Page 64 of In Frame
Colby and Jason were grinning at him. A third grilled cheese had happened, which meant Jason had won that discussion; Jason’s arms were around Colby, who leaned back against him.
Sam said, “So Leo says hi, and he wants a strawberry tart.”
“If we don’t have any left when he gets here,” Colby said,“we can always make more.”
* * * *
Leo, back at home, shut the door, slumped back against it for a second, shook his head, and laughed at himself and his unnecessary worrying. He’d done it. He’d said it. And everything was good—everything was fantastic, including the leftover apricot and ginger crumble he’d been sent home with—
His parents loved him. And wanted to love Sam.
He wanted to jump up and down and shriek in pure excitement. He wanted to tackle Sam onto his sofa and have incredible mind-blowing sex right there on the spot. He wanted to run out and audition for a role, any role, something big and epic and passionate and possibly bisexual. He could do that right now. He could do anything.
He took off his jacket. Spun it around a finger. Did a quick unchoreographed tango with it across his living room, just because. Shiny blue fabric rippled, getting into the swing of congratulations. It didn’t mind him humming out loud, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what tune he was aiming for.
Both of them twinkle-toed and giddy, he left the jacket on a chair, wandered into the kitchen, put away leftovers, checked the time. Late, but not too late; after midnight, because successfully escaping the tabletop game’s doomed island while carrying magical artifacts had taken some time, but that hadn’t been unexpected. Anyway it’d only be a bit after four in the afternoon, across an ocean.
He hoped Sam was having a good day. He hoped everything was going well. He wanted his friends and his—his boyfriend, and oh that was the best word in the universe, just now—to get along and be happy.
He held onto his giddiness, his anticipation, like a secret:a hot glowing private knowledge of joy that raced along his veins, his bones, each heartbeat.
Just to prolong that feeling, he went and made tea. The scents of lemon and orange made him smile; the heat of the cup, one of his old-fashioned pretty china set with the roses, warmed his hands. Sam had liked that, he recalled. He wasn’t sure why, other than the obvious—it was a lovely cup, and tea was nice and cozy—but Sam very definitely had approved.
He took his tea upstairs, and deliberately changed out of seeing-the-parents attire into loose autumn-orange pajama trousers and a long-sleeved shirt with a misprint in his mother’s theatre’s name, because she’d ended up giving that batch away and they were extremely comfortable. He pushed up the sleeves.
He settled down on his bed, found a blanket, hugged one knee to his chest for a second just to hugsomething. He felt shivers of elation scamper down his spine, under his skin, setting off tiny exquisite fireworks.
He picked up his phone. Called Sam.
Sam took a second to answer, and sounded a bit out of breath. “You’re here! Are you home? How’d it go?”
“Everything I could’ve hoped for.” He had the phone on speaker; he picked up his tea, liking the sensation against his hands. “What on earth were you up to?”
“Colby and Jason have a lot of books. And a lot of new shelves, now. I was helping sort science fiction. And taking some pictures of them getting distracted by stories.” Sam’s voice echoed oddly; Leo, curious, asked, “Where are you?”
“What’s going to be a guest bedroom. No furniture yet. Colby told me very sweetly that I should go and have some privacy. He’s way too good at sounding innocent while meaning something completely different.”
“No one ever believes me when I say that!”
“I do, if that helps.” Sam’s voice was soothing and low andloyal; Leo wanted to listen to him forever. “They’re really great. Just the nicest people ever. It’s like…I keep thinking neither of them’s actually real, they just walked out of a romance novel, something made up, y’know? They’re planning to cook dinner for me. After they made lunch and tea and tarts. I don’t know how to say thank you enough.”
Leo had a sip of tea, liking sweet citrus and herbal flavors. “As far as thank-you gifts, they both enjoy books. And statues of dragons. And cheese. Real cheese, not statues of cheese. Though they might enjoy that as well.”
“I meant you, you know. Well, them too. But mostly you.”
“I didn’t do much.” He tipped his head back against the headboard, eyes shut: just focusing on Sam’s voice, and heat like spreading butter—or perhaps cheese, delicious and golden. “You did. Showing them how good you are.” He meant as a person, not only as a photographer; he hoped that came through.
“Oh, Leo.” Sam sighed; a brief noise suggested he’d moved or sat down. Leo pictured him: sitting on the floor in an empty but friendly room, hair as touchable as ever, maybe some smudges of dust on his arms from sorting books, golden-brown gaze fondly scolding. “Take the compliment.”
“Was it one? You were talking about cheese.”
“I wouldn’t be here without you and you know it. Tell me about your parents. No, wait. Tell me how you’re feeling.”
“How I’m feeling?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. I…that is, I…I made tea. We successfully escaped a sinking island. I’ve got leftover pudding for tomorrow. My toes’re warm.”
