Page 74 of Pansies

What was it with this man and his provocative leaning?

Only a little bit out of breath, Alfie hurried over, and Fen turned, his calm lost with his stillness. He was wearing shabby jeans, a washed-out T-shirt withlolwritten on it, and slim, rimless glasses that simply exposed his eyes in all their stark, bright beauty.

Alfie, in a mess of hope and joy and fear and yearning, stared helplessly at the T-shirt.

Fen looked down at himself. “I’m quirky,” he explained, “and adorable.”

Things to say. There were too many and none at all. And the sea-sharpened chill had left goose bumps all over Fen’s arms.

“You’re cold.” Alfie took off his leather jacket and flung it over Fen’s shoulders.

A blink. The instinctive clutch of hands, to hold the coat in place. “But what about you?”

“I’m a big lad who’s just run down a hundred stairs. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh God—” Fen’s voice cracked with yearning. “Oh, Alfie.”

Alfie stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. There wasn’t even a moment of resistance, just Fen falling against him, soft as the sea, with a small, breathlessoh. And fuck, the manwas freezing, like a prince in a fairy tale, held captive in a winter prison. Warmth gathered gradually between them. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“I…I don’t know what I’m doing.” Fen tucked his head beneath Alfie’s chin and hid there. “I just know that I’m tired…tired of fighting and being sad. And I want to be with you.”

The words enfolded him as warmly and tightly as his arms held Fen. They were so simple, yet so shining. He could wear them like wings. And then a sort of panic seized him. Because Fen had sat in some private darkness in a flower shop he didn’t want and waded through grief and fear and uncountable memories of cruelty…for him. For Alfie Bell. Who at that moment felt like the most ordinary man in England. But there they were. With Fen sayingI want you. And Alfie’s heart a lump of wet tissue.

“Uh, wow.” Okay, that was crap. Try again. “I mean…thank you. For taking a chance like. I won’t let you down.”

Fen’s lashes glittered in the weak winter sunlight as he looked up. “You’d better not, Alfie Bell.”

It was so Fen—vulnerable and defiant, with laughter lurking deep in his eyes—that Alfie grinned. Put a hand beneath his chin to keep him there, just like that, and tugged him into a kiss. It was a swift, soft thing, just the press of closed mouths and all the promises Alfie hadn’t dared to say.

Afterwards, Fen gave a shaky laugh. “I’m not much of a catch, you know.”

“Well, given that I’m the kid who bullied you at school, neither am I.”

“You’re so much more than that.”

“And you’re so much more than what you’ve got going on now.”

“When you say it”—colour broke out across Fen’s cheekbones—“I almost believe you.”

“You should.” Alfie kissed him again, deeper this time, enough to make himself dizzy on heat and salt and Fen.

“God,” Fen whispered, “I’d forgotten what it was like to feel this way.”

Alfie nudged his nose. “Kissed?”

“Alive, arsehole.” But Fen was laughing. “Normal.”

Once again stripped wordless, Alfie mumbled something that was probably just Fen’s name and held him a little tighter. Earned the reciprocal pressure of grasping fingers against his forearms. A sweet, needy pain.

“And you’re sure we can do this?” Fen asked. “I mean, whatever it is we’re doing? What about…your life? Your job?”

“Do you know the last time I took a holiday?”

“Well, no?”

“Neither do I.” Alfie shrugged. “I’ll have to go back at some point, probably in a week or two. But that gives us time to figure stuff out.”

Fen’s lips curled into a not-entirely-happy smile. “You do realise I’ve been trying to do that for over a year?”

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