On the topic of strange behavior (some would argue all our interactions revolved around mutually strange behavior). I remember this one time I came knocking on his door. He swung it open, as you do, but instead of letting me in, he remained still; staring like it's the first time he's ever seen me. And when, in an effort to break the silence, I greeted him with a hello, he pulled me inside and shoved me against the door.
What transpired next could only be described as a series of willful penetration (Dear me!). It felt like he was trying to prove something, some point that had somehow escaped me; thrust, thrust, thrusting his way to self-assertion. And once he finally had enough (and at times it felt he was never going to) he slumped on the floor, breathing loudly through his nose.
"So," I propped myself up with my elbows, turning towards him, "What was that all about?"
"What was what about?"
"That," I raised an eyebrow towards the door, the sofa, the floor, "You were very... spirited today."
"Am I not always?"
"You are," I inched closer, expecting him to back away, but he didn't, "But not like this."
"I saw you yesterday."
"I was at some coffee shop. You were out on the street with someone," he said, rubbing his wrist and staring at the ceiling, "You were holding hands."
"Oh, yeah." I smiled, looking over his eye-lashes as they nervously fluttered. He had such beautiful eyes, though you wouldn't be able to tell, hiding behind those god-awful glasses. He never did like being without them, avoiding it at all costs, and for him to voluntarily give them up for so long was a rarity of rarities. There was a vulnerability to him, lying naked on the floor (something that he never did, either); asking about the other man in my life. It made me wonder if he actually realized that he was 'the other man'.
"Who is he?" he whispered, as if by doing so, it didn't really count, "Are you two dating?"
I crawled closer to him, resting my head on his chest, "Yeah."
"Is he new, or?"
"Yeah." I took his arm and forced it around me, and he didn't protest. For some reason, It felt like he was slipping away; and I had this intense desire to be closer, tighter.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I sighed, drawing circles on his chest, "I guess I wanted to keep him to myself for a while."
"Do you like him?" he shivered, skin warm against my fingers.
"Do you like me?" he finally looked over, and I couldn't quite read him. I was never really good at this, but this time it was especially difficult; like he purposely threw a veil over his eyes to keep himself hidden.
"Yeah," I nodded, smiling despite myself, "Yeah."
"You're unlike anyone I've ever met in my 30 years of life."
"Does that mean you like me, too?" I teased, poking him in the chest.
He frowned, "I suppose."