Page 136 of Let It Snow
As we enter his basement, I gape in disbelief.
On the long sideboard sits a completely different aquarium, beautifully lit and truly extravagant. Lush underwater plants sway gently in the currents, delicate bubbles rise from hidden air stones, and small smooth rocks and pieces of driftwood create little hiding spots. Tiny decorative elements, a miniature castleand a few colorful shells, add interest and give the fish places to explore.
In the middle, two betta glide gracefully. One is mine, golden and shimmering in the light, and the other completely white, the same species but a different gender, the opal variety that shines like fresh snow.
I smile widely, unable to hold back.
We stand beside it; I’m mesmerized, watching them drift slowly beneath the glass surface, tails fluttering and fins undulating like silk in the water. The light dances across the ripples, casting shifting patterns on the walls and our faces.
And then, through tears, I whisper,
"Now… it’s finally perfect!"
SNOW
The next week with Summer flows easily, almost carefree.
We spend a lot of time together, but I remain cautious, leaving him space. I don’t reach for him or initiate sex, even though I miss that closeness desperately. I’m kinda learning to live with a permanent semi. I’ve never had to go this long in celibacy before; with Theo, there’s always been enough of those encounters to keep me satisfied. Still, I strangely appreciate that what’s taking shape now is a completely different kind of connection between us.
However, it quickly becomes obvious that Summer is very open to taking things further. It’s basically ever-present. His aura glows with shades of pink and red whenever he moves closer. I catch it in the little things he does, the way his body leans toward me, the energy he gives off when we talk. He looks at me, and I can sense that part of him is constantly waiting for me to make a move toward him. Yet I hold back, watching that sweet tension build.
Summer even changes his style of dressing to something subtly provocative, especially for the moments when we’re alone. Most noticeably, he wears thinner shirts now, some of them silk, so his pert nipples show through the delicate fabric.His pants are always tight, and I’ve noticed that he makes sure I have a good view of his ass whenever the opportunity presents itself. When he’s facing me, he sometimes leans against the edge of a table or a windowsill while we talk, positioning himself just right so his bulge is perfectly on display.
There are a few moments when he catches me looking at it, as it’s constantly tenting, and he bites his lip, probably hearing that my pulse spikes a bit at the tempting view.
Days pass. The sexual energy is steadily spiking. Even the smallest gestures give him away. He tries to stay close, sometimes setting up those little situations where our bodies can’t help but brush against each other, rising at the same time I do, pressing past me on the stairs. I know he’s too shy to say it outright, but it’s there all the same.
As for other matters, we don’t talk about why he left. We don’t talk about the decision he finally made or what led him to it.
But we talk. This is an element we rarely had before; our relationship used to grow in silence, and this feels new, exciting, and somehow we manage to sidestep the most sensitive subjects and still find plenty of good, engaging conversations.
Summer also spends a lot of time with my dad.
In fact, their connection is better than anything my brothers’ partners have with him. Summer and my dad seem to be on the same wavelength. Dad takes him shopping, they work together in the garden, and Summer helps him pull weeds, instantly turning them into dust.
And then there’s the kitchen. I never thought cooking would interest him, yet more than once I’ve watched through the window as he stands there with Dad and Jordan, chopping and stirring while they talk. Well, mostly Dad does the talking.
Yes, Summer is still shy. He doesn’t push himself into conversations; he’s not naturally extroverted. But he’s definitelygotten more comfortable leaving his room, and he’s become a real part of my family. A little in the background, but present. I appreciate that, because day by day it becomes more obvious that by doing this, Summer is showing me that he wants to build a family with me, that he’s trying to fit into our dynamic. It’s his subtle way of saying: I’m here, and I want to work on our future.
But his patience when it comes to sex clearly has its limits. About a week after he came back, something interesting happens.
One afternoon Summer brings me a snack, then walks over to my piano and suddenly says, "I’d like to learn how to play."
His aura bursts into shades of pale green and blue, a sure sign that he’s not confident about asking. He quickly adds that at his age, learning is slower than when you’re a kid, but he’s decided he doesn’t want to give up on it, on becoming a part of the musicians’ family.
I know from my dad that he had already offered to teach Summer piano, but Summer turned him down. Yet now he’s coming to me with it, which makes me happy. It’s his own initiative, his way of moving things forward between us.
Even though he’s embarrassed, cheeks flushed as he asks, he can’t quite hide his excitement.
Of course, I agree right away.
We’re standing near the piano when he admits that he has almost no musical background. He once had a plastic keyboard, but he doesn’t remember a thing. He only knows a few notes, and words like scales, chords, or clefs mean nothing to him. He leans over the piano as he says it, rather provocatively, his ass jutting out, his round butt cheeks quite visible under the thin fabric of his harem pants.
He looks so effortlessly sexy and adorable, bent over like that, studying the keys and asking which one is which. He seems so small against the size of the instrument. But I’m aware thatif he wanted to, he could turn my beautiful piano into dust in seconds.
That’s part of Summer’s charm, though. His power hasn’t made him arrogant. There were moments when it seemed like he wanted to show it off, but then he’d get flustered, embarrassed, uncomfortable, and retreat back into his usual quiet self.
He and I grew up the same. Both homeschooled, both naturally withdrawn, both more comfortable staying in the background and observing. That similarity helps us understand each other, but at the same time… it makes it harder to close the gap. It’s like a game of cat and mouse, neither of us rushing to make a move.
