Page 52 of Taste

“Darling.”

Okay, so Finn was not a morning person. And he was irritable as fuck before his first cup of whatever. I suppose that was partly my fault for giving him tea and then red wine and then keeping him up talking until he’d passed out forty minutes before his alarm. He hadn’t been in any state to just lie down and fall asleep, too antsy and weirded out by his reaction last night. There was nothing weird about it at all. He was just overwhelmed by the realisation that we had something bloody good going on here, and that it wasn’t just something he could fuck and walk away from when things got real. This was already more real than anything else I’d ever been part of. We weren’t reckless teenagers sacking off school for the day because we felt like it. Whatever we were becoming was far more important than any work shift. The Clouds would survive without us for a few days, and anyway, I had untold leave left to claim and a sneaky suspicion that Finn Christensen had never taken a day’s leave in his life.

“Darling.” I said it, again. It wasn’t something I’d ever called my temporary hook-ups. It was a word that carried more meaning, and one I had been saving up for, all my life. Too special to waste on someone who I’d never mean anything to. Finnwasmy darling. He wasn’t a babe or a dude or anything else as throwaway as that. I wanted him to be more and to know it.

“I can’t even function right now.” He sighed and got up, stumbling around trying to wrap himself in a blanket. His clothes were in the hallway, but I wasn’t going to remind him of that.

“You don’t need to. Remember? I’m right here. Come on.”

I got up too and dragged him to the bathroom, pushing the flimsy shower curtain out of the way and turning the water on. The shower was old, and I was missing a tile, something I kept meaning to fix, but again, it wasn’t important. The water was nice and warm, and I pushed him under the spray, handing him a bottle of shower gel before shutting the curtain in his face.

“There. Get clean. There’s a bathrobe hanging on the door. I suggest you use it. I have a wide selection of lovely slippers in the hallway, and if you even contemplate looking for your clothes, then don’t. I’m holding them hostage until I feel you’re ready to face the world again. Is that clear?”

“You’re keeping me prisoner here then?” he grumped.

I grinned. “Yeah. Because I love you and I want you to stay here forever and be my sex slave.” I picked up a towel that smelled kind of bad. I needed to do laundry and find a flat where everything didn’t get damp and reek of mould and my shower tiles didn’t fall of the walls and where Finn would stay with me forever.

“Sounds like a plan,” he called out from the shower. He obviously hadn’t heard a word of what I was saying.

“Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea.” The shower turned off. That was quick.

I scurried away to give him some privacy, grabbing a tracksuit and socks from the bedroom floor on my way past. The flat was always cold, but it had been my home for so long that it seemed normal. I slept well, and the bills were reasonable, the commute manageable. It was mine, yet it now seemed lonely when he wasn’t by my side.

My chin was stubbly, and I probably smelled just as bad as he had, but I could whizz up two cups of tea and some toast in a blink of an eye. I had nice marmalade in the fridge and some OJ too, so my impromptu breakfast spread was both impressive and inviting. I thought.

He looked shy, taking a seat opposite me at the table. He’d put on my bathrobe and slippers, as I’d suggested.

“I prefer you naked,” he said. “But you look good in a hoodie. Never seen you wear one before.”

“I only dress up for work.” I looked down, suddenly overcome with irrational shyness myself. I did look good in a hoodie, though.

“Why do you wear all that…you know…fashion stuff?”

“Rude.”

“I didn’t mean to be. You look good in a suit.”

“I look good in anything.”

“I know you do.”

“Don’t for a minute think you’ll get me into a grey business suit and that I will like it. That’s never happening.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He took a sip of his tea, and a comforting peace spreading across his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just wondering. I’m not trying to change you or anything. I like you being…you.”

“Told you, I’m my own cup of tea. I like me most of the time, even when I’m down and have weeks when I can’t get out of bed because my mind just can’t get out of the bloody gutter. I struggle when I’m on my own. I struggle with being the fun guy and keeping everything fresh and new and making everyone bloody happy when I can’t even make myself get up and have a shower. But then other days, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have my health and all this.”

“Youarelucky.”

“I know. I have good friends. My family are nuts, but yeah. I’m lucky.”

“And you have me, if you’ll still have me. I’m not good with mornings. I’m still sat here feeling that horrible sense of panic, like I’m skipping class and about to get a phone call from the headmaster to say I’ve failed my course.”

“You’re the boss, Finley. You would have to ring yourself and give yourself a stern telling off. I’m sure you would be simply fine.”

He smiled and licked a drop of marmalade from his thumb. A damp curl fell onto forehead. “I hate feeling that I’m letting my team down.”

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