His eyes were flecked with gold. His eyes were the most vibrant amber you could ever find in your entire life, and they were flecked with gold, dashes of brighter upon marvelous. They illuminated the auburn hair that fell in front of them, those lively eyes.
His eyes were flecked with gold, and I loved him.
Those eyes never lay their rays upon mine, however. Thos eyes flecked with golden splendor found their way to every girl around me, be it Trisha Milan with her curtain of sleek hair, dark and deep as velvet, they told me, or Melanie Dresden, with those eyes cut fine enough to stare a hole through you, but never on me. They were of a different caliber than I, maintained facets I would never hope or wish to achieve, but God, Noah Michaelson's eyes were flecked with gold, and Luke Devvers loved him.
I couldn't tell you when I knew; there was no moment of definition in my life. There was a period of my life where grape jelly cheek-kisses were exchanged on the mulch, a toll of passage into 7-year-old-hood, and then there was the time of my life where one-way stares were offered, a much more mature manhood of 17 years emboldening unrequitedly. Oh, there were dreams, but of those eyes, the vibrancy I fell in love with. There was no clear separation between the two, and hardly a distinction. I was no man, I was a 17-year-old boy, untouched, waiting for golden kisses from the only person I had desired them from since Jamie Kinard in the second grade. I was no more gay than I was straight; the gay world considered sex more of a rite of passage than the straight one ever will, and besides, I wasn't attracted to other men, I did not find other men sexy. I was in love with Noah Michaelson, an entirely separate matter from all.
He sat there as he always did that day, two rows in front of me and three seats to the left. Mathematics was a strong point of mine, but I was a quiet student; I still haven't an idea as to why Ms. Rhine chose me. I was a quiet student; he was a silent one. He wasn't always so, I had seen him with the women whom he surrounded himself, and he wore his smile as he voiced his laughter: exuberantly and for the entire world to see. But as for the classes I was lucky enough to share with him, he was stoic, his features hewn from granite, but those eyes always shone vibrantly, as they did when they first laid their sights in the line of my gazes when she called us to her desk at the end of our class.
"Noah is in need of some after-hours help with his Calculus, and your grade is second only to Katie Lane's." Oh, Katie Lane. My first and last girlfriend, and an utter disaster at that. They told me that I was stupid to let such a gorgeous woman go, back when I was 15 and you were the shit if you were a sophomore dating a senior, even if you weren't one of the youngest in your class. But he eyes were not flecked with gold, and I did not love her, so when Ms. Rhine said her name, I only wondered as vaguely as you can when your stomach is turning pinwheels why I had been chosen instead of her. "Could you be his tutor, Luke?"
So many phrases burst free of my diaphragm at once, celebrations diving into acceptances shoving disbelief into doubts, though what won was an easy, controlled grunt of consent and accompanying nod. A man's response, and the rest of her words were lost as I turned to him and oh God, though his face was blasé, his eyes were flecked with gold and I knew I loved him.