The stars are sleeping, speaking in the silence. Smirking in speculation. I’m telling him to put his hands on my waist, no under my shirt. As we lay beneath the stars, I can feel his body breathing, inhale and exhale. Inhale my scent. Exhale desire. Desire that wraps itself around my thighs and tickles the tips of my fingers. I am burrowing my childishness in his chest and whispering lullabies that weave themselves between his ribs. The night is nippy but nothing poses a problem when his calm, steady heartbeat becomes the sword to my anxiety. Our legs shuffle. My calf between his calves. Two open sleeping bags and two friends, figuring out love from lust from platonic feelings.