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That first kiss was tentative, slow, light. Our lips barely touched. His eyes were closed – he still had problems looking at my face. He was trembling. I was trembling. We barely touched, and yet this was the most emotionally intense kiss of my entire life. It lingered, grew, waned, ended. We sat staring at our half-eaten pizzas – the world´s most unromantic food. Peter had tears in his eyes. ‘Wow.’ he said. ‘You know, I could die now.’ ‘Don´t you dare. I do intend to kiss you again. Do you have a problem with that?’ ‘None whatsoever.’ He rose. ‘But now I must sleep. In the nest. I have grown enough today, now it´s regression time.’ I was not tired. I unpacked stuff and did what I could to turn my home into my home. I was humming carols and smiling about the kiss. I was sure he wanted me and I was sure I wanted him. He would not get away now. When I eventually fell asleep I think I dreamed about Peter again, but a rather meatier dream this time. Heat but no toaster. Sunday morning..

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