A/N: An idea I had a while back, forgot about, remembered and decided to write. We should all thank SatisfyAnEmptyInside for her helpful advice on how to improve the draft I had to what it is now.

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The world wouldn’t accept our love, that I know for a fact. They can’t understand that sometimes things are a little different from what they cling so dearly to. I don’t know why they can’t accept change, why they seem to be so prejudiced. I know that it would be frowned upon if our secret happened to be discovered. But I know that I would never tell, and I can see in your brown eyes that your silence is assured.

I don’t know exactly the point where I realised our relationship was different than those around us, but I think that I might be able to chart different moments which I believe to have had an impact.

If we were sleeping in the same room we would share a bed, reflected in a mirror, making the room seem larger and the party bigger. My own brown eyes would seek yours, and our hands would instinctively reach for each others as we shared a secret smile. It seemed to say ‘thank you,’ and I suppose it was for keeping each other company.

In the large house that I grew up in, you did as well because you were always by my side, I never had to play alone, as we made believe that the dining room table was a deep dungeon, or a closely guarded fortress. Mother liked her mirrors, she was always so vain like that, so we pretended that the reflected image was a fake, a temptation, and we had to act like we wasn’t sure which one was reality. The solid oak or that reflected in the cool, smooth surface.

I’m sure that we forgot what was real sometimes. The reflections sometimes seemed oh so real to me, more real than most the people around me. Only you, my near constant companion, could affect me.

Sometimes we’d get too boisterous as we played our childish games, and end up colliding, and I could see in the mirror that I had an ugly bruise or a cut and if I looked to you, you had a similar one. We always did share everything, even the pain. Things are still like that.

I remember one particular play time when we wanted to pretend that one of use had to rescue a princess, only we were both boys. It didn’t matter though, you was happy to play at being the damsel in distress. I don’t think that you would have shown that side to anybody else, and I always do feel special when I look back upon that game. I fared many dangers to get to you, a dangerous forest made up of chairs, which I wriggled between the legs of. I don’t think mother would have been pleased if I took the knife I’d pilfered from the kitchen to represent my sword and slashed at the trees, so instead I was stealthy. I had to dodge Ginger the ferocious wildcat and her reflected counterpart. But it was all worth it because in the end I got to kiss the fair maiden. You were cool beneath my lips. We were young so it was only a peck, and we didn’t realise that it was meant to be girls and boys who kissed, not two boys.

I think that our history has many such occurrences, ranging from when we were little boys to where we are today. We explored our body’s in each other’s company, in the same room that we had often shared as youths, still set out the same but the bed had changed, and it didn’t feel at all wrong. We were just two teenagers wondering what would happen if we touched ourselves like this or like that. I can easily say that it helped me feel better knowing that you were there, next to me, mirroring my moves, watching me out of the corner of your eye like I did to you.

Watching as I was sprawled on the bed, my comfy jeans (you always liked them as well) and plain boxers disregarded, the plain shirts I wore unbuttoned so that you could see my chest and stomach, lean but not horribly thin. You were the same. I imagined your hand stroking my chest, and I knew that I grew hard. My hand trailed downwards to stroke myself, a ghost of a touch to begin with. Then as my confidence and need grew, my motions became faster, harsher. I could see you doing the same, and I wondered what had turned you on? Were you thinking of girls or boys? Were you thinking of me? My actions brought me a release, which we were united in, and as we were both messed up we shared a smile before setting about the business of tidying up. You mirrored my movements, but it was my room so I suppose you were meant to follow my lead.

As I got older I didn’t feel inclined to experiment with females, I knew that I wanted a male. Somebody who was like myself. More specifically you. And so that brings our history up to date. We haven’t done anything sexual together, but the love is there, and surely it’s the love people would condemn. And the dreams that I have of you which are oh so sexual.

Sometimes I stand there, in that room which I think of as ours, close my eyes, and run my hand along the smooth coolness of your cheek. Then when my brown eyes open, and they meet with your identical ones, I know that I want to be with you. Just us.