What kind of relationship existed between Nigel and Adam could not be put into any common drawer with fitting words or stupid phrases.
It was just there. It was soft and firm in one. It was warm and cool, rough and smooth.
Above all, it was real. And it was constant.
Adam loved to compare them both with the constellations of the sky. His cheeks glowed with enthusiasm when he told Nigel that the stars stayed in place forever and planets never deviated from their course. Whether evening or morning, they did not fall down from the horizon or vanished otherwise, even if they could not be seen during daylight. Adam liked to lose himself into those pictures and while he told so passionately, his neck was red and his eyes incarnated an almost feverish glow. In these moments, Nigel could not decide whether to simply watch him in awe, hug him and bury his nose in the fragrant curls or carry him to the nearest bedroom and deliciously fuck him all night long until this sweet redness spread over his whole, slender body, mixing with sweat and his name on top of those kiss-bitten lips, moaned in lustful desperation. Truth to be told, every option held a special attraction to him.
From time to time, Adam took the decision in his own hands by simply cuddling up to his chest, brushing one finger over his hand or kissing him spontaneously. It was the feeling of his soft lips and smooth fingertips curiously rummaging through his ash-blond hair that proved Nigel again and again he had not died at that time in Bucharest. That the bullet being fired by the policeman had actually missed him and he could take flight with Darko at the last second before they were caught. And when he confessed to himself just how low the odds had been to meet a man like Adam in this huge, foreign country, in this state, in this city… it was actually so unlikely, the possibility so harebrained and threadbare that Nigel sometimes felt a lump rise in his throat while thinking about it, and sometimes he even forgot how to breathe when the horror of their possible anonymity for each other sank in.
At such moments he needed Adam so much, so impatiently and close and unfathomable, that it simply had to be called pathetic. And then, Nigel could not believe that he deserved such happiness. He of all people, a murderer, a monster in masked form. It seemed paradoxical, a sign of God (if he would have believed in God), maybe a joke which punch line would cost him most likely his life one day. But strange enough, he did not care much about that. For as soon as Adam was in his arms, warm and lovely and pliant, listening to the steady rhythm of his breath in silence and felt the fluttering pulse under his skin, he felt free, happy and cared for like he had never been before and would never again. He felt closer to heaven than he’d ever be to hell.
Sometimes then, he even felt like a human being again. Almost innocent.