Page 82 of Pansies

“Thank you.” Fen smiled up at him. “I’d like that.”

And Alfie felt all weird again. A little bit breathless. Like he couldn’t stop grinning.

15

They didn’t talk much on the drive back, but it was an okay kind of silence. Alfie pulled up outside Pansies, and Fen pushed open the door. Hesitated.

“Um…thank you. I mean for everything. For staying and listening and…wanking me off in a cave.”

Alfie grinned. “Anytime. When can I see you again? Tomorrow?”

“I’ll be working.”

“Can I help out?”

“No.” There it was—that stubborn pride, still burning in those tired eyes. “And please don’t threaten me with any more DIY.”

“Can I see you after, then? I could take you out again?”

Fen glanced away, pink shading the crest of his cheekbones. “Or we could stay in?”

“Works for me.”

“Or”—Fen had one foot on the pavement, but still seemed reluctant to get out of the car—“you could just come up now. I mean, it won’t be much fun.”

“Sounds tempting.”

Fen drooped. “Oh God, I just don’t want to lure you up under false pretences.”

“I’m teasing, man. I’m not expecting a six-course dinner and an orgy.”

“I know. Honestly, I just want to fall asleep in your arms. Which is simultaneously selfish and pathetic.”

“I would love for you to fall asleep in my arms. Now stop dithering and get your arse out the car.”

Fen got his arse out of the car, and Alfie locked up. Followed him through the side door and up yet another set of rickety, dusty stairs. As soon as they reached the flat, Fen made a strange yelping noise and dashed into the living room. It sounded like he was fighting somebody in there, but it turned out he was only trying to tidy it up. When he realised Alfie had come in behind him, he whirled round, a saucer of cigarette ends in one hand and an LP ofA Little Night Music(London cast recording) in the other.

“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly. “My house is a mess as well.”

Alfie took the saucer and the LP, put the LP back on the nearest pile, and dumped the saucer in the already-overflowing kitchen bin. “It’s okay.”

“I hadn’t really noticed how bad it had got. And I’m not really a smoker. I just…I don’t know.” Fen’s voice had that sharp, brittle quality it got when he was upset, and trying to pretend—or convince himself—he wasn’t. “It’s weird, suddenly seeing through someone else’s eyes what your life has become.”

“I get it. You should see my place.”

“Is it a mess too?”

“Uh, no, sorry. But it kind of looks like a science lab. I have this haute couture sofa that’s too uncomfortable to sit on. And a stunning view of a city I don’t really like.”

Fen smiled one of his odd, thin little smiles. “Oh, this is a fun game. At least you have a place. I’m in storage above a flowershop because the only alternative would be to move in with my dad. A thirty-year-old man living with his father. It’s sexy stuff, Alfie Bell.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“I guess not.” Fen hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, looking up at Alfie from under his lashes. He’d only ever seen girls do that before. But this wasn’t girlish. Not even a little bit. “Take me to bed?”

“This way, right?”

Fen nodded and followed him down the corridor and into the bedroom. It was just like it had been when Alfie had accidentally blundered into it before: crumpled sheets, stacks of books, and piles of clothing. The curtains were closed, but thin enough to admit a wash of pale yellow-grey daylight.

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