Idyll

She wore her skin like a designer gown.
And in a world saturated in self doubt, it was a sheer bliss to see her naked.
Even if it was nothing but casual, and he made sure to explain it to her in various vocabulary variations.
However, he could not help himself but call her in the middle of the night, sporadically (at first) when alcohol and cocaine dazed his rationality.
They were friends who cuddled.
If cuddling meant having wild sweaty orgasms behind a window shielded by bed sheets, as she enjoyed the early morning glow of the world; whereas he demanded the night’s abyss to lull him to sleep.
They admitted to each other all shades, gradients and flavours of infatuation, methodically finding reasons to justify their causality.
Casual.
The word he adored, the word by which she was endlessly disappointed. Casually naked, casually embracing each other. She felt safe to be honest with him on a plethora of feelings, doubts and fears. The fearlessness and delight of being honest.