Page 63 of Pansies

God, he’d actually said that aloud. Admitted it. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have dared. A few years before that he wouldn’t have cared. But now he did. Not just for the familiar stranger he held, but for Greg, and Kitty, his mam and dad and Billy. For himself, damn it. For himself. Everyone he would love and be loved by in return. And, for the briefest of moments, Alfie felt he had been placed in his universe as carefully as a piece of Lego.

Maybe he reallyhadchanged since the last time he’d flown over this hill. Grown up, at least a little bit. Enough to understand what it meant to have something to lose. The last of his anger faded. And whatever it was he felt for Fen—that hopeful wanting,sort of familiar and sort of not—swept over him afresh. Infinitely gentle because of everything he had and everything Fen seemed to have forgotten.

Fen’s head drooped against Alfie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Alfie. I’m so sorry. Now you know why my boyfriend dumped me.”

“Because you crashed his car?”

“No. Because I’m awful.”

“You’re not. Not even a little bit.” Alfie petted at Fen’s hair, which was spilling down his arm, all soft and silky and prickly. “So what was the real reason? Was he some kind of mental case? Taken over by aliens?”

Fen gave a shaky-sounding laugh. “He said I wasn’t who he fell in love with anymore.”

“Wow, that’s harsh. You were just going through some bad shit.”

“Yes, but bad shit changes you. There’s no helping that.”

“You wanna tell me about it? About your mum?”

“Not right now.” Fen reached out a hand, bleached so pale in the moonlight, and ran his thumb over Alfie’s cheekbone. “But…um…I’ll tell you about musicals, if you still want to hear it?”

Alfie’s world had become nothing but this: the dark-drenched hill, the pressure of Fen’s legs around him, the faint smell of flowers. “Course. I wanna hear everything.”

“Well, when people burst into song in musicals, it’s because they’re feeling something so deep and bold and unbearable that words just aren’t good enough anymore. Theyhaveto sing. To express that moment and show who they are, even if just to themselves, on an otherwise empty stage. Do you see?”

Alfie didn’t want to disappoint Fen, but he’d never had to think about musicals before, so he didn’t have much context for ideas like this. Even what he’d said earlier—about them beingunrealistic—had been something he’d picked up from other people. Most likely he’d been trying to sound clever. And look how well that had gone.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, in a moment of despair. “I’m failing thePretty Womantest.”3

Fen gave a whoop of pure, bright laughter, catching them both by surprise.

And while Alfie wasn’t mad keen, in general, on being laughed at, this time he almost welcomed it. “What’s so funny?”

“Mainly the idea of you watchingPretty Woman.”

“Yeah, well—” He shrugged, trying not to get self-conscious. “I was a teenage boy. Of course I’ve seenPretty Woman.”

“I almost hate to ask, but what’s thePretty Womantest? And does it involve oral sex on a piano?”

“I wish. Uh, you remember that bit where Richard Gere takes her to the opera?”

“I think so…”

“She’s wearing that amazing dress with the”—Alfie indicated swooshy fabric—“and the…” He mimed a V in front of his chest.

“Oh, you mean the red Marilyn Vance? And that’s what you remember about that scene? Dear me, you really were gay, weren’t you?”

“It looked nice, okay?” Alfie squirmed, definitely not blushing. “Anyway, Richard Gere gives her this speech about how some people are the people who get opera and it becomes part of their soul and stuff. And then there are some other people who don’t and that’s it for them. They’re doomed to never have opera in their souls.”4

Fen was laughing again, softly in the darkness, his fingers skating lightly over the tips of Alfie’s hair.

“Nowwhat’s funny?”

“Just you. Talking to me like this. You’re nothing like I thought you’d ever be.”

“How did you think I was going to be?”

“I don’t know. I…I suppose, in a way, you were as unreal to me as I was to you.”

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