Page 91 of Pansies

“I’m too shagged to care.”

“And maybe in your eyebrow.”

It took them a while to untangle, and when they were readyto try, it proved logistically challenging. In the end, Alfie managed to hit the door release with his knee, and Fen slithered out onto the road, urgently fastening his jeans and making a generally unconvincing attempt to look respectable as he limped back round to the passenger side. He was practically asleep by the time they pulled up outside Pansies again. He looked so peaceful and, at the same time, so debauched. A well-fucked angel. And Alfie wanted to keep him.

But, instead, he nudged him. “We’re home.”

“Oh.” Fen stirred, then started. Smiled toothily at Alfie, hopelessly goofy. “Thank you. I had the best day.”

“Me too.”

A pause. “Are you sleeping over?”

Alfie’s heart gave a happy bounce. “Can I? You’re not sick of me like?”

“It’ll be fine.” Fen smirked. “We’ll both be unconscious.”

“Wow, you really know how to take the sting out of a compliment.”

“I didn’t mean it. Please stay. If you want to.”

“Of course I do.”

“Just don’t judge the state of my house, okay?”

Alfie leaned over, nearly gutting himself with his seat belt, and brushed his lips against Fen’s cheek. “I really don’t care about that.”

“Yes. Well.” Fen’s hands shifted idly, fingers seeking the green band he always wore. “I’m starting to think…I might, actually.”10

Alfie dropped him off outside Pansies, intending to find a parking space where he could leave the Sagaris and then get back as quickly as possible. But he still ended up watching Fen as he headed for the side door. He seemed different somehow—lighter, maybe. There’d always been a bit of the dancer about him, but Alfie was more familiar with his restlessness than his grace, theway he’d sometimes hold himself like he wanted to disappear. This was a little glimpse of who Fen truly was—who he was supposed to be, when he wasn’t grieving and stuck in South Shields—and, of course, he was walking away.

Alfie shook it off. Found a quiet side street. And took a minute to compose an email to HR, explaining that something personal had come up, and he was taking annual leave. Since J.D. Jarndyce was old-school hardcore and fired twenty percent of his workforce on an annual basis just to keep people on their toes, he knew he was basically placing himself right at the top of the culling list. But a quick inventory of available fucks confirmed that Alfie Bell was fresh out. He’d been nothing but his job for way too long, and the possibility of losing it didn’t feel so much like a sacrifice as release.

His head was a little spinny after, not exactly in a bad way, but it was disorientating. Like he’d lost track of the edges of his world. Or maybe they hadn’t changed at all, so he was just going to run smack bang into them anyway.

Normally this would be when he called Greg. But something stopped him, phone in hand. Even if he knew how to explain, he wasn’t sure Greg would get it. As far as Greg was concerned, a romantic gesture was bringing fancy condoms. Or maybe he was being unfair. It was sometimes hard to tell with Greg what was bravado and what wasn’t.

Phoning Kitty would have been equally pointless—not because she wouldn’t want to talk to him, but because she was probably in some far-flung posh place like Bora Bora or Monaco. So he messaged her instead:I think I might be doing something really stupid.A few seconds later, she replied:What sort of thing?It was hard enough to get it straight in his head, let alone in a text message. Eventually, he triedFalling for someoneandaccidentally hit Send before he’d finished typing.

The best and noblest of stupid, Kitty returned.

He’d meant to say,Falling for someone in the middle of a really complicated life situation thing, but he liked the answer he’d been given too much to risk clarifying his problem.

On the way back to the shop, his phone buzzed again.PS have met terribly charming fellow with a nonidentifiable job. Think he must be a shpy.

Ill-advisedly grinning, walking, and texting, he sent,Or maybe he just does something really boring. And got back a selfie of Kitty’s sad pout.

16

Fen’s alarm went off at four, which was painful even though Alfie was used to banker hours. The other thing that was painful was his back because Fen’s futon mattress was, frankly, fucking awful. He rolled over, found Fen, who was deliciously warm and soft and only beginning to stir, and snuffled a protest into the nape of his neck.

“I have to get up.”

Alfie draped an arm over him and groped in a downwards kind of way. “You already are.”

“I mean I have to work.”

“Or”—Alfie gave Fen a languorous stroke—“you could stay here with me.”

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