Page 9 of Running Scared
Dean did, surprised at the defeated tone of his voice, at the sadness in his eyes—at the whole way this once-wonderful morning had gone.
“Bailey, what’s wrong?”
“I told you,” Bailey said, keeping his face averted.“I’m visiting my dad tomorrow.He’s cooking dinner.I do this once a month.You can’t be surprised.”
“I’m not,” Dean said, baffled.“But why… why do you make it sound like dinner with your father is the end of the world?”
“Because you haven’t asked once to meet him,” Bailey returned, anger burning in his voice along with the unhappiness.“And I get it.I’m just… just a drive-by piece of ass to you, but… but I keep hoping that someday I can at least introduce you to my father as a friend, and it just hit me, in bed a minute ago, that that’s not going to happen.You arenevergoing to want to be introduced to my father, and I… I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex isgreat,but that’s all it’s ever going to be to you and….”His voice dropped, the anger draining out.“I thought I could do that, but it turns out I can’t.”
Dean blinked at him, scrambling.“You want me to come meet your father?”he landed on, and Bailey rolled his eyes in disgust and stalked into the bathroom.
Dean tumbled out of the sheets, pausing to make the bed because he hated an unmade bed, made sure the phones were in the charger and Bailey’s picture of his old boyfriend who had passed away was straight, as was only respectful, and then followed him in.
“It’s not only sex!”he cried over the pounding of the water.
Bailey ripped the shower curtain back and stared at him.“It took you five minutes, and that’s all you could come up with?”
Dean scowled at him, stripping off his clothes.
“You arenotcoming in here!”Bailey protested.
“Of course I am.I need a shower, and we’re having a discussion, and this only makes sense.”And Bailey’s skin seemed to feed something in Dean that he usually needed a week at his parents’ house to get.That humming sense of well-being that his family could give him—if he relaxed enough to let it—seemed to fill Dean up with only a few touches from Bailey.Even the random ones, like to his hair as they sat at the TV, or across his back as Dean was making dinner.But he didn’t have words for that.
Still, Bailey was staring at him (or squinting at him through the spray) in outrage as Dean entered the giant glass cubicle, which as far as Dean could tell was the only reason Bailey was paying such outrageous rent for this apartment.
Yes, Dean had looked up the cost of rent here when he’d looked up the address the first time.Was he not supposed to?
“God,” Bailey muttered, turning to the spray at last.“You really can’t take a hint.”
“No,” Dean said, reaching around him and making sure their bodies slicked together as he did so.“I’m very mildly on the autism spectrum, so taking a hint is not my strong suit.”
Bailey gaped.“You… you never mentioned that before.”Then he shook his head, scattering droplets of watereverywhere.“Not that it should surprise me.You haven’t mentionedanythingbefore!”
He was charging up his mad again, Dean thought, once again at a loss.
“What were you hinting?”he asked, partly to derail Bailey’s mad, and partly to try to get a footing on why this thing, this unnamed, amazing thing that he and Bailey had been doing for the last three months might be going to suddenly disappear.
He didn’t want it to disappear.
In fact he was realizing with a bit of panic that he absolutely needed that thingright here.
“That I wanted you to meet my father!”Bailey burst out.
“That might be hard,” Dean said.“I’m expecting to get called into the office later today.I will still have time to do your laundry, though.”
“See?”Bailey cried, making no sense at all.“I didn’tknowthat, and it would beniceto know that.It would be nice to have some warning when you’re going to show up—”
“Oh!”Dean said happily.“That’s easy.Whenever my case takes me here or I have a weekend off.”
Bailey scrubbed at his face with his hands, and Dean helpfully put a washcloth and his soap bag in his hands so he could do that more efficiently.
Bailey stared at the objects and then started to use them absent-mindedly, shaking his head and muttering to himself.It was hard to hear above the spray, but it sounded like he was saying, “Suchuseful information,” and “It would have been great to know that from the start!”
“The autism?”Dean asked, to make sure.“It wasn’t assessed until college, when we were studying metacognition and ways people absorb information.I replied to a test question that I had to very carefully organize information or I couldn’t connect motivation to result—for example, unless I explained to myself why it was important to pass English, I would simply not do the homework because it seemed frivolous.Once I could explain to myself that English was about communication, which is obviously my weak point, I actually enjoyed my classes.I learn with very specific guidelines and communicate very literally.Why would it be a problem?”
“It wouldn’t,” Bailey said shortly, “unless your lack of communication washurting my feelings,and I assumed you were doing it because youdidn’t care.”
That pulled Dean back.“But I do care if I’m hurting your feelings,” he said, dismayed.“I’m sorry.What would you like to communicate about to help me fix that?”
