Of Bears and Penguins

He sat there on the bed, hair standing on end from his fingers trailing their way through it.

He sat there and looked at once completely relieved and a little bit terrified. Of himself, of others, it was unclear of whether his fear was in the specific or the general.

And yet the sense of ease was almost tangible. Though he was a part of the room, he was also not a part of it. He was removed. Above it all.

He shook with nerves. And spoke haltingly but without hesitation.

A laugh deep and tuneful, and then a quiet certainty of life.

In that moment with amber hair on end, and deep breaths, and dark eyes that were quiet, he had never been more himself. Recognition of that was clearly written on his face. Scary as knowledge of self can be, the corners of his mouth still turned upward in a smile.

And he was beautiful.