I was sorting through old things today and found my high school uniform. The fabric has yellowed a bit, but the creases in it made my heart race. It was that afternoon in the sports equipment room, when his trembling hands undid my first button. We were both laughably clumsy; he was so nervous he almost broke my zipper, and I bit his epaulet from the pain. The air smelled of dust and sweat. His tears fell on my collarbone as he promised he would always be responsible for me. Looking back now, that was the true luxury—spending a lifetime to fulfill an awkward vow. He's long since mastered how to make me melt, but that reverence has never changed, not once, whenever he enters me.