Page 47 of Paint Eater
But. But, Logan had a strange desire to see Jay in his space. To see him touch his things, rumple his sheets, warm the air with his smile. So, like the idiot he was, he said yes.
He chose a day and time he was absolutely sure his parents wouldn’t be home. They were on a trip to Prague, and there was no way they would come back early without telling Logan.
The result was Jay sitting on his desk chair, leaning close to the screen of Logan’s laptop as if he’d miss a detail if he sat any further away.
“Wow,” Jay kept saying, shooting Logan wide grins as he recognised the moments in the photos he was looking through.
A little girl with her hands up as water from the hydrant fell on her, face scrunched up and laughing, the blurred figures of other children in the background. The group photo from the other collection of kids, cheeky and posing, eyes bright in the sun. The mural of the children killed by police, two women talking at the end of the wall, faces animated, hands gesturing.
And then there were the ones of Jay. Logan had thought about hiding them, but after Jay had been so vulnerable, it felt like even more of a betrayal. So, Logan suffered through Jay looking at them, pausing at each as if startled by the shape of his own face and body.
“These are so cool,” Jay said when he’d finished going through them twice, making no mention of how many were of Jay.
“Thanks,” Logan said shortly, looking away.
Jay, for once, seemed to understand that Logan didn’t want compliments, felt tense and observed by even sharing the photos with him at all. He stood from the chair, giving Logan a quick peck on the lips before moving away to explore the bookshelf.
“It’s so weird to be in your room, man. I didn’t even get to go to your house when we did that project, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” How could he forget?
At the time, he’d never been to an apartment like Jay’s. Not because it was small and in an obviously shady neighbourhood, but because it was so lived-in and welcoming. The rules were all different. The food was made by Jay’s mom, not a house cook, and they chatted about ordinary things. Nothing was an inquisition. There was no discussion of grades and even the talk about school was more about what they were interested in than what they had achieved.
A few days later, Logan’s mom had met Jay. It’d been a fluke, one of those school fairs that his mom insisted they go to. Jay had bounded over to him and started chattering away, had asked Logan’s mom what she did, complimented her hair and told a story about slaves using similar styles to map out exits from where they were kept.
Jay had been everything Logan’s mom didn’t want for Logan. It wasn’t even primarily about money. It was aboutclass. According to his mom, whom Logan associated with was as crucial as his grades in determining his future.
Jay hadn’t even noticed how Logan’s mom had cut him off with a cold look, smiling at Logan as he said his goodbyes.
“A friend?” Logan’s mom had asked, and he had recognised what her stern tone meant.
“No.” Not anymore, at least.
Logan still thought about the look in Jay’s eyes when he’d rejected his overtures of friendship. The way he’d flinched back from Logan as if struck.
Logan knew, too, that Jay wouldn’t have understood if he’d explained why. Maybe wouldstillnot understand. Sure, Jay knew that Logan’s mom was strict, but Logan was pretty sure he didn’t realise that it wasJaythat Logan’s mom disapproved of, not relationships as a whole.
He couldn’t tell him that, though. Logan didn’t want to hurt Jay. He wanted to keep him for as long as he could. Logan knew he was fucking up. Bringing Jay to his apartment was testament to that, but he just couldn’t stop himself from all thiswanting.
Logan sat on the bed, looking at Jay as he wandered around the room for a bit, picking up his things and leaving them in the wrong place, poking at books and medals and some old drawing Nisha had given him.
“Want to watch something?” Logan asked when he couldn’t take any more of Jay transforming the claustrophobic space into something that would ache for his touch.
Jay smiled at him. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
They stretched out on Logan’s bed, laptop perched between them. Logan wasn’t even sure what they picked, distracted by Jay’s hand smoothing up and down Logan’s ribs, touch soft under his shirt. It was barely fifteen minutes until they gave up on the pretence and knocked the laptop away, Logan shifting until he was flush against Jay’s side, leaning slightly over him as they kissed slow and deep.
“Jay,” Logan whispered minutes later, lips wet and bitten. Jay blinked up at him, and Logan tried not to be overcome by the sight of Jay on his sheets, in his room, his bed.
Logan leaned down and kissed him again so he wouldn’t make any promises he couldn’t keep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LOGAN
On Saturday, they took the car and went north, leaving Manhattan and driving up to Connecticut. Jay gave Logan directions, claiming he was better than the GPS voice, and they got lost twice. Neither of them minded, though. Their windows were down, and the speakers hummed with a playlist Jay had put together.
The further away Logan got from New York, the lighter he felt.
