I CAN’T really read Levi’s reaction.
He hasn’t told me how he feels about me spending the night at John’s. He’s been pacing around my living room, asking me to recount the night. I have, a couple of times, not leaving anything out. Well, except for the fact that I’m keeping my John-scented shirt under my pillow.
Now he’s sitting on the floor cross-legged and staring at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Nothing—I don’t know, nothing happened. He just invited me over for a drink and—”
“I know,” Levi replies. “You said.”
He takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose before sighing.
“Are you angry?”
“You disappeared to stay at another man’s house. Would you be angry if you were me?”
I look away and exhale, nodding. “I thought—”
“We had an argument, Damien,” he says. “People have arguments. People—”
“People,” I repeat. “They have arguments. That wasn’t really an argument. That was just you being a dick to me and then telling me to call you.”
He sighs. “You said we had this one week to be together while your best friend wasn’t here and then you just picked up and left. Couples argue sometimes, you know. It happens. Do you think that when you’re a dick to me, I go spend the night at other men’s houses?”
“When am I a dick to you?”
He sighs again, his brow furrowed and his glasses in his hands. “Come here.”
I sit down next to him.
“If you want this to work, you can’t do that again,” he says. He puts his glasses on again when he’s done wiping them on his shirt. “You can’t kiss your boss and you definitely can’t spend the night at his house.”
“Right,” I say. “I’m sorry. I thought—I was just angry.”
“Yes,” he replies. “And he’s hot and you’re young. The thing is, I feel like we’ve been floundering because I’ve been waiting for you to take the initiative. But this last week or so, I’ve kind of realized that that’s not your thing. Which, I mean, it’s really weird considering how things started, so I’m just starting to wrap my head around it.”
“It’s not that,” I say. “I’m just confused.”
He nods. “Look, we can go back to the way things were. You can keep the key to my place and come over when I text you. We don’t have to see each other outside of that at all.”
I feel a bit light-headed. I close my eyes, remembering how horrible skulking outside of his place was, waiting for his neighbors to go into their flats before I sneaked in. Leaving in the morning before everyone was up. Texting him and waiting five, six hours for a reply. When it came, it was only a time. Six o’clock, nine o’clock, not tonight, I have guests.
My voice shakes when I finally speak. “Is that what you want?”
He shrugs. “I want a relationship with you.”
“I want a relationship with you too.”
“No,” he says and looks into my eyes. “I don’t think you understand. I want a relationship with you. I want to introduce you to my parents. I want to invite you out when I’m with my friends. I want to be able to come over to your flat when there are other people here. I want to be able to hold your hand in public.”
I lean back against the wall and swallow. It feels like the air has been knocked out of me.
“That’s what I want,” I say.
“I know,” he replies. “The thing is, that can’t happen. Not for a couple of years at least. And if you’re not okay with that, if that’s the reason you’re spending time with someone else, that’s okay. I can live with that. But not if we’re going to have a go at it, which is what I thought we were doing.”
He has so little faith in me. I guess I can’t blame him—if I were him, I’d have very little faith in me too. I’ve wanted him to say what he’s saying for a while, but now it doesn’t feel like enough.
If this had happened a couple of weeks ago, I’m sure I’d have wrapped my arms around him by this point, told him I’d wait for him for as long as it took, and wondered if I was in love with him.
Except for the last part—and it feels more like a curiosity question, rather than an emotional one—none of that is happening.
“It’s your turn to talk now,” he says and strokes my cheek. His hand is soft and warm against my skin.
Okay, maybe I am in love with him.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“You had to wait,” I say. “You had to wait until we had our first big argument to say this. I spent ages waiting for you, the better part of a year, being respectful, watching your boundaries, and then only seeing you when you wanted, how you wanted. My last semester was built around seeing you and you were using me.”
“I wasn’t using you,” he replies.
I’ve held this back for so long, and now it feels like I can’t hold anything back. If he wants me to talk, I’m going to tell him everything, no matter how much it hurts him.
“Do you know how shit it is to see the person you like—someone that you think you may actually be in love with—ignore you day in and day out until they call you around because they’re bored or lonely?”
“That’s—”
“I’m not done,” I say, holding my hand up. “You know when you asked me if I wanted to make it official, I really thought you meant actually official. Like dating official. Every time I’ve asked you to go out with me, you make an excuse. Like, I asked you to help me with picking out clothes, and you told me to text you pictures. I wanted to go shopping with you, and you just shot me down. We could go anywhere—and you’ve always, always turned me down. It seems like you’re ashamed of me.”
“No—”
“Fuck’s sake, Levi, I’m not done. I know that rationally. I know that it’s your job. I know it’s the reason you didn’t want to get involved with me in the first place, okay? I’m not stupid, like you seem to think. It’s nice to be around someone that doesn’t hold back and that seems to be actually interested in me. Someone I don’t have to beg for scraps.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“I mean, maybe,” I reply, digging my fingers into the carpet. “You’re my boyfriend and he seems more interested in me than you are.”
I’m watching my hands and wishing I could take back everything I’ve just said. I don’t want to scare Levi. I want him to stick around. I need him to stick around.
“Look at me,” Levi says.
I do. His eyes are shining. I think he’s crying.
“I’m so sorry you think I’ve been using you,” he says. “I didn’t want any of this to happen, you know. It just kind of did. I know life would be simpler for both of us if we weren’t together.”
“That’s—”
“Wait, now it’s my turn. I’ve never been ashamed of you. Never. I’ve been scared,” he says.
“About your job?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “About my job. It’s just—”
He trails off and looks away, swallows.
“What? I vomited my emotions all over you.”
He smiles. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve always known it was more than just about my job. You know how you said you thought you may actually be in love with me?”
I nod, the knot in my stomach tightening.
“Yeah, so I’m, like, fairly sure I’ve been there for months,” he says.
He’s looking away. His fingers are centimeters away from mine. It takes me too long, probably, but I grab his hand before I kiss him. I’m not really sure what else I’m supposed to do.
LEVI IS lying in my bed with his forearm over his eyes. I watch him as I get dressed near the dresser. His clothes are all over the floor, his body half-covered with my sheets. Every time he shifts, every time he moves slightly, I die a little. I really don’t want him to find the shirt I’ve stuffed under my pillow. I should have probably put it somewhere else, but I wasn’t expecting him. I was expecting to spend the night by myself.
He moves his arm and looks at me, smiling. “Hey.”
I sit down on the bed next to him and put my hand on his leg. He’s so warm. “Hey,” I say, smiling back at him.
“Come back to bed,” he says, shifting away from me. I have to try really hard not to look at the pillow that his head is on.
I shake my head, laughing. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I don’t need to eat,” he says. “I missed you.”
I lean down and kiss him. He still tastes like me, and I can’t help but get a little carried away when he puts his arms around me. I break the kiss and kiss the tip of his nose. “Stop,” I say. “You may not need to eat, but I’m starving.”
“Order in,” he says. “Then you can stay here for a little longer.”
I laugh. “I’m skint,” I say. “I still haven’t been paid for work. Actually it’s been a little weird, they haven’t even asked me for my information. So I guess it’s cash in hand.”
“Don’t forget to declare that,” he says.
“Okay, Dad,” I reply.
“Sorry,” he says.
“It’s fine,” I reply. “I like it when you get paternal. It’s kind of hot.”
He laughs. “Shut up, Damien.”
“Okay, okay,” I reply. “Fine. But I am making you pay for food just for that.”
“Good,” he says, sits up, and puts his arms around me again. He nuzzles into my neck and breathes heavily. “I’ll buy you anything as long as you never disappear on me like that again.”
Oh God, I feel like such a dick. He was worried sick about me while I was getting high with John. I wonder what kind of person that makes me. He probably deserves so much better.
“You don’t have to buy me anything,” I say and lean into his arms. “I won’t ever do it again.”
“Good,” he replies. “Now tell me about your job.”
“Levi—”
“I promise I won’t be a dick.”
I take a deep breath and swallow. I guess if there’s any time to tell him, this is it. “So you know those studios on Stepney Road? Near Union Street?”
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s prestigious. You’re working at one of those?”
“Not just one of those,” I reply. “I’m working at Crash.”