Page 49 of Pansies

Fen gasped. Pressed forward. Reared back. “Oh. Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Doing this to me. You’re such a Neanderthal, and I shouldn’t like it.”2

“How is being chivalrous being a Neanderthal?”

“Oh God.” Fen put a hand to his brow. “Did you just say chivalrous?”

Alfie sighed. “Let me guess, it’s a bad thing now. Because of Tumblr or something.”

More staring from Fen.

“Look, I get it, feminism blah blah, kyriarchy blah blah, but I can’t help how I was raised. And if you tell me you don’t want something, or you don’t like it, or I’m making you feel shitty, then I won’t do it. But I’m not going to stop wanting to take care of you—uh, people.”

“I don’t need taking care of.”

“Everyone needs taking care of.” Alfie wished he could see Fen’s eyes. From the crease running right between them and the shadow behind the lenses, he thought maybe they were closed. He reached out and ran his finger gently up and down that anxious little line until it vanished. “It’s all right.”

“I’ve forgotten what all right feels like, Alfie Bell.” Fen slipped past Alfie and into the car, pulling the door closed behind him with a pointed slam.

Alfie rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t really offended. There was something especially sexy about Fen when he was prickly. It brought light to his eyes and—strangely—softness to his mouth. Made him seem so…bright. The way he was supposed to be. Not the curled-up, strung-tight, hollow person Alfie saw sometimes instead.

He went round to his own side of the Sagaris and climbed in, turning briefly to grin at Fen. “You look great.”

“Don’t go getting ideas. I just felt like it.” But Fen was blushing. And seemed pleased. “And, anyway, look at you, you tart.”

“Who, me?” It was hard to sound innocent, considering he’d deliberately chosen his very tightest and clingiest T-shirt, and a leather jacket that did nothing to conceal it.

Fen gave him a totally-not-buying-that look.

“I can change? I think I’ve got a spare shirt in the boot.”

“Let’s not be hasty. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Alfie knew it was just dinner and a chance to talk, and that he’d had to beg and risk putting his head down a toilet even to get that. But it had this…this datey air. Fen had dressed up and Alfie had dressed, well, down. Which meant something. And he felt a little bit nervous, a little bit excited, and a little bit hopeful. Which he hadn’t for years. Not since he’d still been waiting to meet the right girl. His heart beatingmaybe maybe maybe.

Maybe this one, maybe this time.

There was this extra intimacy to driving someone somewhere. If it was the right someone and the right somewhere. And Alfie loved his car and loved sharing it. His piece of loud, red freedom.

He turned the key in the ignition and the dashboard lit up like Christmas, all the needles twitching excitedly over the faces of the dials.

Fen hooked his index finger over the bridge of his glasses and pulled them down his nose, peering stagily over the top as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Are we going into space?”

“Cool, isn’t it?”

“Jesus.” Fen caught for the dashboard as the engine roared and the car spun light and wild as fire away from the kerb.

“Nought to sixty in three point seven seconds.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“You okay?”

A shaky sound. Then, “Yes.”

“Sorry, she’s a bit brash.”

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