knew. Femi knew. At first he froze, he didn’t move. Then he pulled his hand back casually, like nothing passed between them.Praise stood. He felt heavy and dizzy as he dragged himself towards the kitchen. Creating and needing the distance from Femi.He was safe here, with the pots and pans and smell of cooking oil. Then strong hands touch his hips from behind. Then pulled.Strong hands. Safe hands. Femi’s hands.

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