Page 116 of Pansies

“I’m serious. It’s white. Has four wheels. Used to move, now doesn’t. That is the full extent of my knowledge.”

That was too much for Alfie. He reached up, caught Fen by the back of the neck, and pulled him into a deep kiss.

“I’m not objecting,” said Fen afterwards, “but what was that for?”

“I really lo—um, admire your commitment to not giving a fuck about stuff that doesn’t interest you. I’m going to take a look at the van tomorrow, okay? Then we can maybe think about reestablishing some of your mam’s relationships. Start having, y’know, cash flow.”

“Look at you, Alfie Bell.” Fen touched his lips softly. “Riding to the rescue.”

Alfie shifted a bit self-consciously. “Just like you came to mine.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

“I like who I can be with you.” Alfie stacked up some papers that didn’t need stacking. “I’ve never really liked myself much before.”

“I… God, you’re so romantic sometimes, I don’t know what to do with you.”

“Anything you like. Smile at me or kiss me. Say thank you. It’s all good.”

“Then, thank you. That’s a ridiculously nice and slightly too intense thing you just said to me.”

Alfie laughed. “Anytime, mate.”

“I have to go take care of the shop.” Fen slid off the desk and scurried away, blushing, and hiding behind his hand what was obviously his goofiest, toothiest grin.

And Alfie threw himself back into the books. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been because Fen’s mam—and her mam before her—had kept really detailed records. Time slipped away from him, and when he next looked up it was well into evening, the workroom was all tidied up, and there was no sign of Fen.

He found him, finally, outside, scrubbingFAGGOoff the grille with what was left of the solvent, the last of the day’s sun making the hair on his forearms glint gold as he worked.

Fen glanced up with a wry, weary smile. “Well, at least they’ve learned to spell it.”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t. But you did so…” Fen shrugged. “Maybe if I keep doing it, they’ll get bored.”

It didn’t seem likely, but it would’ve been a bad time to say that. So Alfie grabbed some wire wool and started cleaning.

Fen made an ineffectual attempt to shoo him away. “I’m pretty sure it’s my turn.”

“Like I’m going to sit around scratching my arse while you pull a Cinderella down here.”

“Are you my fairy godmother?” Fen fluttered his eyelashes prettily.

“I’d rather be your handsome prince.”

“Are you sensitive, clever, well-mannered—”

“Wow, you’re kind of demanding about your princes. I thought they just had to be charming. Oi, what’s so funny?”5

“Nothing bad.”

They got back to work. With Fen singing this time—a remarkably cheerful song about being in agony. Probably one of his weird musical things. Alfie was going to have to get educated about this stuff. Not that he minded. It was just…Fen. Like the taste of his mouth and his cock and his tears.

“Can I ask you something?” asked Fen, in a little while. “A personal question?”

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