If you've lost your faith in love and music...

Peter saw everything. He always did. Oh, he may not have been the cleverest, or the handsomest, but he always saw. He saw the way they looked at each other, the way their eyes met. Fleeting glances colliding. A mischievous grin; a slight smirk.

 

He saw the way their eyes roved, mentally mapping the contours, the hollows and lines of each other’s bodies. The way their hands touched. Lightly brushing fingers. Accidental.

 

Or not. Peter knew. He saw.

 

He saw the curtains shift and ripple in the early morning. The light of the moon casting shadows on the dormitory walls. He saw the smiles, the ease: belonging.

 

He saw pale skin and luminous scars, piercing the heavy dark of the night. He saw chests – bony, lithe, muscular – rise and fall. He saw the shuddering movements. The sighs of release. The closeness. Tender, moistened lips wrapping themselves around the words, “I love you,” the feeling tumbling softly from one mouth to the other, rolling perfectly on their tongues.

 

Yes, Peter saw. And with a jolting, painful realisation he saw the way things would never be. Not for him, at least.

 

And Peter closed his eyes: because he saw.