I waited for Ferran by the entrance of his waterfront apartment. It was a magnificent historic building with a neoclassical façade – the type of building only an illustrious and well off family such as the Dubreuilhs could afford to live in. It had an excellent view of the old port, of the natural inlet and the endless rows of white yachts moored in the marina.

He told me that he would come downstairs about 15 minutes ago, but there was still no trace of him. I took out a cigarette and lit it up. A small voice whispered at the back of my head – maybe he was just playing with me, maybe he never had any intention on meeting me at all. But I tried shaking those thoughts away for my own sake. I had nothing to lose coming here either way.

True enough, Ferran stepped out of the building a few minutes later. He wore a cream shirt and khaki pants, his bag hanging from his shoulders. He looked angelic as always.

I had just worn an olive polo and khakis. I didn't really do much with my curls, but I did try to tame them at the very least.

"You look amazing," I told him as he walked up to me.

"Thanks," he muttered curtly, as he walked past.

I quickly hastened to catch up with him. Ferran was cold. But he always had been hasn't he? No, this time it was different. The air was certainly heavy around the boy, I wasn't just imagining things. After all, he was the one who gave me the call. If I had things I wanted to tell him, I was sure he had the same.

We walked wordlessly to the restaurant that Ferran had a reservation at. It wasn't that far, and I followed his lead through the streets.

"How do you find the city?" I tried my best to strike up a conversation when we finally sat down.

We were seated outside facing the marina, the sun shining down on us.

"It's okay," he muttered.

He was still as cold as ever. We barely talked as we held our menus in front of us, as if we were trying to shield ourselves from each other. The waiter coming to take our orders was a much need break from the frigid silence.

Having taken the menus away from us, there was nothing between us anymore. Ferran fidgeted with his fingers, and I did the same. The events of the past few days had only served to make the meeting more awkward.

"I really missed you," I finally said. "I guess I just wanted you to know that."

Ferran bit his lip.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I missed you too."

This really wasn't going anywhere. I should've known, honestly. Ferran was terrible at small talk. Once there was something that needed to be said, he couldn't shy away from it.

"Yes," I finally blurted it out. "I have a boyfriend. Had."

I looked up at him and met his gaze. I found myself lost in his sad, sad eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ferran said as he picked up his glass of water.

"Yeah," I muttered.

I didn't tell him everything. Of course, why should I? It was still painful to think about. I can still see Momo walking out of the door. There was a gaping hole in my heart, sore and festering left behind by his painful absence. I had planned to catch up with Ferran and know what he has been doing for the past few months, but the pain was just too much. Nevertheless I still tried to smile and carry on.

"It's painful, I know," Ferran muttered. "But you get used to it."

"It's fine," I said. "I'll get over it with time."

"It never goes away."

Ferran heaved out a sigh.

"I know that all too well," he continued.

"You still think about him?"

Ferran paused.

"He was the only person I ever had," he finally said again.

Rafel. Mentioning him brought back a creeping feeling of guilt back into my chest. Rafel – how long ago did I even think of him? It has been one and a half years. So I suppose it was only natural, nothing malicious even, if I just didn't think of him every single waking hour. But seeing Ferran, it was almost as if Rafel had only died yesterday.

Truly the past few months I had forgotten about him. No, of course I didn't forget about him – I just never lingered on the sadness his absence created. Whenever he came up it was just in a memory. They were usually happy, from the way he smiled as he cycled down the country paths to the way the wind carried his laughter in the breeze. They were all just stagnant, static memories , a relic of a time so faraway gone.

"Surely you can't mean that you haven't made any friends here," I said, trying to steer the topic away.

"I try," he replied. "But when you haven't made a friend ever since birth it can be quite difficult."

"I can imagine," I muttered, just as our food arrived.

"Most of the time I'm all by myself," he said. "But I'm used to it."

I totally understood him. For the past few days I thought that perhaps being alone was my default state. Momo was gone – but traces of him still lingered. Just like how traces of Rafel still lingered with me when I first arrived. It was an all too familiar feeling.

"Well, I guess we could spend more time together now," I said. "Now that we've reconciled."

Ferran was silent as he put his cutlery down, the clinking of the silverware against was faint but damning. Knowing Ferran, he always needed something to fidget while holding a conversation, whether it be silverware, his fingers, or the crumpled collar of his shirt. But when he stopped – that's when I knew something was wrong.

"Have we?" he asked, staring at me with those cold, distant eyes of his.

His answer took me aback. Sure, we've never properly discussed our feelings for one another, whatever it was that we had between us. But I always just assumed that he was fine with it. Never once did we have an honest conversation about how we felt.

"I'm sorry for presuming," I muttered. "But I'd like that, yeah."

"I don't think here is the place to do it," Ferran replied.

I knew exactly what he meant. Ferran had undone the first two buttons of his shirt, revealing his chest. He kept playing around with them, fidgeting with the cross he wore. Soon, a third button was undone.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't had racy thoughts about Ferran ever since I saw him by the port. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever laid my eyes on. And our time apart hadn't changed that fact.

"Should we go back to my apartment?" he said after lunch.

I only grunted.

There was no point in asking, he knew I was going to say yes. I guess he only asked it out of courtesy.

The walk towards his apartment was silent, just like my other walks with the boy. We kept sharing knowing glances. Looking into those cold blue eyes melted me – I could simply never get enough of him. We walked side by side, and I reached out to brush my hand against his. And for the first time, he smiled.

He was so pretty when he smiled. My beautiful, golden boy.

The moment the elevator doors shut I knew I had to have him there and there. One shared look between us and any inhibition I had melted away, in its place a strong feeling of yearning, deep and visceral from the depths of my chest. The saccharine scent of his lavender perfume drew me in as I closed the distance between us. As I gazed into his eyes, I studied every detail of his face, from his long, curly lashes to his pink lips that were slightly parted – the signal for me to swoop in and bring my lips to his.

His soft lips tasted so sweet – the sweetest thing I have ever tasted. I missed him. I missed him so, so much.

I held him as I continued to kiss him, letting my tongue enter him as a feeling of euphoria rushed over me. It had been too long, far too long. That elevator ride was the longest in my life, and I wish it never ended. In that moment I didn't care about anything else, just the boy I held in my arms. And all I wanted to do was kiss him.

We got to his apartment soon enough. It was a large apartment for him to have all by himself, but his parents were wealthy, so it wasn't surprising. Besides, he did mention he was staying at one of his father's properties.

But the moment he shut the door behind us, my attention was on him again. We were barely in the entryway when I caressed his soft cheek and brought him closer to me. I couldn't have enough of him.

Leaning down, I landed a trail of kisses, from behind his ears and down the nape of his slender neck. His soft moans filled the air, a soft symphony of sighs of pleasure and relief.

I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my hands over his toned torso. He let out a sigh as I moved down to suckle on his nipples, alternating between tracing circles with my tongue and sucking hard.

We were both rock hard, and I could feel his boner brush up against mine through our pants. I reached under his pants and gave his bulge a squeeze through his underwear. He was wet. He wanted it just as badly as I did.

Noticing where this was going, he held me by the hand and lead me across his vast apartment.

Ferran was many things – vulnerable, innocent and pure. My best friend's brother. An object of affection. An object of my deepest desires. He was what I thought about in the morning, and what I thought about before going to bed.

I guess I really did love him, there was no other explanation.

Tossing his pants aside, Ferran lay down on the sofa in nothing but his unbuttoned shirt and underwear. He wrapped his arms around me as I pushed against him and planted kisses around his neck. I was in such a state of bliss that I had missed so much. I loved it when he craned back in response to my touch, I loved it when he whimpered as I entered him, I loved it when he stared intently into my eyes I pushed deeper and deeper.

Sex with Ferran was magical. He never even needed to utter a single word. It was almost our bodies knew what to do without any instruction. I planted a kiss on his cheek as he wrapped his arms around me, and as I grunted into his ear I felt him digging his nails into my back. I felt him shiver as I repeatedly hit his spot.

I looked down at that beautiful face of his. Cradling his chin up with my palm, he looked up at me with those pretty eyes, and his gaze never wavered, even as my fingers slowly entered his mouth, prying his lips ever so slightly open. His icy blue eyes were glassy, the tears threatening to burst at any moment. His cherub cheeks were flushed pink, as beads of sweats dotted his forehead, dripping down from his crown of golden curls. He almost seemed like a Boucher painting, so soft, ethereal and dreamy. An angel amongst the clouds and the bright blue sky.

I could switch positions, but fucking him missionary was my favourite. He was truly the most beautiful boy in the world.

I kept kissing him as I went faster and faster. His breathing got heavier and he clung on to me with even greater force, his erect penis grazed against my stomach as he got closer to his climax. I could feel myself approaching my limit as the wave of visceral pleasure began to wash over me.

With one final thrust, I let myself go, shivering as I emptied my load inside him. A gasp immediately escaped from his lips as I felt the warmth of Ferran's seed shoot up all the way to my chest. The boy's nails dug into my chest as he let out a moan loud and clear.

"Mateu."

I couldn't believe my ears. He had never moaned my name out loud before. In the many times that we had sex he had always just been silent, save for the first time we ever did it. I simply couldn't believe it.

I couldn't help but break out into a smile as I looked at him, and he did the same. I didn't understand the feeling that just came over me – Joy? Happiness? Ecstasy? I was so overwhelmed I didn't even notice the tears in my ears until they started falling and dripping onto Ferran's cheeks.

The boy only wiped my tears away with his thumb, his lips curling up into a tender smile. It was truly the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

It made me realise the undeniable truth. That I was madly in love with him. Even after all this while, I still loved him. Only he could drive such an intense passion within me, invoke such carnal feelings from deep within.

I chuckled awkwardly, and so did he. In that moment of sweet innocence, I couldn't help but feel that we were just two young boys forced to grow up quickly in a cruel world. But in that moment I could savour the fleeting innocence, the innocence I saw in those rosy cheeks and longing eyes, I felt in myself as well.

I wished things weren't the way they were. I wished Ferran and I bonded under happier circumstances. He was just a boy. A sweet boy who didn't deserve all the pain this life had for him.

As I rested my head on his chest, exhausted, he stroked my hair. I listened to his heart thumping as I closed my eyes.

"Maybe I was wrong about how I felt about you," he said, his soft voice piercing the silence. "Maybe I didn't just have feelings for you."

I turned my head to look at him.

"You love me, don't you?"

The boy couldn't look at me, but the smile on his lips told me everything I needed to know. Reaching up, I landed one last, long kiss on his lips. I reached out for his hand, and our fingers interlaced.

He loved me.

And in that brief moment, the thought of us together seemed more of a reality than it was before.