The moist island air curling into his lungs felt sweet and medicinal after the dryness of desert and mainland, not to mention the recycled pressurized air of his hours spent sitting in coach. He had the sudden desire to check how pale he’d gotten, buried like a grub in prison. A quick check of his forearms confirmed he was still darker than the tourists, at least. And he’d kept in shape. One of the only things that kept him sane, in fact: that he could rely on his body, on the ache of his straining muscles, even when his mind played tricks on him.
Like right now.
He bent to snatch his suitcase off the conveyor belt, and when he straightened again, Kalani stood on the other side of the carousel, wearing that worn ringer t-shirt that Ori had given him as a hand-me-down nearly five years ago, now -- still so tight on his big body -- and his dark hair shaved close to his scalp just like Ori remembered him. Haloed by light from the huge glass doors to the terrace garden. Bright, green, alive, and Ori had to shut his eyes.
You wanted him to welcome you home, and here he is, Ori accused himself. Kalani, as strong and shining with life as ever. He’d reach out to Ori with a confident grin and fold him in his arms, one of those hugs that Ori wanted to believe were too long to be just between friends or even brothers. And then he’d headbutt him and clap him hard on the back and --
And nothing. Ori opened his eyes to the same door, the same garden, the same warm, sparkling light... and a pair of overweight mainlanders taking a photo of their equally overweight kid. Because he’s not here.
Also, if you're into mancandy, you should check out +Violetta Vane because she's been posting pictures of the various Hawaiian and Filipino men we found on our search to get a mental image for Ori and Kalani.
|Hotties! Hotties everywhere!|