He's here. He can't be here. Is this a dream? He's in my bed, his long body draped over me. His white-gold hair veils us like a curtain. He cut his hair a decade ago; this must be a dream. He bends down, kisses me with lips that taste of sweet water. I have missed you.

Everything speeds forward. Now he is reaching down, guiding his cock, entering me. Oh, you were never this sure when we -- Ohhh. Am I dreaming? You move inside me, rocking in and out, silence creased by the rustle of cool sheets and my sigh.

Time skips again and I am coming, coming so warm and familiar, and you come too, moments later. We lay back on the bed, separate bodies again. Separate worlds. Divided by ten years, three thousand miles, so close I can roll over and kiss you. I am dreaming. It does not matter. I have missed you.