Love drabbles (1 to 5)

                           
Out of reach (the unhealthy kind)
He hates himself a little. He hates himself because, every time he sees her, he sees a perfect being. Her hypnotic voice, her bright eyes; the way she walks, her energy flowing from the top of her head to her feet, passing onto the floor, eventually hitting him like an electric shock. He sees her sister as a perfect woman, and he hates it, because he knows that’s not true.

One of the few things I know (the insecure kind)
Statistically speaking, there’s a chance of 85.4% of that they will feel the exact same thing. After all, they both had been walking for an hour and twenty minutes, and none of them had an umbrella. Also, the circumstances that brought them there were almost identical, and the amount of alcohol they drank was proportional to their tolerance to it. But while his body is starting to shake violently, and angry tears are rolling down his face, his friend is still perfectly calm. “You were right”, he thinks, “and I was wrong”. Statistically speaking, there’s a chance of 90.1% of that this phrase will be true. He’s too stubborn to give up, though.

Forest creatures (the simple kind)
He brushes the hair from the other’s eyes. His skin is soft and has a faint smell of grass and rain. The slightly cold wind makes him shiver, and he gets a bit closer to his friend, being careful not to touch him- he really does not want to wake him up, or he would have to stop staring at him. He wonders if there’s any other part of his friend’s body, apart from his face, that is covered in freckles (oh no, not that thought again…). He closes his eyes briefly, as he starts feeling sleepy too, and random ideas take over his mind- Dear, the boy is really cute. He would look adorable with a flower crown. If he could only make one...

Good morning (the intellectual kind)
When she sings, her voice turns into a sweet but brittle, hoarse sound. It’s not exactly beautiful, yet he finds it captivating, just like her. There’s something in the woman that makes him feel very small; it’s a strange feeling, yes, but not uncomfortable, for some reason. He likes to be protected. She’s strong, but slow. Warm. She’s always complaining about him, yet she’s still by his side, and that’s fascinating. She’s his lionheart. She’s the one he admires, even when he never says a word about it. Now she’s singing and he laughs, and she blushes and turns around. And then he thinks yes, that must be how love feels like.

Paper and scissors (the domestic kind)
As much as he loves him, he still thinks he is a bit dumb. He has noticed when he picks their clothes from the floor; the guy doesn’t know that white and red clothes shouldn’t be put in the washing machine at the same time. What a shame. But he’s great in the kitchen and he’s great in bed, and he knows he needs to be alone sometimes, and that’s just perfect. As much as he loves him, he has to admit: From time to time, he still thinks he doesn’t deserve his boyfriend.