Page 89 of Pansies

Fen made a soft, drowsy noise that was probably a laugh. “Only when you want.”

Well, that would never happen. Nope.

It wasn’t so much that Alfie wouldn’t want Fen to fuck him again. It was more that he couldn’t imagine initiating it. Except once he’d got over himself, it had been… It had been bloody incredible. He’d loved seeing Fen all lust-feral. And wouldn’t it be kind of cool to be that comfortable? As comfortable as Fen. His desires nothing but open doors.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s a deal.”

Silence fell gently over them. After a moment or two, Fen pushed gingerly away and got rid of the condom, before flopping at Alfie’s side, nuzzling into the crook of his arm. Alfie stared down at him and thought stupid things about how beautiful he was, how funny and sweet and sharp, and how much he just wanted to be with him. Have this be their life.

Which was selfish and awful because Fen was only here because of his mum. All his hopes and dreams belonged somewhere else.Tosomeone else. Probably the main reason he was with Alfie now was because he felt alone and Alfie was a link to the lost. As soon as Fen found his feet again, he’d be off. And that…that was a good thing, right? He deserved to be happy.

As did Alfie, although there was no point worrying about that now. Not when—given the past and the fact their lives had taken them in completely different directions—it was pretty fucking remarkable that they’d wound up together at all. Whatever what was between them now had to be accepted for what it was. Something fragile and unlikely and special: a moment of stillness in the middle of two turning worlds. Only difference was, when it was over, Fen would go back to being wherever he was supposed to be and doing whatever he was supposed to do, and Alfie would go back to equity capital markets, his shitty sofa, and a sea-less city he was pretty sure he hated.

But at least he’d have this to take with him. A few days being gay in South Shields with his gorgeous flower shop boy. Maybe it was his gratitude for that, or because of the intimacy of what they’d just done, or perhaps it was because of Fen, the softness of his eyes just then, and the easy pliancy of his body fitted against Alfie’s, but words were welling up inside him and he wasn’t sure he could keep them back. Or if he even wanted to. He opened his mouth—

“God,” said Fen fervently. “I’m starving.”

And so Alfie was saved from making a complete fool of himself.

It turned out Fen didn’t actually have any food, except for a loaf of bread that had gone mouldy round the crusts and a squishy tube of Primula cheese spread8 that had fallen down the back of the fridge. They weren’t in any state to put in an appearance at a restaurant, so Alfie drove them out to the McDonald’s at Towers Place. He could still remember when it first opened: South Shields’s first and probably still only drive-through, like a little piece of another world.

He whooshed down John Reid Road, enjoying the emptiness of the cloudy dark. The tall ghosts of electricity pylons gathered on the horizon. “I feel like I’ve gone back in time.”

Fen stared at his knees. “Oh God, you have no idea how much I wanted this: a hot boy with a car, a post-coital trip to the drive-through.” He looked up again, and his smile was a little sad. “And it was you, Alfie, it was always you.”

Alfie winced. But it wasn’t guilt anymore. It was just a clean, bright pain for Fen’s loneliness and the stupid boy Alfie had been. So stupid. So lost.

“But you know something?” Fen went on.

“What?”

“I like this so much more.”

If Alfie hadn’t been legally required to keep his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road, he’d have grabbed Fen. Kissed him. Kissed him and kissed him.

At McDonald’s, they ordered everything, bags and bags of it, laughing and arguing and braving theYou’ve just had sex, haven’t you?look from the woman behind the window. Then Alfie took them up Lizard Lane—carefully, this time—and parked in themake-out spot. A fat, yellowy moon had slipped from beneath the cloud bank and hung there carelessly, like the disc of an unravelled yo-yo. They sat under it, in the Sagaris, and for a while there was nothing but the squeak of polystyrene and the rustle of paper, the clink of ice cubes and the bubble of liquid, and Fen licking the grease and salt crystals from his fingertips.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a vegetarian?” Alfie asked.9

“I’m in remission.”

At last, they were left with wrappings and a few weirdly coloured, deformed fries neither of them wanted to eat. Alfie had wound down the windows, but the car still reeked of cheap food, gherkins, and the faintest suggestion of sex.

Fen looked half-asleep. Sated. In all the ways. “That was amazing. Disgusting. But also amazing.”

“Yeah.”

“Almost but not quite entirely unlike food.”

Alfie laughed. “Was that aHitchhiker’sreference?”

Fen nodded, blushing a little. “Think I’ve still got the whole ofHitchhiker’son tape somewhere.”

“Oh me too. It was thirty quid. A fortune. Also six cassettes, six whole cassettes.”

“Man,Lord of the Ringswas twelve or fourteen.”

“Alfie”—Fen grinned at him—“are you secretly a geek?”

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